Trust

The glow of the hearth made shadows across the walls of Aric's study. 

The air was with faint smell of smoke and the parchment spread across the table between him and Serina. The room was quiet except for the occasional crackle of the fire. Outside, the wind howled faintly—a reminder of the winter chill creeping into the city.

Aric leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant, lost in thought. Serina, perched on the edge of the desk with a cup of wine in hand, watched him closely. She didn't press him to speak right away; she knew he would, eventually. He always did when the weight of his plans became too much to bear alone.

Finally, he broke the silence. "It's becoming clear," he said, his voice low, "that something's happened between the Draken Empire and the Northrenders. Something significant. And it's leading to war."