The Chains of the Riftborn

The Call to War – Solmara's Next Move

The throne room of Solmara was bathed in dim torchlight, the flickering flames casting elongated shadows against the towering stone pillars. The air was thick with tension, the kind that settled deep into the bones of every noble and soldier present.

King Aldric sat upon his throne, clad in his royal armor, his golden crown gleaming beneath the firelight. His posture was rigid, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as he listened to the murmurs of his advisors.

Despite the grandeur of the chamber—with its towering banners of the Solmaran sigil hanging from the ceiling, the polished marble floor reflecting the light of the chandeliers—there was an unmistakable weight pressing down on everyone present.

The war was no longer an impending threat.

It was here.

The advisors spoke in hushed, frantic tones, their words barely reaching above the crackling torches.

> "The Northern Tribes are moving."