The air in the underground headquarters beneath the capital was thick with the scent of damp stone and the faint, metallic tang of old Essence. It was a labyrinthine sanctuary of shadows, a place where the sunlight of Astraia never reached and where the secrets of the kingdom were brought to be dissected. Low-hanging lanterns cast long, flickering amber glimmers against walls lined with maps and scrolls, their light struggling to push back the encroaching darkness of the corners. In the center of the main chamber, a massive table of dark oak stood like an altar of information, covered in ink-stained ledgers and fragmented reports. Constantine stood at the head of the table, his presence a stabilizing force in the gloom, while Seraphina moved through the shadows behind him like a ghost that
