The grand palace of Nela stood atop a hill of white stone, its spires reaching toward the heavens like fingers clawing at the sky. A light mist drifted through the corridors, making the torches flicker, their flames casting elongated shadows against the marble walls. Despite its beauty, the air inside the palace was thick with grief, rage, and something darker—a thirst for vengeance.
King Corvus sat upon his throne, his jaw tight as his fingers pressed against the armrests, knuckles white from the pressure. His golden circlet gleamed in the candlelight, but his eyes, once sharp with cunnin, were clouded with sorrow. The room was silent except for the occasional crackling of fire and the faint rustling of fabric as his advisors stood before him, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze.
Clau
