Deep within the heart of Dysheria, Lord Tarius sat in his council chamber, immersed in the silent plotting and endless deliberations that his position demanded. The flickering blue torches cast a cold, haunting glow over the table, where other council members sat in a semicircle, each draped in dark robes symbolizing their clan allegiance.
The stillness shattered as a guard entered the chamber abruptly, his expression ashen, eyes wide with urgency. He dropped to one knee before Tarius, barely catching his breath.
"My lord," he stammered, his voice barely concealing the horror beneath his disciplined tone. "It's Alariel. She... she's been found dead in the eastern wing."
A ripple of shock spread through the room, breaking the stoic expressions of the council members. Tarius's gaze darkened, his fingers curling tightly around the edge of his chair as he rose slowly. The room seemed to tighten around his presence, the weight of his authority mixing with a palpable, simmering anger.
