[Sylvan Kingdom]
[Inside the Elven Quarters – Royal Wing.]
Lewin sat by the wide window, a soft stream of evening light spilling onto the stack of papers in front of him.
The elf's long silver hair was tied loosely, and his gaze remained fixed on the papers.
He quietly flipped through the parchment, his expression calm but focused.
Each page he turned carried the same bitter truth that was only chaos, decay, and failure.
His eyes paused on a detailed report marked with a crimson seal.
"Malik again…" he muttered.
Standing to his side was Sir Thalion, a tall elven knight clad in ceremonial armor, polished yet worn at the edges.
He had served under Lewin for nearly a decade and was one of the few Lewin trusted entirely.
Without looking up, Lewin asked, "How are things progressing with the Malik town?"
Thalion shifted slightly, his voice low but firm.
"Not well, my lord. The townspeople are still… unstable," he said quietly. "Things with the Great One Kros aren't going well."
