The chamber was vast yet dimly lit, its air carrying the faint scent of polished steel and old wood. In the center stood a heavy round table of blackened oak. Upon it, four ornate swords lay crossed, their jeweled hilts catching the glow of the lanterns above—a traditional symbol of peace in diplomatic meetings.
Seated at one side was King Alveron IV of Valor. Long blond hair, tied neatly with a crimson ribbon, fell down his back without a single strand out of place. His eyes—deep red and faintly glowing—rested on Nicolas with an unwavering calm.
Opposite him sat King Deyrion Neral of Velmora. His skin gleamed black as polished obsidian, the surface broken only by the faint, shifting red light pulsing along two great sweeping horns rising from his skull. His eyes were pure crimson, ancient and sharp, holding the weight of centuries.
