The council chamber was colder than usual that morning.
Six men stood gathered around the long obsidian table, each bearing the weight of an empire on his shoulders.
Arin was first to speak, "Marcus, you said the physicians have arrived?"
Marcus gave a sharp nod. "Yes, Your Majesty. Twelve of the best healers and scholars from every corner of Eldoria, the capital, the southern coasts, even the northern provinces. They await outside."
"Good," Arin said.
His voice carried no relief, only urgency.
Alaric leaned forward in his chair, his dark eyes narrowing. "Bring them in."
The doors swung open.
Twelve men entered in solemn silence, robes trailing the floor, each bowing deeply before the Emperor and the Prince.
Alaric's gaze swept over them. "You've all been briefed?"
The eldest among them, a gray-haired man stepped forward. "We have, my lord. The reports are… grave."
"Then tell us," Alaric said curtly. "What have you observed?"
