The morning light revealed the raw ambition inscribed across the vast territorial parchment spread over the council table.
Lady Seliza sat opposite Hajin, resting both forearms on the cedar surface while her attendants stood in disciplined silence.
Two strides behind her left shoulder, Taren remained rooted like an unblinking statue, his gray tunic hanging motionless.
"Quill ready, Marrick?"
"Ready, my lord!"
Marrick dipped his quill into fresh black ink, his hand trembling slightly as he prepared to transcribe the formal proceedings.
Across the room, Loccy leaned against a carved pillar, watching the southern merchant with an intense, territorial gaze.
Vella sat near the window, carefully peeling sweet winter plums for Ash, who hummed happily in his high-backed chair.
The silver-haired toddler tapped a polished chunk of mineral against the armrest, producing a hollow clicking sound with each strike.
