Alena

My fingers trace the jagged lines of territorial borders on the map, the parchment crisp and riddled with annotations. My gaze, a fusion of determination and resolve, locks onto King Roak, who stands like a dark sentinel across the table, his presence an anchor in the storm of coming war. The chamber, cloistered away from prying ears, hums with the silent promise of strategy and secrets.

“Roak,” I begin, my voice steady as the flickering candles that cast shadows upon ...