The royal throne room was silent.
Heavy tension hung in the air.
Rows of nobles, generals, ministers, and high-ranking officials stood on both sides of the grand hall. No one dared speak carelessly.
At the end of the room sat King Alden.
Though illness had reduced him to a shadow of the man he once was, the king's presence remained unchanged.
His body had become thin.
His face was pale.
His silver hair had lost much of its former luster.
Yet the moment he sat upon the throne, no one could mistake him for anything other than a king.
His gaze remained sharp. His back remained straight.
The authority he carried through decades of ruling had not faded.
Beside the throne stood Duke Charles.
Near him was Virtil, the kingdom's strongest remaining protector.
The old knight stood quietly with his hands behind his back.
His expression was calm, but everyone knew he was one of the few pillars still supporting the kingdom.
Alden slowly looked across the hall.
