Night fell slowly upon Arven, like a dark veil being pulled over an open wound. Outside Damon's mansion, the lights of the noble city shone in soft gold among the mist-weathered cobblestone streets, beautiful enough to conceal the political rot growing beneath the surface. Carriages still circulated along the main avenues. Nobles still toasted in heated halls. Musicians still played for refined audiences who feigned oblivious to the smell of blood spreading among the grand houses.
But inside the mansion, no one held any illusions anymore.
The main library had completely transformed into an improvised operational center. Arven's maps now covered almost the entire central table. Small colored markers indicated noble alliances, patrol routes, influential properties, and potential pockets of armed resistance. Piles of open letters accumulated in a corner, while candles burned slowly, forming thick tears of wax on their metal holders.
The atmosphere was no longer merely tense.
