[Imperial Palace of Thalryn — The Next Day]
The Imperial Throne Hall stood silent, heavy, and oppressive, like a tomb waiting to be sealed. Golden sunlight poured through towering crystal windows, yet somehow the chamber felt cold. Nobles stood along both sides of the hall.
Ministers remained silent. Generals avoided each other's eyes, and upon the imperial throne sat the Emperor of Thalryn, tired, exhausted, and defeated.
Before him stood Duke Aren. The man who had protected the northern borders for decades. The man whose family had shed blood for the Empire long before many nobles inside this chamber were even born.
And now...he had been summoned to surrender. The Emperor rubbed his forehead for a long moment; nobody spoke.
Then finally—
"...Are you telling me to surrender to the Emperor of Zahryssar?" Duke Aren's voice echoed through the hall, calm, the kind of calm that comes before storms.
The Emperor exhaled heavily as his voice sounded tired.
"Aren, we have no choice."
