Third Person POV
The grand hall of the Zanzia pack house had completely lost its former glory.
It was no longer a place of celebration, but a cold, silent prison.
Along the stone walls, the iron torches burned low, their flickering flames struggling to cast light into the dark corners where heavy shadows pooled and waited.
The expensive furniture had been violently shoved aside to clear the space.
Fine wooden chairs lay overturned on their sides, and a massive oak dining table had been split clean down the middle, its jagged wooden shards scattered across the floorboards like broken bones after a battle.
Soldiers in heavy, dark armor blocked every single exit.
Their metal plates were completely blackened from soot, and their faces remained hidden behind cold, expressionless iron helmets.
They did not move an inch, nor utter a single word to one another.
They simply stood there like stone statues, waiting for their next command.
