On a secluded chamber within the palace, Morgant and King Drakovitch had stood in the shadows, far from the prying eyes of the court. The King had looked weary, his voice a low mutter that carried the weight of centuries.
"From the very beginning… a hundred Dragonborn could end a war against thousands of demigods with barely a scratch. We are the apex. And yet... someone is rotting us from within. A traitor."
Morgant had nodded then, his face a mask of cold duty.
"I sensed something today, Sire. During the meeting. The Verdant Wings... their House Leader didn't flinch when you threatened them… He waited."
Drakovitch had let out a short, grim laugh, a rare flash of pride crossing his features.
"Good. You've always been my most sharp eyed shadow, Morgant."
"It is my duty,"
Morgant had replied, though the praise did little to warm his heart.
