The atmosphere in the war room was thick with tension, a palpable mix of desperation and fear. The flickering torches cast shadows on the stone walls, dimly illuminating the faces of the gathered commanders and advisors.
Each one wore a mask of grim resignation as they listened to the young general plead for action. His voice, though strained, carried an unwavering resolve that seemed to resonate in the hearts of some, while others remained paralysed by the grim reality outside their fortified walls.
The King of Trin, seated at the head of the long, heavy oak table, held his ground with the authority of someone who had borne witness to countless battles. His silver-lined robes and the golden crown resting heavily upon his brow signified not just his royal status but also the weight of the decisions he had to make. He looked upon the general, his expression a mix of sympathy and steadfastness.
