Lord Hektor raised his glass, the dark wine swirling with a glint of ambition, as the other nobles, Verlan and Astoria, followed suit, their movements almost synchronized. The room was thick with the scent of opportunity, as if the very air was saturated with the promise of wealth, power, and the fall of a mutual enemy—Lyan Arkanium Evocatore.
"To the fall of Grafen," Hektor echoed, his voice low and filled with malice. His dark eyes glinted with a predatory light, as if he could already see Lyan's fortress collapsing under his calculated strike.
Verlan, always a man of action, leaned forward, eager to press on with the details of their conspiracy. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, the wine leaving a faint stain on his lips. "So how soon do we move? If the reports from your spies are accurate, Hektor, the best time to strike is within the next fortnight."
