Inside a dimly lit chamber, the room's walls were lined with maps, scrolls, and documents detailing every underground operation that The Black Thorn faction had in motion. At the center of the room sat a tall, imposing woman with sharp features and eyes that gleamed with intelligence and cruelty—Seraphis, the leader of The Black Thorn. Her four elites stood silently before her, their expressions tense as they awaited her orders. This was not a good day for the faction.
A man dressed in dark leather armor, drenched in sweat, approached Seraphis. His face was pale, and he trembled as he knelt, clutching a report tightly in his hands.
"My lady," the man began, his voice wavering. "We've lost more hostages. A large group, snatched right from under our noses… again."
The air in the room thickened. Seraphis slowly raised her eyes from the map she had been studying, her gaze freezing the man in place. "How many?" Her voice was calm, too calm.
