The vast chamber, usually echoing with murmurs and jostling, held its breath as the Triarchs, three figures of immense power and presence, ascended the dais at the far end.
Their movements, cloaked in a heavy silence, carried the weight of authority.
Archon Celebrian, arguably the most stoic of the three, settled onto his central throne. His gaze, a sharp blue that seemed to pierce the very air, swept across the assembled crowd.
Human and elf sat segregated, divided by a low, engraved wall that ran down the center of the hall. As Celebrian's eyes traced the line, a flicker of something akin to disapproval flickered across his face.
A heavy sigh, barely audible, escaped his lips. Then, he spoke. His voice, though measured and controlled, resonated like a low rumble through the chamber. Every syllable held the weight of years of leadership and an undercurrent of simmering anger.
