The grand throne room was bathed in a dim light, the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the polished marble floors. Alaric sat in the center, his presence commanding, his dark eyes gleaming with thought. His mind was already weaving the next steps in the intricate game of power unfolding between the werewolf clans.
He leaned back in his seat, his fingers lightly tapping the armrest. The throne room was empty except for one figure—Gilbert, who stood at attention, awaiting orders.
"Gilbert," Alaric's voice broke the silence, calm yet decisive, "send a message to Duncan. Tell him to meet me here. We have much to discuss."
Gilbert nodded, his face as composed as ever. "At once, my lord." He swiftly exited the room, leaving Alaric in silence once again.
