Duke Thaddeus sat in his private chamber, his desk illuminated by the flickering glow of oil lamps. The heavy scent of parchment and ink filled the air, mingling with the faint brine that seeped in from the open window. His fingers moved methodically, flipping through reports and signing off on orders, yet his mind was only half-attentive. His thoughts kept drifting, his focus slipping like sand through his fingers.
Beyond the walls of his estate, the expedition team was preparing to depart. He could hear the faint sounds of movement in the distance—the shifting of weapons, the murmur of voices, the rhythmic march of boots upon stone. The harbor would be alive with activity, the air thick with tension as sailors made their final checks and mercenaries steadied themselves for what lay ahead.
And yet, something was wrong.
