Vesperin hurried through the corridors of his family's grand estate, his heart racing with excitement and anticipation. He entered the massive stone-carved hall where his father, the imposing leader of the Malachor Clan, sat on an elevated throne-like chair.
The room was dark, lit only by dim torches on the walls, casting flickering shadows that added to the tension in the air. His father, a man known for his cold, calculating demeanor, immediately turned his sharp gaze toward Vesperin as he entered.
"Vesperin," his father's deep, authoritative voice echoed through the hall. "What brings you here so suddenly? You usually report from the academy."
There was an edge to his voice, as if he expected only important matters to interrupt his day. Vesperin could feel the weight of his father's gaze, scrutinizing every move he made.
