In the dimly lit chamber, Lysander sat at the head of the long, ornate table, surrounded by his council of elders. Shadows danced across the walls, and the air was thick with tension. The elders, wise and ancient, leaned forward, their voices filled with urgency and concern.
"You must reascend the throne," one of the
insisted, his voice trembling with the weight of their plight. "The rogues are becoming bolder, attacking our people without remorse. If we do not act now, we risk losing everything."
Another elder,nodded in agreement. "You are our rightful leader. The kingdom needs your strength, your presence. The people look to you for guidance."
"Ever since your curse was broken, we have been waiting for you to say something but there has not been any response. One minute you're here and the next minute, you aren't." Another one chimed in, his voice laced with annoyance.
