The atmosphere within Ironstride was electric, charged with a dangerous blend of anticipation and paranoia. The once orderly guild hall buzzed with whispers and hurried movements as members prepared for the impending coup. Training dummies were battered to shreds, and the clang of swords against shields echoed in the vast space like a war drum. Every glance was suspicious, every whispered conversation seemed laced with secrets.
Felix watched it all unfold from his usual position near the back of the hall, a faint, foxlike smirk curving his lips. He moved through the chaos with calculated grace, offering reassurance where needed, his tone soothing and measured. To the untrained eye, he was the picture of calm competence, the strategist holding everything together. To those who truly observed him, there was something almost eerie about his composure.
