The sun crept higher into the morning sky, illuminating Winter's Crown with its golden light. The city bustled with the sounds of life—merchants shouting prices in the streets, smiths hammering metal in their forges, and children running between stalls. From the high windows of the palace, it looked like peace had settled over the capital, but Damien knew better.
He stood at the edge of the council chamber, his steel-gray eyes staring out over the sprawling city below. On the surface, all seemed well, yet beneath it, he could feel the unrest lingering like a shadow. The echoes of Elyas's rebellion were still in the air, carried in the whispers of soldiers and in the guarded glances of merchants who didn't quite trust that peace would last.
