King Lucien stood by the desk in his study, the low fire casting shadows across the blackwood shelves. Scrolls lay open before him, their seals broken, their contents troubling.
Alaric stood opposite the desk, hands clasped behind his back. He had served the crown for centuries, yet the tension in the room told him this matter was no ordinary report.
"The rogues are moving faster than expected," Alaric said. "They've begun organizing, not just attacking. Humans are disappearing, not just dying."
Lucien's expression hardened. "They are building something."
"Yes," Alaric replied. "And if they succeed, they won't stop at villages."
Lucien turned slowly, his crimson gaze sharp. "Then we will not wait for them to come to us."
Silence settled between them—heavy, deliberate.
"Double the patrols," Lucien said. "Quietly. I want eyes everywhere."
Alaric inclined his head. "And the servants?"
