The hall was filled with the low murmur of voices, a quiet storm of tension brewing beneath the surface. Every warlord, every commander of Hull who had sworn loyalty to my father, was seated at the long wooden table that stretched through the center of the council chamber. Their faces were grim, their expressions unreadable.
Lucian stood beside me, silent but imposing, his presence alone enough to shift the air in the room. He had always been a man of few words, but tonight, his watchful gaze spoke volumes. He was assessing, just as I was. We both knew that what happened here would decide the future of Hull. And in turn, the course of the war.
My father sat at the head of the table, his broad shoulders squared, his gaze sharp as steel.
"We all know why we're here," he said, his voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade. "The time has come for Hull to decide. Do we stand with Praylor? Or do we stand alone?"
