Final Gate of Hell
The giant obsidian doors creaked open. One by one, the Dragon Elders stepped into the hall with calm, regal steps. Their robes flowed like ancient fire, and behind them, heat shimmered in the air.
Azreal sat high on his blackstone throne, flames dancing quietly behind him. The moment they stepped in, the elders all bowed low.
"Good day, Lord Azreal," they said in perfect unison.
Azreal gave a small nod, resting his chin on his hand. "It's been a while," he said, his voice deep and cold.
The elders took their seats on either side, their expressions unreadable.
"What brings you all here? Is there a problem?"
Elder Zyronax was the first to speak, stroking his long beard. "No problem, Lord Azreal. We're simply here to discuss your... recent decisions."
Azreal raised an eyebrow. "Which one? I've made quite a few."
Elder Vaelith leaned forward. "We speak of your actions concerning the girl with the God's Mark."
Azreal's eyes narrowed slightly.
