[Third Person].
The night before the war was quieter than expected.
The palace, though fully aware of what awaited at dawn, did not fall into chaos. Instead, it settled into a strange calm, as though everyone had reached the same unspoken understanding—there was nothing more to prepare, nothing more to delay.
Only to face what was coming.
In one of the private sitting rooms, Meredith and Draven sat across from each other, a map spread between them. The candles burned low, their light steady, casting soft shadows across the table.
They had already gone over the formations twice. Yet neither of them moved to roll the map away.
"If the eastern flank collapses," Meredith said, her finger resting lightly on the marked terrain, "they will push inward from here."
Draven followed her indication. "Jeffery's unit is there. He won't let it break easily."
"He won't," Meredith agreed, "but if they're targeting me, they might not need to."
