The grand hall of the Spire thrummed with a heavy, expectant silence. Crystal chandeliers swayed gently overhead, casting fractured light across the marble floor where the gathered nobles, bound by ancient oaths and darker pacts, waited in tense anticipation.
Aiden stood at the center of the raised dais, his once-imposing frame now marked by faint, glowing fractures that spiderwebbed across his skin like cracks in porcelain.
The power he had claimed here had come at a cost, one that grew heavier with every passing night.
Tonight would be the last.
He raised his hand, and the murmurs died instantly. Isolde stood beside him, her posture straight but her eyes carrying the weight of months spent in this gilded cage.
She wore a simple white gown that shimmered under the lights, a stark contrast to the opulent silks and jewels the others displayed. Aiden's voice echoed through the hall, deep and commanding.
