Several months before the meeting in Room 302.
The Tower of Babel stood at the heart of Dawnshroud like a giant needle piercing the heavens. From its peak, the entire city looked like a sprawling miniature—red roofs, winding streets, and a small river shimmering under the morning sun. In the distance, the eastern mountains loomed with peaks shrouded in eternal snow, acting as a natural barrier between Eastmarch and the Draconian Empire.
In her private study on the highest floor of the tower, Duchess Clarissa sat composed. The large window behind her allowed the morning light to flood in, illuminating her long silver hair and the deep blue silk gown she wore. Before her, a piece of parchment with a red wax seal—the official stamp of the Kingdom of Aethelgard—lay open on the blackwood desk.
