I step into Aerynthar's temporary guest quarters, the smell of aged parchment and Elvanyr ink filling the room. He's hunched over a desk, his silhouette elegant but stiff with tension.
"Brother! I need your help!" I say, my voice urgent.
He lets out a long, weary sigh, the sound of a man who hasn't slept properly in days. He slowly puts down his quill and turns his chair to face me. "It seems you have finally realized that your method was... controversial, to say the least."
"Yes. And I've realized that delaying today's treaty was a massive setback for both the Empire and the Dominion," I admit, choosing my words with clinical precision.
Aerynthar's eyes sharpen, flickering over my face like a hawk's. He's always been the most perceptive among us—did he notice that I specifically admitted the delay was a mistake, but didn't say a single word about my kingdom-building dream being a fireback?
A slow, knowing smirk tugs at his lips. He definitely noticed.
