The war room of Aethelgard was completely silent, save for the crackling of the fireplace and the heavy, anxious breathing of the royal ministers.
Spread across the massive oak table was a nautical map of the Crimson Sea, the vast ocean separating their continent from the Eastern Empire. Sylas Thorne stood at the edge of the table, his usually composed expression tight with genuine concern as he placed dozens of tiny wooden ship markers across the map.
"Our coastal scouts confirmed it an hour ago, My Queen," Sylas reported, his voice low. "The Eastern Emperor has mobilized the Grand Armada. We are looking at an estimated one thousand warships, carrying over three hundred thousand fully armored marines and their elite battle-mages."
A collective gasp echoed through the room. Old Marquess Sterling collapsed into his chair, his face entirely drained of blood.
