Giovanni
The heavy oak doors of the War Room swung open with a groan, the scent of iron and old parchment greeting us as Aaron and I stepped inside.
Torches flared on the walls, their golden light dancing across polished stone and maps stretched wide across the center table.
Commanders, generals, and emissaries stood at attention, murmuring anxiously amongst themselves as we entered.
Their eyes turned toward us the moment we crossed the threshold.
“Your Highnesses,” Commander Thorne bowed low, his dark gray uniform crisp, his sword at his side.
“Report,” Aaron said sharply, his voice clipped, all traces of the softness he had shown with Darya moments ago completely vanished.
The man straightened, gesturing to a younger patrol scout who stepped forward. He looked barely out of ado
