The heavy oak double doors of my private study clicked shut behind Lord Malakor as he departed with the final batch of evening dispatches. The room fell into a deep, unhurried silence, save for the steady, comforting crackle of a small wood fire burning in the hearth and the pale moonlight casting long, silver rectangles across the polished ebony floorboards.
There were one hundred and forty-three chapters remaining in the grand arc of our chronicle—one hundred and forty-three structural milestones of peace, institutional evolution, and regional harmony stretching toward the ultimate horizon of our era. But tonight, the vast ledgers of the Neutral Alliance were closed, and the complex machinery of continental governance rested entirely on its own unbreakable momentum.
I stood by the tall
