*Three Hours Before the Bell Rang*
The air in the Lionhart Secret Chamber was dead. No circulation, no dust, no scent—just an ancient, sterile stillness that promised finality. Roman, Patriarch of the Lionhart family, was already there, kneeling shirtless on the cold stone floor. His muscles were rigid, his shoulders broad. He looked like a man in his late fifties, handsome and powerful, but his true age was well into the seventies. His eyes, a chilling, glacial blue, were fixed on the opening door.
Seven figures entered.
They were old. Impossibly old. Each looked frail, skin like ancient parchment stretched over thin bone, but the aura they carried was a crushing, silent weight. These were the Seven Grand Elders of the Lionhart, men who preceded his father, men whose true age and history were mysteries Roman had never dared to pierce.
