The morning fog of Trigia still clung to the jagged towers of Valbara's ruined palace as the last creaking wagons rolled into the main courtyard. The Ael'Vurin, cloaked in the long robes gifted by Duke Etien, stood stiff and silent, staring at the grandeur laid bare before them. This castle wasn't just stone, it breathed history older than any human civilization.
Void, clutching a scroll in one hand, stood atop the winding marble steps, having led them through the shattered gates of what was once the ruling seat of half the continent of Orvaleth.
"Alright, listen up," he finally said, his voice breaking the heavy silence. Glen had left them here, and now the burden of shepherding the silver wolf clans fell squarely on Void's shoulders. He hated it, but duty chained him to the twisted tower that had once belonged to the last prince of the dragonborn.
