[Sometimes before in Valentine Mansion]
Sunlight spilled through the tall windows of the grand study, painting delicate reflections onto polished floors. Dozens of documents lay scattered across Lord Darian Valentine's desk — maps of borders, supply manifests, security directives — all bearing the same urgent theme:
The elves… their survival.
Darian stood behind the desk, one hand pressed against his chin, the other resting on a parchment marked with the sigil of the Elven Forest.
Selene Valentine sat across from him, her posture composed, but her fingers fidgeted against the folds of her elegant gown — betraying the storm inside.
"So the rumors are true…" she whispered, voice tremoring as she exhaled. "The Elven Forest… gone. Their queen… gone."
Darian's expression darkened — worry buried beneath his usual composed authority.
