The grand study in Rodell's manor was a manifestation of elegance amid the kingdom's rugged borderlands. High ceilings arched with wooden beams carved in intricate human motifs—dragons entwined with swords, symbols of power and vigilance. The air carried the rich scent of aged leather from the bookshelves lining the walls, mingled with the faint smokiness of beeswax candles flickering in silver holders. A massive oak desk dominated the room, cluttered with maps rolled like ancient scrolls, ink pots with quills still dripping, and sealed letters bearing wax stamps from distant allies. Rodell sat in a high-backed chair upholstered in deep crimson velvet, his fingers drumming on the armrest as he stared out the leaded window at the rolling hills beyond. The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden hue over the landscape, but his mind was elsewhere. A knock echoed informing him of someone's presence.
"Enter," Rodell called, his voice smooth as polished steel.
