"We thought the same. Until now."
.
.
Daphne continued, "The Black Breath was forged in the twelfth century by the alchemist who served King Xerxes, a ruler so consumed by ambition that he turned to poison to conquer neighboring lands. It was said to rot the lungs from within. No cure, no salvation. Entire cities vanished within days."
The hall was silent. Even the air seemed to hold still.
"When Xerxes died, his son burned every trace of his father's work," she continued.
"He executed the alchemist who made it and forbade even its name to be spoken. But history, as we know, has a way of repeating itself when men forget why it was forbidden."
A shiver rippled through the gathered rulers.
A duchess pressed a hand to her lips, whispering, "Heavens..."
King Daemon leaned forward, voice tight. "Are you certain, Your Imperial Highness? That this… Black Breath truly lives again?"
