The Wife Who Walked Through Silence
The War Council Room was a museum of ghosts.
Every wall bore fragments of memory—paintings of soldiers locked in their final stands, banners faded to gray, and portraits of generals whose eyes still seemed to burn with defiance. Swords hung crossed above the hearth, their metal worn but still sharp, gleaming faintly under the candlelight. Spears, shields, and broken relics from old wars lined the chamber like sentinels of another age.
At the center stood a long table of ancient oak, heavy and scarred from generations of strategy and bloodshed. Scrolls lay scattered across it, maps half-unrolled, wax seals cracked open. The air was thick with the smell of parchment, ink, and the faint trace of iron from the relic weapons around him.
