Solaria Royal Guild Headquarters - Chief's Office.
The atmosphere in the richly appointed office was thick enough to choke on. The heavy oak desk, the plush sofa, the tactical maps on the wall—all seemed to press in under the weight of the news. Three people occupied the space, the air crackling with tension.
Chief Koff, a mountain of a man with a build forged by decades of combat, sat behind his desk. A worn leather patch covered his left eye, a testament to the very dangers he now spoke of. His face, usually a landscape of stern confidence, was etched with deep lines of regret and frustration.
Across from him, perched on the edge of the sofa as if ready to spring into action, was Resmond. The knight's handsome features were pale, his blonde hair disheveled. His hands, clad in fine leather gloves, were clenched into white-knuckled fists on his knees. He looked utterly heartbroken, but his grief was rapidly giving way to a furious search for the truth.
