The council chamber was colder than usual.
Malvoria hadn't noticed it when she entered her focus was too sharp, her mind too full. But now, standing at the head of the obsidian table, flanked by her generals, spies, and advisors, she felt the chill seeping into the stone. It wasn't the temperature.
It was the silence.
The kind of silence that came before the strike of a blade.
Six high-ranking figures surrounded the table. All were demons, each carved by power, magic, and years of bloody history.
General Varynth, towering and horned, with a reputation for setting battlefields aflame with his breath alone.
High Strategist Kaella, thin and unyielding, with ink-stained hands and an uncanny ability to plan wars down to the heartbeat.
And beside them, her spymaster Ilrien, draped in shadows as if they obeyed him and three others who had served her faithfully through campaigns and attempted coups alike.
And all of them looked at her with a single shared expression.
Dread.
