Late into the night, the sky was littered with stars, scattered like fragments of glass across vast darkness. A soft wind stirred the air, brushing through the towers of the palace like a whisper.
Thalos stood on the balcony of his private quarters, one hand curled loosely around a crystal glass of whiskey, the other resting against the cool glass railing. His gaze swept the night sky, not in admiration, but in apathy. He drank like he was trying to taste silence.
Behind him, the sound of a door opening broke the stillness, followed by soft, measured footsteps.
Thalos didn't move. Didn't acknowledge them. He simply tipped back the rest of his drink and let the quiet stretch.
"Your Majesty," Lycien said, stopping a few paces behind him, "All intelligence regarding the Kingdom of Elarithe has been compiled and delivered. Would you like to review it now?"
Thalos didn't reply, turn, or acknowledge him. Still, Lycien waited patiently, and after two minutes, Thalos finally spoke.
