The words hung in the air.
"We need to discuss a very serious problem."
King Alveron IV's voice was low, measured—but beneath it simmered something colder than the sea below. His crimson eyes locked onto Deyrion Neral across the table, unblinking.
The King of Velmora leaned back slightly, hands resting calmly on the arms of his seat. His expression remained unreadable—black horns gleaming faintly in the dim light.
"Speak, Alveron IV," Deyrion said smoothly. "I will listen."
Alveron's fingers drummed once against the hilt of the sword before him—a subtle, deliberate gesture.
Then he spoke.
"A demon operated freely within my lands. Within the walls of my academy. And beyond." His gaze sharpened. "Kaelith Drosen, or his public identity Profesor Lereus."
Deyrion's eyes narrowed a fraction. He said nothing.
Alveron continued.
