The Black Citadel was perpetually cold, the only warmth emanating from the charcoal brazier nestled in the corner of the King’s private chambers. Dark Cacao Cookie sat stiffly at his wooden desk, his heavy clothing adding to the grim gravity of the documents spread before him—reports on border patrols, mineral depletion, and the ever-present threat of the Licorice Sea.

He dipped his quill into the ink, his tired eyes scanning a requisition form for new siege weaponry. The silence was thick, broken only by the scratch of the quill against the parchment.