The great hall of the mountain keep was carved from stone older than memory, its walls rising like the bones of the world. Torches crackled in iron sconces, their flames casting long shadows that flickered across banners dyed crimson and gold. A fire roared in the central hearth, the scent of pine resin and smoke curling through the cavernous chamber. The air itself carried a weight, heavy with the eyes of chieftains, warlords, and elders seated in stern silence upon benches of oak and stone.

At the far end of the hall, upon a dais draped in wolf pelts, sat the Heir to Be. A man of immense stature, his frame broad as the carved pillars supporting the hall, his gaze steady as a mountain storm. His presence was a force unto itself, a reminder that this hall was not merely a place of diplomacy, but of strength and conquest.

And then, the doors opened.

From the hush of the corridor, the warrior-maidens of Aeloria stepped forth. They moved in measured grace, their silken gowns flowing like mist across the stone floor, each hem embroidered with threads of moonlight. Jewels glimmered faintly at their throats, and their pointed ears caught the firelight as though shaped of crystal. Each maiden carried herself with poise, as though the hall itself were no more daunting than the courts of their woodland home.

Behind them drifted the faint sound of silver bells and harp strings, echoing their heritage, so delicate in contrast to the thunder of war drums that had filled the hall earlier. It was as though moonlight itself had entered a world of stone and fire.

Yet among them, one figure stood apart....