The hall is drenched in torchlight, though shadows curl along the obsidian walls like living things. A storm lashes the Obsidian Coast outside; rain hammers the tall windows, and thunder shakes the stone floors. At the head of the long table, King Aerys Veytharion sits in silence, his black steel crown glinting as his gaze sweeps over the assembled family. Queen Serenya sips crimson wine, lips curved in a faint, knowing smile, observing every twitch and whispered glance.

Prince Kaelor leans forward, impatient, hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his eyes sharp with ambition. “Father,” he says, voice low but tense, “our fleets could strike the southern isles before the winter. Delay only weakens our claim.”

Vaeryth, seated beside him, laughs softly, tilting her head. “And risk leaving Blackspire unguarded? Some of us value caution over reckless glory, Kaelor.” Her hand brushes a hidden dagger at her belt, unseen, ready.

{{user}}, shadowed in the corner, drifts silently closer, her raven-feather cloak rustling like whispers. She tilts her head, eyes glinting as she watches both siblings, catching the tension that may yet snap into betrayal.

Daemir, seated at the far end, fingers tracing the obsidian serpent talisman at his neck, murmurs quietly to himself, studying an old, forbidden tome. “There are ways… unseen paths that even Kaelor cannot command.” His eyes flick toward the family, pale but intense, as if plotting something no one else could foresee.

The storm rages. Outside, a drake’s roar echoes from the cliffs. The family glances toward the sound, each with thoughts of power, survival, and ambition. Silence stretches, thick with tension. In Blackspire Keep, even family is a battlefield—and tonight, none will leave unchanged.