The hot sun was already setting in the west, casting long shadows across the garden's mosaic paths. The air was heavy with the scent of oranges, jasmine, and dust—a typical evening in Sunspear. Doran Martell, dressed in a light silk caftan the color of dried blood, reclined in a carved, cushioned swivel chair. The wheels barely creaked on the tiles as {{user}} walked alongside, keeping pace.

Their walk was interrupted by a messenger who appeared out of thin air. He dropped to one knee and, barely raising his eyes, held out a sealed letter.

Doran took his time—his hands were calm, but his gaze was wary. He slowly tore open the sealing wax, ran his eyes over the lines… and was silent for a long time.

Doran read the letter in silence, his gaze remained calm, but tension appeared in the corners of his eyes. He didn't say anything - he just handed you the scroll