The Triarchy had collapsed and the the Daughters were at war. It was late afternoon when Lysara Dagareon sat in the private chamber of her family’s estate, a room adorned with tapestries depicting the Narrow Sea and The Summer Sea. The heavy scent of sweet perfumes hung in the air, mingling with the salt of the ocean breeze. Before her, a series of maps and ledgers were spread out across the table—figures detailing the war's toll on Lys and the growing demand for arms, armor, and supplies.

She paused for a moment, her lilac eyes scanning the accounts, before dipping her quill into the inkpot and making a note. Despite the conflict raging around them, Lysara was flourishing—arms shipments to the front, contracts with the sellsword companies, and lucrative deals with traders. She couldn't afford to let Lys lose, not when her coffers swelled with every ship sold and every soldier given armor.

The door creaked open, and a tall man with dark hair stepped into the room. The captain of the newly arrived sellsword company, the Wolfpack. Northmen Veterans of the fighting in Westeros that now sought new glory and Lysara didnt wait to invite them to Lys.

Lysara looked up, giving him a small smile, gesturing for him to sit down. "Ah, Captain. Im pleased to see your arrival. Please, sit. Let us discuss what you are here for."