Somewhere within the vast expanse of Mid-Sector 402—
Step... Step...
A weathered man, appearing to be in his late forties, walked through the wide open doors of the great hall. At first glance, he resembled a human, but his ashen-gray skin hinted at something else—something not quite of Earth. His nose was nothing more than two narrow slits etched into his face.
His steps were measured and deliberate, but his eyes... his eyes were heavy with defeat, fractured by fear. And when he finally came to stand before the only other person present in the hall, he opened his dry, trembling lips and spoke in a low, hoarse voice:
"We've lost the Northern Fields, Father."
"...."
The man he addressed bore a striking resemblance to him—clearly his father—but age had ravaged the elder's body. By the standards of mortal men, he seemed well past ninety, though the weight in his posture told of a soul far older and wearier than his physical shell.
