The capital of Eloriath, Eryndral, loomed on the horizon as Alaric Steele approached it, his gaze unwavering and focused. The sprawling city, with its towering spires and bustling streets, symbolized the heart of the kingdom.
The grandeur of the city did little to disguise the tension that lingered in the air, the whisper of danger just beyond the horizon. But Alaric's purpose was clear. He was here to assist, to offer his magical prowess to the King's cause, but deep within, his own ambitions smoldered like a quiet fire, just waiting to ignite.
He entered the city gates with little fanfare, his entourage of maids and servants trailing behind him. His presence wasn't yet a matter of overwhelming importance, despite the royal summons. He was, after all, only a young heir to the Steele Family, not its head. His reputation as a talented mage had spread, but it was his loyalty and strategic importance to the Kingdom that had earned him this summons, not his birthright.
