The room was dimly lit, creating a rather cozy atmosphere, illuminated by a few lanterns and the blue glow of a large communication artifact at the center of the large war table. Unlike the portable one I had, this one was embedded into the middle of the table itself. Vargis stood at the head of the aforementioned table with his arms crossed. Beside him were his two sons.
Darius, the first prince, was a towering warrior with scars marking his body like trophies, his expression always set in a grim scowl, greatly resembling his father.
Fenrik, the second prince, was slightly leaner and sharper-eyed, striking me as more of a tactician than a purebred warrior.
The trio were locked in discussion, their gazes fixed on the glowing artifact, from which a voice came through—a deep, commanding tone belonging to none other than Maelstrom, the Vesper Consortium's army general.
