Your fingers uncurl from the railing as you turn toward the dimly lit halls of the castle. The air inside is thick with the scent of aged wine and old parchment. With a single gesture, you summon your personal guard—an imposing figure clad in black armor, his crimson eyes glowing faintly beneath his helm. He kneels before you, awaiting orders. "Prepare the council chamber," you command, your voice low and measured. "Ensure the sigils are lit. I will not have them question my authority."

The guard bows deeply before rising to carry out your will, his heavy footsteps echoing down the stone corridor. Left alone, you glance once more at the raven. Its presence is an intrusion, a reminder of the Blood Court's ever-watchful gaze. With a flick of your wrist, you untie the message and unfurl the delicate parchment. The script is elegant, deliberate—an invitation, or perhaps a summons. The Blood Court requests your presence before next moonrise. The raven caws softly, as if to emphasize the urgency.

Your advisor lingers nearby, his expression unreadable. "They move quickly," he murmurs. "Too quickly." His gnarled fingers twist around the handle of his cane. "The council will not take kindly to distractions." You crumple the parchment in your fist, the paper disintegrating into ash between your fingers. The raven takes flight, vanishing into the night. "Let them wait," you reply. "I have other matters to attend to first."