The candles in the hallway flicker as you stride toward the armory, your cloak billowing behind you. The captain of the guard—a towering woman with silver-streaked black hair and a scar running from brow to chin—stands at attention as you enter. The armory is lined with gleaming weapons, their edges honed to perfection, but her gaze remains fixed on you, unwavering. You dismiss the other guards with a single glance, and they scatter like shadows before dawn.

Once alone, the captain exhales sharply. "You summoned me, my prince." Her voice is rough, tempered by decades of service. You study her, noting the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers twitch toward the hilt of her sword. She is loyal, but not blind. "The Blood Court has sent word," you say, watching her reaction carefully. Her jaw tightens, but she gives nothing else away. "I assume you have thoughts on the matter."

She hesitates, then steps closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "The court has no love for our city. If they call you now, it is not for tea and pleasantries." A muscle in her neck jumps. "They will test you. Or worse." You tilt your head, considering. The captain has never been one for diplomacy, but her instincts are sharp as a blade. "And if I refuse their summons?" you ask, already knowing the answer. Her lips curl into a grim smile. "Then we prepare for war."