The room was dark. The only weak light came from four candles placed at the corners of each room. Eight men sat around a long wooden table placed at the center of the room. Its surface was bare but scarred with knife marks and old stains. The men looked aged. The youngest looked to be around forty. The oldest was closer to eighty.

Some spoke in low voices. Careful words that were hard to make out. Some leaned back, watching quietly and waiting. They had been waiting for nearly an hour.

The door opened, and the creaking sound cut through their murmurs. All eyes turned towards the door.

Azhren stepped in first. His posture was straight, his expression neutral. He moved aside slightly for Draven to walk in.

A smirk was on Draven’s face as he walked to the head of the table and pulled out a chair. He did not sit immediately. He looked at each man in turn.

Azhren closed the door and walked further into the room. He stood close to Draven’s chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Sorry for the delay, great men," Draven said, his voice polite and almost friendly. He sat down.

The men exchanged brief looks. The oldest man at the table spoke. He had white hair and a beard that reached his chest. His eyes were pale blue and still sharp

"Why have you called us here at this hour? What is so important that it cannot wait for daylight?"

Draven rested his arm on the table. "Do not be in such haste, Elder Garrow. We will get to it." He replied.

The older man’s expression tightened slightly, but he said nothing.

Draven pointed at the men around the table. His finger moved from face to face.

"I know who you all are, loyal men of Zareth—strong men of Drakwyne. You have served him for decades. Some of you since the beginning." He paused. "In fact," Draven continued. "A few of you were there when Zareth took power. And some of you helped him overthrow the old lord of Drakwyne. You fought beside him and put him on the throne."

Some of the men exchanged glances. A few of them shifted in their seats. No one spoke to deny the claims.

Draven stood up from his chair. He put his hands behind his back and began to walk slowly around the table.

"I will be straightforward with you, great men of Drakwyne." He said.

No one interrupted him.

"I did not call you here to waste your time. I called you here because I want something from you."

"And what do you want from us?" Elder Garrow asked.

"I want you to do for me what you did for Zareth decades ago." He blurted.

The words settled heavily in the room. The men looked at each other.

A man in his late sixties cleared his throat. He was a small man with thin grey hair and heavy jowls.

"What exactly do you mean by that?" Elder Glendon asked.

Draven continued walking. Now, his fingers traced the back of each chair as he passed. The wood was old and rough under his fingertips.

"I am asking for your support." He answered. "I am aware that most of you desire to have Zareth step down from the throne. He has ruled for too long. And with his known plans to become immortal, you would have no chance at all. No power. No position. No future. You would serve him until the day you die, and your children would serve him forever, and your grandchildren would serve him as well. Is that what you want?" He asked.

No one answered.

Draven stopped walking. He put both hands on the back of an empty chair.

"I am offering you a way out. A chance to change that. A chance to put someone else on the throne. Someone who will not live forever. Someone who will eventually step aside and let the next generation take over. All I need is your support in my plans."

One of the men stood up suddenly. He was large, with a heavy build and a portly belly. His big eyes bulged slightly from his face. His expression was filled with anger.

He pointed his finger at Draven. "This is nonsense! You call us here for this?!" He demanded. His voice was loud in the quiet room. "You are a fool! You are nothing but Zareth’s toy! A little dog running after his master." He let out a rough laugh. "And you think we will betray him for you? What guts do you have to speak like this?" He spat on the floor.

"I regret coming here to this meeting. I regret sitting at this table and listening to your nonsense. I am leaving now. And I am going straight to the Dark Lord. I will tell him every word you have said." He turned toward the others. "If you come with me this minute, we can all protect ourselves from the Dark Lord’s wrath."

No one said anything.

Draven’s eyes went cold. "What about my wrath?"

Elder Glendon scoffed. "Traitors!" He pointed at the other men. "You can do nothing!" He said to Draven. He pushed back his chair and turned toward the door.

"Elder Glendon, if you want to leave, I will not stop you, but don’t tell Zareth about this meeting," Draven said.

Glendon stopped but did not turn. "I don’t take orders from you." He continued walking towards the door.

Glendon was three steps to the door when Draven moved.

Before Glendon could reach the handle, Draven appeared behind him. His hands reached out and grabbed Elder Glendon’s head. He tried to turn, but his movement followed a quick twist—a loud and shrill sound of breaking bones. Elder Glendon’s body went still. Draven held him up for a moment before his claws retracted and pushed into his skin. There was a wet, tearing sound as the head came off. Blood poured from the neck and splashed onto the door and floor.

The men froze. Fear showed on their faces.