The atmosphere in Verathia was heavy with tension, the kind that settled like a storm cloud over the kingdom, darkening the hearts of its people. Whispers of discontent spread like wildfire through the streets, a palpable fear clinging to the air. In the shadowy corners of the palace, factions were forming, allies were gathering, and loyalties were being tested.
Elara stood at the window of her chamber, gazing out at the sprawling gardens below. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a golden hue across the palace, yet her heart felt heavy with the weight of impending conflict. She had gathered her allies, and they were united in their purpose, but the thought of facing Alistair filled her with an unease she could not shake.
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