The sound of footsteps echoed through the imposing corridors of the palace as Evelyn led them with determination. Each step took them closer to the Royal Chamber - the most sacred place in all of Sylvandor. There, Queen Frieren, Evelyn's mother, remained in a state between life and death, her essence sustaining what remained of the kingdom's spiritual balance.
But as soon as they approached the huge silver and white oak gates of the Chamber, a row of elves in ceremonial robes was already waiting for them. The elders of the Council, guardians of the traditions, all with stern faces and eyes full of suspicion, formed a silent wall in front of them.
"Evelyn," said the head elder, a silver-haired, sharp-eyed elf called Caerwyn, "you know that entry to this shrine is forbidden to anyone who is not of royal blood."
His eyes slid coldly over Strax and his wives, with a clear note of contempt. "And certainly not to armed foreigners and... creatures of an uncertain nature."
