A week can feel like an eternity when the world outside is actively tearing itself apart.
Within the shimmering, rune-etched bubble of the Steele Territory, however, time flowed differently. The immediate, clawing fear of demonic annihilation had receded, replaced by the steady hum of preparation, consolidation, and burgeoning power.
The initial shock of the royal refugees' arrival had settled. The Sunken Pearl Estate, once just a name whispered with implication, was now a functioning reality – a luxurious, isolated enclave housing the remnants of Eloriath's female royalty.
Outside, the kingdom bled. Reports, fragmented and often contradictory, painted a horrifying picture. Ingranad's forces, spearheaded by the corrupted heroes, had swept across the land like a pestilence. Nearly half of Eloriath was now firmly under demonic dominion – blasted landscapes, enslaved populations, cities turned into charnel houses.
The remaining territory was a fractured mess.
