In the throne room of the Velkar royal palace, a man knelt before the high dais. Seated above him, cloaked in deep crimson robes, was none other than King Malrik himself.
"Why did you return alone? Where is Zachariah? And what about the mission?"
Malrik's voice was calm—but laced with expectation and doubt.
The kneeling man's voice trembled as he answered, "My king, they were sending regular updates each morning. Yesterday, they followed the usual schedule. But this morning, nothing. I tried communicating through the magical scrolls. No response."
Malrik frowned. "And?"
"I… I believe something's happened to them. I fear they've been caught in foreign territory."
CRACK!
King Malrik's voice thundered across the chamber. "What?!"
The royal court fell silent.
"Useless," Malrik spat. "He was so confident in his plan. So proud of his 'flawless strategy.' And now this?"
The man's head sank lower. "My king… what should we do? Should we send someone else to track them down?"
