The grand halls of the Council Chamber loomed before King Aldric of Elkia as he strode forward, his steps measured but firm. Towering marble pillars lined the vast corridor, their silver veins shimmering under the flickering glow of enchanted sconces. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and polished oak, mingling with the faint aroma of burning resin from ceremonial braziers.

Beside him, Court Sage Ruith walked in silence, his deep violet robes whispering against the stone floor like a ghostly breeze. He was one of the kingdom's most revered scholars, yet even he carried an unspoken weight in his stride.

Ahead, Chancellor Oredin stood waiting at the massive entrance to the Council Chamber. His posture was sturdy, yet there was a slight tension in his stance—one that did not go unnoticed by King Aldric. 

As the King approached, Oredin bowed deeply.

"Your Majesty," he said, his voice low and steady. "The Five Lords have arrived and await your presence."

King Aldric nodded curtly. "And the Oracle?" His tone was calm but sharp.

Oredin hesitated for just a fraction of a second. "Oracle Arisenna is en route with the Scholars. She insisted on completing her vision records before attending."

Aldric exhaled slowly through his nose. He did not allow himself to show irritation, but the delay was another unwelcome complication.

"We'll begin without delay."

With that, he stepped forward and pushed open the heavy doors to the Council Chamber.

The chamber was vast and circular, its high ceiling adorned with a celestial mosaic depicting the Divine Spirits of the Firstborn. These beings, long revered as the wisest in all of Einivall, watched over the room from above.

Beneath them stood a massive round table of dark ironwood, its surface engraved with intricate runes—symbols of unity and authority. Seated around it were the rulers of Einivall's great nations. Though each bore the weight of their people's hopes, the air between them cracked with tension.

At the table's left sat Queen Lysara of the Elven Dominion. Her emerald eyes gleamed with quiet calculation as she adjusted the flowing forest-silk robes draped over her frame. Golden embroidery shaped like winding vines adorned the fabric, a symbol of the elves' deep connection to nature. She was beautiful, yet she had a sharpness—like a blade hidden beneath silk.

Next to her, Emperor Thorgar of the Werebeast Clans leaned back in his chair, thick arms crossed over his chest. His silver mane was bound into war braids, and his piercing amber eyes burned with impatience. The werebeasts valued strength above all, and Thorgar did not attempt to hide his disdain for diplomacy.

Across from him, Lord Grundvik of the Dwarven Strongholds drummed his fingers against the table, his braided beard adorned with golden rings that clinked softly as he moved. His people prided themselves on their unyielding resilience, yet today, even he—a king who had outlasted the shifting of mountains—bore a troubled expression.

Beside Grundvik sat King Vaelthorn of the Darklands, clad in magnificent shadow-steel armor. Its surface shimmered with ominous sigils, each pulse of dark energy a reminder of the power he commanded. His crimson eyes observed the room with quiet intensity, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. The Darklands had always been an enigma, their true allegiances unreadable.

Finally, Queen Ashara of the Sandtowns sat cloaked in layers of flowing desert silk, her face hidden behind a translucent veil. Only her piercing violet eyes were visible, scanning the room with an unreadable expression. Her people were masters of trade and survival, yet they were not untouched by the growing chaos.

As King Aldric sat at the head of the table, his voice cut through the silence like a blade.

"I give my utmost gratitude to the rulers of Einivall for assembling here today. Let us begin. I will not waste words—our world stands at the brink of ruin. The seal binding Nalkibik has weakened. I seek counsel from each of you so that Einivall may reach a unified resolution."

A murmur rippled through the chamber.

Emperor Thorgar exhaled sharply, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. "King Aldric of the Human Kingdom, your people have long been pioneers in advancing mystic arts. Have you found no way to repair this seal?"

Aldric closed his eyes briefly, his jaw tightening. "If there were a way to restore the seal, we would have done so already." His voice was steady, but the weight behind his words was unmistakable. "Unfortunately, this is not a simple fracture—it is something far worse. Our court sage, Ruith, will explain further."

Ruith stepped forward, his violet robes shifting as he met the gathered rulers' gazes. His tone was firm, unwavering.

"Your Majesties," he began, "repairing a seal meant to bind a single entity is possible. We have done so with lesser threats countless times. But this is different." His eyes swept across the room. "The seal that binds Nalkibik was not forged by mortals. It was created by the very essence of the four firstborns of divine spirits. Their power is beyond our comprehension. What we are witnessing is not merely a fracture—it is a force actively unraveling it."

A heavy silence followed.

Lord Grundvik scowled, his thick fingers tapping against the table. "You're telling us that with all humanity's advancements in mystic arts, you have no solution?"

King Aldric exhaled. "I speak on behalf of all humanity when I say—we have tried. That is why I called this council. If there is a path forward, it must come from all corners of Einivall."

Queen Lysara tilted her head, a smirk playing at her lips. "So even the race known for its reckless ambition finds itself powerless? Regrettable." Queen Lysara sighed. "Unfortunately, the elves have no answers either. Our methods adhere to purity, not the... unchecked experimentation favored by humans."

Lord Grundvik gritted his teeth. "Damn it! And now my kingdom suffers. The tunnels shake, new chasms form, and our forges falter. If this continues, our very foundations will collapse!"

Queen Lysara nodded, her expression darkening. "It is not just the dwarves. Monsters thought long extinct have begun appearing in my forests. The balance of nature is breaking."

Queen Ashara finally spoke, her voice smooth yet edged with concern. "The Sandtowns are no different. Monsters grow bolder. Adventurers fall in increasing numbers. If this worsens, entire settlements may need to be abandoned."

Another silence fell, thick and suffocating.

Then, King Vaelthorn exhaled sharply. "If we're listing disasters, then know this—the Abyssal Rift, which has remained stable for centuries, is growing unstable." His crimson eyes darkened. "And we all know what lurks in the Rift's depths, don't we?"

Even the most hardened rulers could not suppress the unease creeping into their bones. The Abyssal Rift—a tear in reality itself—had once nearly drowned Einivall in darkness. If it was breaking, then the end was closer than they had feared.

Just then, the chamber doors swung open. A gust of air followed as Princess Arisenna entered, flanked by two robed scholars. Her platinum hair cascaded down her back like liquid moonlight, and her silver eyes shimmered with an otherworldly focus.

King Aldric's gaze locked onto her.

"Oracle." His voice was steady, but the weight behind it was unmistakable. "Tell us—does your vision bring hope or despair?"