Sanctuary: Safe Haven

The room, an opulent chamber adorned with rich tapestries and a grand table at its center, was now filled with an uneasy silence.

The guards dragged the lifeless body of the messenger out, the metallic scent of blood still hanging in the air. The nobles and key figures of Arenthia, men of power and influence, exchanged tense glances, the gravity of the situation pressing down on them like a heavy shroud.

At the head of the table sat Lord Valen, a man of considerable stature and presence, his silver hair slicked back, and his sharp eyes surveying the room with a calculated intensity. His cold demeanor was known to all, as was his ruthlessness in matters of the kingdom. He was the King's right hand, the one who dealt with the kingdom's darkest secrets, and his word was often law.

Beside him, General Alaric, a towering figure clad in military regalia, bore a grim expression, his jaw clenched as he absorbed the news.

"So," Valen began, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "The white-haired man has finally surfaced. After all these months, he's shown his face again."

Alaric nodded, his tone measured but laced with underlying tension. "Reports from our scouts indicate that he was seen near the borders of Avaloria. Not long after that, Avaloria fell. The timeline is...convenient, to say the least."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room. The destruction of Avaloria had been sudden and catastrophic, an event that left the neighboring kingdoms reeling. For months, the upper echelons of Arenthia had speculated on the cause—dark magic, an enemy kingdom, a calamity beyond their comprehension—but now, the pieces were falling into place.

The appearance of a powerful outsider, coinciding with Avaloria's downfall, was too much to be a mere coincidence.

Lord Malek, a shrewd noble known for his cunning, leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "The question remains: Is he a working alone, or merely a tool wielded by our enemies? Either way, we cannot allow him to roam free. His very presence is a threat to our kingdom."

General Alaric's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword as he spoke, "Our scouts reported that the man traveled with a small entourage—highly skilled, highly dangerous. This is not some ordinary band of travelers. They move with purpose, and they are well-equipped. Our intelligence suggests that they possess abilities far beyond that of normal men, possibly even rivaling the calamities themselves."

A younger noble, Lord Tavian, who had been listening intently, finally spoke up, his voice tinged with fear. "Are we dealing with a monster? What if this man—this Canna—is indeed responsible for Avaloria's destruction? We could be next. We must act quickly before he decides to turn his gaze upon Arenthia."

A cold smile spread across Valen's lips. "Indeed, young Tavian. That is precisely why we are here. We must devise a plan to hunt him down and eliminate him before he becomes a problem for our kingdom."

Another noble, Duke Iskander, a seasoned warrior with scars to prove his mettle, leaned back in his chair, his eyes filled with suspicion. "But we know so little about him. If he is as powerful as the reports suggest, we may be marching our men to their deaths. We cannot afford to underestimate him."

Valen's smile faded, replaced by a steely resolve. "Underestimation is not in our nature, Duke. We will gather our best forces, the elite of Arenthia, and we will move with precision. General Alaric, you will lead the operation. I want every possible resource at your disposal—mages, assassins, the most skilled warriors. We cannot afford to leave anything to chance."

General Alaric nodded sharply, his mind already racing through the logistics. "I will assemble a strike force, men and women who have faced the worst this world has to offer and survived. We'll track him, study his movements, and strike when the time is right. If this Canna is responsible for what happened to Avaloria, we will ensure he never has the chance to do it again."

A voice, cold and detached, cut through the room. It belonged to Lady Morgana, the head of the royal intelligence network. "Our spies have been gathering information on this Canna and his companions.

There are rumors, whispers among the common folk—he wondered around the squatters district and has been eyeing the people weirdly, lastly he went to an inn, he might be trying to build an army by gathering the weak."

The mention of an army made several nobles shift uncomfortably in their seats. The idea of a rogue force, led by a man with unknown intentions and unimaginable power, was enough to sow seeds of fear even among the most stalwart.

"Then we cannot allow him to gather more strength," Valen concluded, his voice brokering no argument. "He must be stopped before his forces becomes lethal , before his influence spreads any further. We will not wait for him to come to us—we will take the fight to him."

A ripple of approval passed through the room, though it was tinged with an undercurrent of apprehension. The task before them was daunting, and they all knew it. But fear was a weakness they could not afford to show, not in the face of an enemy like this.

Lord Valen stood, signaling the end of the meeting. "Gentlemen, prepare your forces. We move at dawn. General Alaric, I expect nothing less than total success."

As the nobles and generals began to file out of the room, their faces set in grim determination, Valen lingered by the door, his mind turning over the details of their plan. There was no room for error. This man, Canna, was an anomaly—an unknown variable that could tip the balance of power. And in the game of thrones and kingdoms, Valen knew that the unknown was the most dangerous threat of all.

He glanced one last time at the spot where the messenger had fallen, his blood now cleaned from the marble floor. The stakes were higher than they had ever been, but Valen was confident. They would hunt this man, this menace, and when they found him, they would ensure that he was nothing more than a footnote in the history of Arenthia.

With that thought, Valen turned on his heel and strode out of the chamber, his cloak billowing behind him like a shadow. The hunt had begun, and in the eyes of Arenthia's most powerful men, Canna was already a dead man walking.

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