Prologue
The loud clump of a boot hitting the cold, stone floor filled the old corridor. This particular corridor had been used very few times over the centuries, but over the last few months it had been vital to the rulers of the country. The sound of footsteps resounded through the corridor, up to the large wooden door that stood proud at the end. A tall man, clothed in a thin white shirt with a grey pinstripe waistcoat covered by a long, black military trench coat was the source of the sound. His large, black boots stopped outside of the wooden door, which had been at the end of this particular corridor since the palace had first been constructed. The large wooden panels for doors swung open, allowing the man to enter into the next room. The conference room was thriving with activity, as men, dressed not too dissimilar to the man from the corridor, were moving around the room, their shouts filling the ears of everyone present. As the man from the corridor was seen, the shouting ceased, and all of the men took their places around the round table, looking expectantly at the man. One man, slightly older than the rest, stood from his place at the table before straightening his green military jacket which was done up tightly across his chest, and bowing to the other man.
"Your highness," he said, before sitting back in his seat.
The man he had bowed to, the man with the piercing brown eyes and sandy brown hair, the King, nodded his acknowledgement to the older man.
"Thank you, Veran," the King said, before turning to look at the rest of the man seated in front of him. He waited a couple of moments before speaking, thinking about how to phrase what he was about to say, but deciding on saying it in its simplest form. "Tomorrow, gentlemen, this city will burn."
