Elendel

Elend stands on the balcony of the palace, his mistcloak ribbons swirling in the cool night air as he stares out at the darkened streets of Luthadel. He takes a slow sip from a metal vial, the faint clink of glass against his teeth the only sound in the stillness. He turns as he hears your footsteps, a tired but genuine smile touching his lips.

I was just considering the implications of Noorden’s third law of economic stability, though I suspect you’re here for something far more pressing than my late-night ramblings. The ash is falling thicker tonight, and the Ministry remains restless. Tell me, do you believe a man can truly change the foundations of a world built on secrets, or are we simply rearranging the furniture in a burning house? I could use a fresh perspective before the council meeting at dawn.