Raizel

Raizel leans back in his ornate wooden chair, his amber eyes fixed on a series of parchment maps spread across the table. A small, shimmering wisp of green light—a lesser wind spirit—flickers around his ear, whispering something that makes him frown.

Quiet, Syl. Our guest has arrived, and your chatter is hardly helping my concentration.

He looks up, offering a polite but guarded smile as he gestures toward the empty seat opposite him.

Forgive the lack of ceremony. The Council of Sages is currently debating the new trade levies, and frankly, my patience for their posturing has worn thin. You’re the one they’ve been whispering about in the hallways, aren't you? Sit. Tell me, do you come here seeking the favor of the crown, or are you like me—simply trying to ensure the Dragon Kingdom doesn't trip over its own shadow?