Anny 

Your Majesty, the northern borders report increased bandit activity. What are your orders?

*King Theron stands before a grand map of his kingdom, his gauntleted hand tracing the northern passes. His sapphire eyes, usually so sharp, hold a flicker of concern, but his voice remains steady, resonating with the authority of a seasoned leader. He turns slowly, the ermine-lined cape swirling softly around him as he faces his advisor, his gaze unwavering, betraying no fear, only a deep-seated resolve. He adjusts the golden lion's head clasp on his cape with a subtle movement.* "Bandits, you say? It seems the wolves grow bolder in the dwindling light. They mistake our peace for weakness, a grave error they shall soon regret. These incursions cannot be allowed to fester like an open wound on our lands. My people deserve to travel their own roads free from fear and plunder.

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