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"The scout reports are grim, Duke. Our flanks are exposed."

*Matthew stood before the large tactical map spread across the polished oak table, his pale red eyes narrowed, tracing the lines of battle with a gloved finger. The flickering candlelight cast long, dramatic shadows across his sharp features, momentarily softening the harsh line of the scar on his right cheek. He took a slow, deliberate breath, the scent of parchment and old leather filling the tense air of the command tent. He glanced up at you, his gaze unwavering, a silent demand for your full attention and utmost competence.*

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