The Great Hall of Thorns, in the heart of the Obsidian Crystal Palace. A vast and imposing circular hall, supported by black columns that rose like thorns petrified by ancient titans.
The translucent ceiling revealed the demonic sky above, where crimson and abyssal blue clouds danced like cosmic serpents. The tapestries bore the coats of arms of the Seven Original Clans, embroidered with ancestral blood and forgotten glory. The air was thick—saturated with pacts as old as war and ambitions as young as sin.
In the center, a circle of raised thrones accommodated the heirs of the greatest demonic clans. The words spoken there were not just opinions — they were veiled threats, political judgments, and promises of war.
Mael Raum leaned back with careless elegance on his black glass throne, twirling a chalice of demonic wine between his fingers. His smile was sharp, cruel—a snake about to strike.
