"The Sylvan Enclave," Lorryll murmured, his brow furrowing. "What business brings them here so early?"

Liliana shivered, and not from the cold. The presence of the elves could mean many things, none of them simple. "Perhaps they've come to offer their blessings on our union?" she suggested, though her tone betrayed her doubt.

Lorryll's laugh was without humour. "The Sylvan Enclave does not concern itself with the marriages of humans, my dear. No, they're here for something else."

A sharp rap on their chamber door startled them both as if on cue. Liliana clutched the blanket tighter around herself as Lorryll called out, "Who goes there?"

"My lord, my lady," came the muffled response, "your presence is requested in the great hall immediately. It's a matter of utmost urgency."

Lorryll and Liliana exchanged a look of concern. Their moment of peace had been all too brief.

"We'll be there shortly," Lorryll replied, already moving towards the pile of discarded clothes from the night before.

As they dressed hurriedly, Liliana couldn't shake the feeling of unease.

She fastened the last button on her gown, a creation of finest silk in the deep blue of her family's colours, and turned to her husband.

Lorryll, now clad in the black and crimson of House Kaezhlar, cut an imposing figure. He reached out and cupped Liliana's face in his hands. "Don't worry, it's not something we should trouble ourselves with."

Liliana nodded, drawing strength from his words and the fire in his eyes. Together, they left the sanctuary of their chamber and descended into the unknown.

-*-

The great hall of Sandornen was a marvel of architecture, its vaulted ceilings supported by massive columns of white marble veined with gold. Tapestries depicting the storied history of House Kaezhlar adorned the walls, their vibrant colours a stark contrast to the tense atmosphere that now permeated the air.

As Lorryll and Liliana entered, all the members of the house were already present, and his father, the clan patriarch, was seated at the centre.

Lord Caelum Kaezhlar, the patriarch, remained stoic as he watched the hall. Beside him, Lady Elowen Kaezhlar, his wife, wore a blank expression when she saw both of them enter.

Facing them were the Elven emissaries from the Sylvan Enclave. Their leader, a tall, willowy figure with eyes like liquid silver, stepped forward.

"Lord Kaezhlar," the elf said, his voice melodious yet tinged with urgency. "I am Thaelar, Emissary of the Sylvan Enclave. We bring grave tidings."

The patriarch inclined his head respectfully. "Speak, Emissary Thaelar. What news is so dire that it brings you to our doors at dawn?"

Thaelar's eyes darted around the room before settling back on the newlyweds. "The seers of the Enclave have had a vision. A darkness stirs in the North, beyond the Frostspine Mountains. The ancient enemy we thought long defeated is rising once more."

A collective gasp rippled through the assembled crowd. Elowen felt her blood run cold. The ancient enemy – it could only mean one thing.