They arrived one by one, careful not to be seen together, each carrying the quiet weight of betrayal like a concealed blade. The hall was old—older than the promises that had been broken to bring them here. Its stone walls listened without judgment, having heard oaths sworn and shattered many times before. Torches flickered along the corridor, casting long, fractured shadows that refused to stay whole, much like the people who owned them.
No one spoke at first. Words were dangerous things in a room like this. Every breath felt measured, every glance calculated. These were not rebels driven by passion, nor heroes convinced of their righteousness. They were traitors—some by choice, some by necessity, all by consequence. Each had turned away from something once held sacred: a king, a cause, a friend, even themselves.
