KING VIDAR
In the hallowed halls of the council chamber, anger boiled within me like molten lava beneath the surface. The voices of the elders echoed with disdain, each word a venomous arrow aimed at the delicate tapestry of my intentions.
The elders, draped in ceremonial robes that bore the centuries-old insignias of their authority, sat with na air of rigid supremacy. Their garments, woven with threads of arrogance and embroidered with symbols of a bygone era, seemed to cling to the outdated ideals they championed. The fabric whispered the tales of countless decisions made in the name of tradition, each fold holding the weight of their self-assumed wisdom.
The weight of their judgment bore down on me, but I remained stoic, my silence a shield against their verbal onslaught. The counci
