The Cathedral of Saint Alaric stood like a monument to old power. White marble columns reaching toward vaulted ceilings painted with scenes of ancient heroes. Stained glass windows filtering colored light across rows of nobles dressed in mourning black.
Duke Aldric Arclight's casket sat at the front. Polished oak. Silver handles. Arclight family crest emblazoned on the lid.
Draven stood in the third row. Far enough back to observe. Close enough to see everything.
Marcus sat in the front row. Head bowed. Shoulders shaking. The perfect image of a grieving son.
Lying piece of shit.
[System Notice: He's really selling it. Look at that performance. Should've been an actor instead of a murderer.]
*He'll be a corpse soon enough.*
[System Notice: True. 30 days and counting.]
The High Priest droned on about duty, honor, legacy. All the standard funeral bullshit. Draven tuned it out. Focused on the players.
