Ronan

In the depths of the underground palace, where Ronan was meticulously crafting his power, a hushed meeting unfolded within a dimly lit room. Ronan himself occupied an imposing throne, his advisor positioned beside him like a shadow cast by strategy. The air vibrated with tension as they dissected their next move, the intricate preparations for war threading through their hushed exchanges like a sharpened blade waiting to unleash. Just as the discussion seemed to reach a fever pitch, a figure emerged from the palace's labyrinthine corridors, a messenger bearing the unmistakable aura of Asher's dispatch. He exchanged quiet words with the guardians at the entrance, his passage sanctioned with a nod. Led through the steel-clad hallways, he walked the messenger via a whisper silent elevator, the numbers ticking upward like heartbeats counting down to revelation. The doors parted with a soft sigh, depositing him at the threshold of the meeting room, anticipation hanging like a drawn cur