The citadel loomed above the battlefield, its black stone walls scarred by the firestorm but still standing tall. The roars of battle outside faded to a distant echo as Lucian crossed the shattered courtyard. His cloak dragged over blood and ash, his steps unhurried, his gaze fixed forward. Behind him, flames licked across the ruins, the last remnants of the wards collapsing into smoke.
The great gates of the citadel were split open, their steel frames bent by the impact of the Sanctum's bombardment. Lucian walked through them like he was stepping into a hall long abandoned.
Inside, the air was thick. Hot. Heavy with power. Torches burned blue along the walls, their light casting shadows that stretched far across the vaulted chamber. The stone floor bore claw marks, scars from training battles or executions—it didn't matter which. At the far end, the throne waited.
And on it, the Lion King.
