The Dragon King's hall was drowned in silence.
Outside, the capital still roared with noise—panic at the gates, rumors swelling in taverns, refugees crying in the streets—but none of that dared step into this chamber. The throne room was a world apart, carved into the heart of the mountain itself, its walls alive with runes that glowed in slow pulses of molten gold.
The Dragon King sat on his throne of obsidian, vast enough to dwarf even his colossal frame. His crimson scales caught the silver firelight, each plate lined in black shadow like steel hammered in blood. His eyes were closed, yet every breath he drew shook the air.
The four dukes stood at their stations, none speaking. Phoenix curled her wings, the fire trailing them dim and restless. Tiger's claws scraped the stone floor in irritation, his tail lashing behind him. Serpent's coils shifted in uneasy loops, tongue flicking at every rumble of the throne. Tortoise remained immovable, eyes half-lidded, silent as a grave.
