The palace loomed like a crown hammered into the mountain's skull.
Its towers cut into the clouds, walls alive with runes burning brighter than the rest of the city. Guards lined every stair, armor black as coal, spears pulsing with wards. From the streets below, the palace was untouchable, a fortress carved for kings who thought themselves gods.
Karl walked straight toward it.
No hood now. No cloak pulled low. His face was bare, his grin sharp as the day he left. The crowd noticed. Whispers chased his steps.
"That's him."
"The abandoned son."
"Thought he was dead."
"No—worse. Cast out."
The words spread like fire through dry brush. Boars turned their tusks, wolves bared their teeth, serpents hissed low. None stepped close. None dared. They knew his name. They knew his story. Thrown away, forgotten, a shame that once bled the palace walls.
