The doors groaned open before them.
At first, they saw only the light. Cold and pale, it spilled across the stone tiles in perfect symmetry, marking a solemn feeling in each of them. No banners, no guards, just the void of sound, deeper than silence, that swallowed their footsteps as they entered.
The chamber in front of them was massive. It wasn't as ornate as the other chambers, but it was monumental in size and symbolic weight. Dark stone framed the sharp geometry, every angle purposeful. At its heart, raised on a wide obsidian dais, was a throne made of stone.
It was empty.
A single path of lighter tile cut through the center like a blade. On either side, shadow pooled off of the seat due to the light pouring in from the domed ceiling. It wasn't abnormally sized, but the throne was large and backed by a thick slab of stone.
It had no cushion, no flourishes. It looked crude when spoken of as a throne, yet it also evoked the feeling that it had existed since the beginning. It wasn't made for just one ruler anymore, but all the rulers that had come after it was made.
It was a seat built for declaration, not comfort. A monument to the one who decided when words evolved into actions. Joren found his eyes drawn to the steps leading up to it, causing him to feel awe at the sight.
For a while, nothing moved outside of the occasional sound from the group.
Then Nyra stepped forward, just ahead of the others. She took one breath, placed a hand over her chest, and knelt. It was what the moment called for, yet the others didn't know why she did so when no one was in the room with them.
Then came the sound, quiet and deliberate.
Footsteps.
They were not heavy, not rushed. It was just the soft cadence of boots crossing stone, echoing in perfect rhythm, as if the hall had been waiting years to hear them again.
From a narrow archway behind the throne, hidden between its massive slabs of backing stone, he appeared.
The King.
He stepped forward into the chamber without announcement from guards or some obnoxiously conceited fanfare. The moment he entered, the silence changed.
He was tall, but not towering. His build was lean, his robe a deep, slate black with a lining of dark violet barely visible in the light. He wore a crown of beautiful design, one that didn't parade wealth in some ugly fashion.
Yet it was not the robe or the crown that told them who he was. It was the silence that followed him, the way even light seemed to retreat as he passed.
He did not acknowledge the group at first. He ascended the steps.
One.
By.
One.
One leg folded beneath him as he sat down on the throne. The other draped loosely over the throne's side armrest, his boot hanging just barely under the edge. One elbow rested on the opposite armrest, his chin set lightly against an enclosed fist.
It was not a pose of laziness. It was a pose of comfort with power.
He didn't need to straighten his back, for he was the king of the nation itself. Whatever he wanted to do, he could.
No one spoke.
Willow's breath caught in her throat. Joren wasn't sure when he'd stop sweating. Even Bartholomew, whose mind normally bounced between ten ideas at once, had gone still.
The King's gaze, unreadable beneath the weight of centuries, slowly settled on them.
Not piercing.
Not warm.
Just calculating the six that stood before him, like a judge already aware of the verdict, waiting only to decide how loud it needed to be spoken.
"Nyra Braye," he said, a welcoming smile forming, as if confirming she was still alive.
She bowed her head further, still kneeling. "Your Majesty."
"You disappeared."
"Momentarily," she replied, not daring to lift her eyes for fear of being rude. She didn't fear the king, only respected his position as a mentor and friend.
The King's eyes drifted past Nyra to the group behind her. His smile didn't falter, but something changed as he looked over them.
A beat passed.
The air shifted, like reality was collapsing in on itself.
It felt as if the entire chamber exhaled in reverse.
A wave of pressure surged outward from the throne. A weight like gravity had amplified 100 times over layered itself on them. A colorless pressure that somehow felt violet, like the space was filling over in waves with clouds.
Willow collapsed into the ground, kneeling. So did everyone else, except for Joren. Joren's legs tensed without meaning to. Every instinct in Joren's body screamed at once to kneel and hide, but his legs wouldn't move.
A color they couldn't see bled out even more. Violet, if violet could even describe this immense pressure. It had no shape, but it pressed against every inch of their skin like it wanted to carve them open.
And yet…
The King only watched them with a calm, almost gentle smile, like he was welcoming friends of friends.
So this was the kings power.
"Guests," he said, softly. "How fortunate."
His tone held no mockery or wrath. It was kind and maybe even glad to be meeting them all, and that somehow made it worse.
Kindness from a man like this felt like standing at the center of a cataclysm, one wrong breath away from being erased from existence.
"You're still standing, that doesn't happen often." the King noted. "What a willful young man you are. Where in the world did you find someone like this, Nyra?"
Joren couldn't tell if that was good or bad. His chest was tight, heart pounding from the pressure still echoing through his body, but his legs hadn't moved. He wasn't defying the King, not by choice, it just happened. Something deeper wouldn't allow it to happen this fast.
Then, without warning, Joren also collapsed into a kneeling position, unable to withstand the ever-growing pressure emanating off this man.
The King gave no reaction to that.
What a dangerously strong boy she has found, I wonder who he is? Very few people find themselves able to withstand my dominating will for that long.
"That was impressive," he said aloud, his tone the same gentle one a teacher might use to praise a student. "You must be exhausted. Most crumble within moments, but you held out far longer than most generals."
He let the compliment hang, then turned toward Nyra with something close to amusement.
"Where in the world did you find someone like this?"
Nyra kept her eyes respectfully lowered. "He found me, in a sense. The group behind me helped when I was targeted in the Glassward."
"Targeted? Oh my... that's not good." He really exuded the dynamic of a teacher, real concern for her safety taking over. "I had heard you went missing yesterday, but reports came in a little over an hour ago about your reappearance. I'm glad you are doing okay"
He leaned back ever so slightly in his throne, his posture still relaxed, still unreadable. For a moment, the pressure in the room seemed to lighten ever so slightly. Not gone, but eased, like a storm holding back for a moment of warmth.
Nyra finally looked up, just enough to meet his gaze. "I didn't plan to go missing, if that helps," she offered, the faintest, mischievous smile tugging at her lips.
The King let out a soft breath, a bit of a huffed laugh like it was humorous . "You seem to be disappearing from your escort services quite often, Nyra. Were you off walking the streets again by yourself?"
She shrugged, eyes glinting. "I like to see things with my own eyes. You always told me fieldwork breeds perspective."
"I also said to bring someone with a weapon when you do it." he replied dryly, shaking his head.
His brow lifted, but he let the matter slide with a soft shake of his head. "You've always been impossible to herd. I guess that's what drew me to you as someone worth making my successor."
"I prefer the term independent," Nyra said, lifting herself a little taller now, head looking up now, though she remained on one knee.
"And I prefer the term alive." he said again, laughing a bit at his troublesome student.
Nyra's smirk faded into something more earnest, her blush beginning to form once more. "Understood."
The moment settled like a ripple fading across still water.
The King studied her for another breath, then shifted his gaze once more to the group behind her. All of them were still overtaken by his immense pressure, sweat pooling off them like they might explode at any second.
He scratched at his chin with all his fingers to cure an itch, then curled his hand back into a fist beneath his chin.
Even now, his presence hadn't waned. The pressure didn't choke them so much as remind them that they were in his world now. The rules of his world were his alone.
Then he spoke again, calm and curious.
"You've brought quite the ensemble," he said, addressing Nyra. "Tell me everything about what happened in the last twenty four hours."