The throne room stretched wide and empty, its cracked marble floor reflecting pale torchlight. At its far end, Lady Eryndor sat reclined on a throne that looked more like an ancient relic than a seat of power. Her black hair, streaked faintly with silver, fell over one shoulder, and her crimson gown shimmered faintly with mana that seemed to breathe with her.
The Hound knelt instantly, blade laid across his knee in reverence. The man bowed stiffly, uneasy in the suffocating air.
Kairo and Igron, however, remained standing. Their eyes locked forward, unflinching.
Lady Eryndor's lips curled into the faintest smirk.
"So… these are the ones?" Her voice carried like velvet laced with steel.
Without warning, the air thickened. A flood of mana poured out of her, invisible yet crushing. The walls trembled, torches flickered, and the very floor groaned as if bowing under her will.
The man gasped, knees buckling under the sheer weight. Even the Hound's armor rattled as his head dipped lower.
But the two boys stood.
Kairo's crimson eyes narrowed slightly, the shadows across his face unbroken. Igron's grin widened, a low chuckle rising from his chest as if the weight itself amused him.
The pressure intensified, like an ocean collapsing onto their shoulders. Still, neither moved. Neither bent.
Lady Eryndor's smile deepened. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, studying them with a hunger that made the torches flare.
"Interesting…" she whispered, almost to herself. "Children who carry themselves like men. Bodies that do not shatter under my mana. Tell me, then—"
Her gaze sharpened, voice echoing through the chamber.
"What is it you want?"
The question hung in the air, heavy as the mana itself, as though their answer would decide whether they were embraced by her dying house… or obliterated where they stood.