Silence still ruled within the throne hall.
The flames flickered, uncertain whether to die out or continue burning under this new reign.
Ryo stood before the extinguished throne, gazing at the golden mark on his hand — the legacy of the fallen King, still warm against his skin.
> "They will obey," he murmured.
His voice no longer carried the coldness of a conqueror, but the gravity of a man who had just accepted a burden.
His gaze darkened.
> "But fear alone cannot build a kingdom."
A faint breeze passed through the hall.
It carried with it a voice — soft, calm, almost familiar.
A thought that was not entirely his own, yet resonated deep within his mind.
> "You seek peace in a world that understands only strength."
Ryo closed his eyes.
His fingers tightened slightly.
He answered without speaking, his thoughts echoing like words between two halves of the same soul.
> "Tell me…
If I wished it, could I create something?
Not a being of flesh or flame… but a presence. A guard. A will."
Silence replied at first — heavy, ancient, filled with unseen wisdom.
Then, the voice spoke again.
> "You could.
Anything bearing your mark can exist.
But remember… every creation carries a piece of your soul.
Should your heart falter, it will turn against you."
Ryo remained still.
A pale light slid across his face — neither warm nor cold, simply existent.
He began to walk slowly, descending the steps of the throne.
Each step echoed like an oath.
> "Then I will create… something that will never waver.
Something even fear cannot corrupt."
The inner voice seemed to smile — a whisper beneath breath.
> "Then show me, Sovereign. Show me what your heart desires to build."
Ryo stopped at the center of the hall.
His shadow stretched outward — deep, shifting, almost alive.
The floor trembled faintly beneath his feet.
His eyes lifted toward the high arches of the palace.
Where once the dragons' fire had lit the stones, a new light began to bloom — cold, still, silent.
It was not magic.
It was not fire.
It was… something else.
A beginning.
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