"As long as I sit on this throne," Orion continued, his voice resonating against the obsidian walls, "nothing that matters within the Stoneheart Horde will change. The shadows may harbor rats—traitors, cowards, the self-serving—but in the face of my light, they will either kneel or burn."
This was Orion's philosophy, carved from experience.
It was why he spent his days, and even his dormant periods, seated upon the throne rather than secluded in a private chamber. In this world, absence bred amnesia. If a ruler disappeared from view, the people forgot the weight of his presence. By remaining visible, Orion made himself a monolith—an unmovable anchor for the Horde.
The Horde had expanded rapidly, absorbing countless races and factions. It was statistically impossible for there not to be dissenters or backstabbers in the mix. But Orion didn't care about the small fry. His sheer, overwhelming power forced the rats to stay in the walls.
