đ.đ: The court mage
đhe throne room wasn't built for warmth.
It stood wide and still, drenched in the golden light of the late morning sun. Gleaming marble floors stretched out like frozen rivers, and the towering glass panes bore witness to the capital's distant buzz. Yet within its grand silence, tension curled like smoke.
King Zachary Aerelion stood before the long arched windows, hands clasped behind him.
He wasn't dressed in full regalia todayâjust a simple tunic of navy blue with his silver crest pinned near the collarâbut even stripped of finery, the weight of his crown hung heavy on his frame.
He didn't have to wait long.
A shimmer of magic swept through the air like ripples on water. Then, with a pulse of light, the Archmage appeared.
Azrin always had a flair for drama. Today, he emerged through a flicker of lavender mist, strands of wild purple curls tumbling over his shoulder.
