The roar of the plaza still echoed through the stone when Balthor raised his arm. The sound of thousands began to die down, voices fading into a silence heavy with expectation. All eyes turned to him — the dwarf who until hours ago was known only as a drunk, now crowned as king.
He stood tall at the center of the stage. The ceremonial armor reflected the orange glow of torches, the crown of blackened iron heavy on his brow. His expression was firm, serious, and his voice carried with surprising clarity across the cavern.
"Hello… I am your new king."
The words alone drew murmurs, but Balthor pressed on. "My brother, Torwan, was behind everything you suffered. The lies, the chains, the factories of despair. He used this kingdom for his own gain and left scars on every one of you."
The plaza rumbled with angry shouts and cries of grief. Balthor did not flinch. He let them speak, let the sound of outrage roll over him like a wave, before lifting his hand again.
