The Imperial Palace trembled.
A sound, low and ancient, like the growl of a god from the depths of the abyss, rippled through the golden halls and shattered silence across the capital. Birds scattered. Soldiers froze mid-step. The nobles attending court fell into hushed murmurs, their eyes snapping to the towering throne at the end of the obsidian stairway.
Emperor Caelum Blackthorne opened his eyes.
They glowed—two burning suns, one gold, one crimson.
"Summon the Black Suns," he growled.
A kneeling general trembled, his voice caught in his throat. "Y-Your Majesty, the Black Suns were last seen heading toward the South Abyss Gate—"
"Then bring them back. Drag them if you must."
"Yes, my lord!"
As the general sprinted from the chamber, the Emperor leaned forward. His fingers tightened around the edge of the throne. In his vision, a battlefield burned—dragons roared, shadows danced, and at the heart of it all stood a boy.
Valerian.
A mistake that had grown teeth.
