The doors opened with a low, echoing groan.
She stepped out of the room and into a hall that felt less like a palace and more like a judgment chamber.
The ceiling arched impossibly high, supported by pillars carved from pale stone veined with gold. Runes were etched into every surface—old ones, refined ones—each pulsing faintly, like the hall itself was breathing. Long banners draped down the walls, bearing sigils of conquest rather than peace. The floor was polished so clean it reflected her bare feet as she walked, each step sounding far louder than it should have.
Knights stood in two perfect lines along the walls.
Not ceremonial guards—these were veterans. Their armor was worn, enchanted, layered with mana scars and dried blood that no polish could erase. Each one stood still as stone, hands resting on weapon hilts, eyes forward. Yet she could feel it—every single one of them was watching her through mana perception.
At the far end of the hall sat the throne.
And upon it sat the king.
King Aren.
He was a large man, broad-shouldered, his posture relaxed in a way only the truly powerful could afford. His hair was dark with streaks of silver, his beard trimmed short, his eyes sharp and calculating—the kind that measured a person not by who they were, but by what they could be used for. Mana rolled off him in slow, controlled waves, dense and oppressive. A mid elite, unmistakably so. Not wild power, but refined, honed—like a blade that had tasted countless wars.
Beside him sat Queen Aries.
She was elegance made dangerous. Pale skin, raven hair pulled back with jeweled pins, eyes cold and observant. Where the king's aura pressed down like a mountain, hers crept—subtle, invasive, coiling around the senses like silk tightening around the throat. She smiled faintly, as though already amused.
As she was brought closer, a knight stepped behind her.
Before she could react—
THUD.
The blunt of a sword slammed into the back of her legs.
"Kneel before King Aren and Queen Aries," the knight barked.
Pain shot up her spine, sharp and immediate, but she refused to cry out. Her knees hit the polished floor, the sound ringing through the hall.
The king lifted a hand.
"There's no need for that," Aren said calmly.
The knight froze, immediately stepping back.
She remained kneeling—not because she was told to, but because her body had been forced to.
Slowly, she raised her head.
Her gaze locked onto the knight who had struck her.
There was no fear in her eyes.
No tears.
Just a quiet, terrifying promise.
The kind of look that said: you will pay for this.
Not now.
But one day.