The throne room of the Valerian Kingdom was a monument to power and legacy. Vaulted ceilings stretched forty feet overhead, supported by columns carved from single pieces of marble that depicted the kingdom's greatest victories.
Tapestries older than most noble houses hung between stained glass windows, each one chronicling battles where awakened warriors had defended the realm against dimensional threats.
King Kendrick gripped the arms of the Eternal Throne hard enough that his knuckles had gone white. At fifty three, he'd weathered the initial crisis three days ago with barely controlled rage.
Now, with fifty two survivors extracted and one hundred forty eight confirmed dead, that rage had crystallized into something colder and more dangerous the fury of a father who'd failed to protect his children and would ensure it never happened again.
