The doors groaned, the sound of heavy metal mating with stone, sealing them within the cavernous silence of the throne room. The shadow on the throne did not move, yet its presence pressed against Elara’s skin like an incoming tide of freezing water. The entity’s reflective surface swirled, occasionally displaying glimpses of Julian’s face, not the man she knew, but a hollow, idealized version of him, stripped of his scars and his humanity.
Julian staggered to his feet, his hand instinctively searching for a weapon he no longer possessed. Who are you? he demanded, his voice echoing against the vaulted ceiling. You wear my face, but you lack the fire that makes it worth living.
The entity stepped down from the dais. Its movements were fluid, like ink drifting through water. I am the resid
