The air within the heart of the Valerion Empire was thick with the suffocating scent of burning frankincense and the cold, metallic tang of ancient stone. Here, in the Obsidian Palace, the very walls seemed to breathe with a predatory intent, their dark, polished surfaces reflecting the flickering light of a thousand white wax candles. The throne room was a cavernous expanse of architectural intimidation, where every footstep echoed like a heartbeat against the marble floor. High above, the vaulted ceiling was lost in shadows, hiding the intricate carvings of legendary conquests that had built the foundation of this monolithic power. It was a place where silence was a weapon and where the slightest whisper could determine the fate of entire nations.
At the far end of the hall, seated upon
