The throne hall smelled of battle—of cold iron, scorched stone, and the bitter, ash-like scent left behind by the Regent’s vanishing shadows. Dust drifted in the air like gray snow, catching the light that slanted through the high, narrow windows. The great obsidian throne lay in ruin, its jagged fragments scattered across the dais like the broken pieces of a dark crown.
For a long time, no one spoke. The only sound was the echo of their own breathing and the occasional c***k of falling debris. The battle had ended so suddenly that silence felt unnatural, almost heavier than the clash itself.
Kael stood at the top of the dais, his figure tall and unyielding against the backdrop of broken stone. His chains, still faintly glowing silver from the fight, now hung slack around him like weary
