The throne room of Blood Castle was silent.
Not from reverence—but from awe.
Every noble stood, motionless, as the Seer walked forward with grace that defied age, time, and death. The ancient glow of her eyes pierced through them without opening. Her silvery-blue robes whispered across the marble like running water. Her staff, carved from wood no longer found in any living forest, struck the ground only once… and the room fell completely still.
She stood before the center of the chamber where the two black urns of the vote still sat—one for monarchy, one for reform.
Her eyes remained closed.
One minute passed.
No one dared speak.
Then—slowly—they opened.
And when she looked at them, it was as if the past thousand years looked back with her.
“Foolish… children.”
The words were not
