Ludwig walked toward the throne, each step echoing softly across the polished stone floor of the massive hall. The distance felt longer than it actually was, not because of space, but because of weight; of attention, of expectation, of power pressing down from above.
At the far end sat the ruler of all the lands of Lufondal. A man with hair the color of a ripe field of wheat, neatly kept despite the years.
Eyes tinted with the deepest blue of the open sea, calm on the surface yet hiding unfathomable depth beneath. Around him radiated an aura that did not merely exist; it commanded. It ordered and ordained power as naturally as breathing. It was not the sharp pressure of a Swordmaster's killing intent. No. This was something far older and heavier. The presence of a ruler who held down the skies for his people and trampled the ground where his enemies dared to hide.
