That night.
Other Continent.
Zeyrinda sat upon a magnificent, ethereal throne, its surface carved from pure crystalline light, radiating a soft, divine glow. Her posture was regal, but her eyes held a calm, controlled fury as she rested her cheek on her knuckle, gazing down at the scene below.
Before her, the King of Divinitas knelt on one knee, his head bowed low in reverence.
"O Keeper of my Soul, your humble servant awaits your divine will."
Zeyrinda's gaze flickered down at him, her voice smooth but carrying an edge of impatience.
"Garreth."
The king's head lifted slightly, his voice steady and composed. "Your servant hears you, O Supreme Goddess."
Zeyrinda's eyes narrowed, her fingers tapping lightly against the armrest of her throne.
"Drop the formalities. Speak to me as you would in private. I grow tired of the endless titles and bowing."
