SCENE CONTINUES – BLACKWOOD IMPERIAL RESIDENCE, DARNOVA
POV: Soren Vask, B.A.M. General
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Chris sat on the long obsidian table in his chamber, robe undone at the chest, crown resting lazily on the table instead of his head. His eyes were sharp, glowing with that restless fire. Amara sat in the corner, silent, legs crossed, observing like a queen judging a throne room trial.
Chris leaned forward toward Soren.
Chris: "I want to do a convoy parade. Not here… not in Darnova. In another land. Straight to their president's tower. The greatest, the loudest—bigger than anything they've ever staged for themselves. I want their citizens to see my shadow before they see their own leader's face."
Soren stiffened, then bowed low. His voice carried both pride and caution.
Soren: "My king, such a move will burn their pride completely. Their people will cheer for you, but their president will know—he is no longer their pillar. You would be rewriting loyalty in a single march."
Chris smirked. He stood, walking to the glass wall that overlooked Darnova's city lights, his reflection tall and monstrous in the glass.
Chris: "Good. Let him watch from his tower as his people scream my name. That will be his punishment—living to see himself become a ghost in his own city."
Amara's voice finally cut the silence, calm but edged.
Amara: "And if he resists?"
Chris turned, his smile sharper than any blade.
Chris: "Then he'll learn what happens when a king stops asking and starts claiming. Prepare the convoy, Soren. The world must know the Blackwood name is not only feared—it is adored."
Soren bowed once again, but inside, his chest swelled. This was no mere order. This was history being carved in iron.
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