The Walk to the Throne
Commander Black stood in guard position.
Back straight.
Sword at his side.
The moment the shimmering barrier dissolved into the cool morning air, he felt it—a presence he knew too well. Not through sight first, but through instinct. The kind forged from years on battlefields and countless hours standing watch over a king.
His head snapped toward the source.
His eyes found Leon.
Without the slightest hesitation, Commander Black dropped to one knee. The movement was sharp and disciplined, armor shifting with a muted clink as he bowed his head.
"Greeting your Majesty," he said in a deep, unwavering tone that carried both respect and absolute loyalty.
Leon regarded him calmly.
"Rise, Commander Black."
The command was simple, but it carried quiet authority.
