The vast hall stretched endlessly, lined with towering statues of heroes and kings long dead. Their stone gazes followed the man who strode down the marble floor, his noble attire rustling with each hurried step. His pace was urgent, his body leaning forward as though every muscle urged him to break into a sprint. Yet he restrained himself. Not out of weariness, but because the rules of this household demanded dignity, even in haste.
At the end of the hall loomed a massive door of black oak, banded with gold. Two guards stood sentinel before it, unmoving as statues themselves. They wore Roman-styled helmets crested with crimson plumes, their golden armor gleaming under the torchlight, spears clutched firmly in their hands.
"State your business," one guard intoned, his voice echoing faintly inside the helmet.
The man did not falter. He snapped his reply like a whip.
"It is concerning the Great Tyrant."
