The throne room doors groaned open, a sound like stone coffins grinding against one another in a forgotten crypt. The air inside was heavy, saturated with the weight of centuries, as if the chamber itself held its breath. Valerian stepped forward, his black boots striking the mirror-polished marble floor, each echo reverberating like a heartbeat in the vast, hollow space. The vaulted ceiling stretched impossibly high, adorned with murals of emperors long dead, their faces scraped away into blank, shadowed ovals that seemed to watch with eyeless judgment.
Lady Selene followed a pace behind, her silver cloak whispering against the stone. Her breath was soft, but her voice carried a tremor. "Do you feel it, Valerian?"
He nodded, his jaw tight. "Something is breathing in this room."
