In a hidden chamber deep within the castle, two figures stood in silence.
Before them loomed a massive mirror-like artifact. Its surface shimmered with a faint light.
Within it played the scene of the castle's grand halls.
Nobles mingling.
Low voices.
Echoing footsteps.
"Is it that boy?"
The question came in a hoarse tone. The speaker's finger lifted to point at a certain figure in the reflection.
The voice belonged to an old man clad in pure white, the insignia of the Holy Nation stitched proudly into his robes.
This was Augustus, the Pope of the Holy Nation.
Beside him, the other man turned his head.
His gaze was deep and unreadable. His answer came in a low rumble.
"Perhaps."
He wore a ceremonial robe of his own, crowned in gold and authority.
He was Midas Vaultmere, King of Vaultmere.
They stood without speaking for a moment longer, watching as the scene in the mirror shifted.
The boy's dignified expression.
The spark of curiosity in his eyes.
