The audience hall still smelled of burnt stone and old blood. Cracks ran up the pillars like black lightning frozen in place, reminders of the ritual that had pushed the last monster back into the rift.
Workers had cleared most of the rubble, but no one had bothered to hide the damage. Good. Aiden preferred it that way. Illusions were dangerous when everything was already fracturing.
He sat on the repaired throne, plain steel armor still on, the new ritual marks on his arms hidden under gauntlets.
The harem stood around him in loose formation. Catherine to his right, arms crossed, face unreadable. Isolde on the left, hand resting on her sword hilt.
Calipso leaned against a pillar, eyes calculating. Bela watched everything with open curiosity. Sabrina stood closest to him, fidgeting with the hem of her robe.
The doors opened without fanfare.
