The court had erupted into chaos after Liona's proclamation. Shouts rang, steel clashed as guards tightened their circle, and priests cried blasphemy.
Then—The great doors groaned once more.
Every voice stilled. Every breath held.
From the shadows of the hallway stepped a man. Not robed in gold, not crowned in flame. A man in plain, tattered garments, his face veiled in faint blur, as though reality itself refused to pin it down. His eyes, however—his eyes burned red like coals under ash.
He walked with no herald, no escort. Yet the air thickened with each step, as if the world itself bent aside to let him pass.
Noble 1 (whispering):"Who… who dares interrupt the court?"
Noble 2 (trembling):"No… it cannot be—"
Liona dropped to one knee instantly, her voice trembling with awe.
Liona:"My lord… you have come."
Gasps echoed through the chamber.
The King rose from his throne, fury masking his unease.
King:"Who are you, to stride unbidden into my court? Guards, seize—"
But his voice faltered as those crimson eyes turned upon him.
Azeron (calmly, with thunder beneath):"So this… is the court of rumors. A pit of liars. A nest of cowards. You speak of laws… yet none of you even know the meaning of power."
The guards hesitated. Their hands shook. Not one stepped closer.
Noble 3 (muttering):"His presence… I cannot move…!"
Azeron (stepping forward):"You mocked my herald. You laughed at her words. Tell me now… do you still laugh? Or do you finally hear the chains of truth dragging across your throats?"
The King slammed his scepter against the throne, desperate to assert control.
King:"This is my kingdom! I will not kneel before a stranger who dares blaspheme in my hall!"
Azeron tilted his head slightly, his voice cold as ice.
Azeron:"Stranger? No. I am the shadow your priests feared to name. I am the answer your gods never gave. I am Azeron."
The chandeliers flickered. The stained glass cracked. A chilling wind swept through the court, though no doors or windows were open.
Liona (rising to stand beside him):"Did I not tell you? Did I not proclaim his name? Here he stands, before your eyes, yet still you cling to your fragile crowns!"
Azeron (raising his voice, echoing across the chamber):*"Listen well, court of insects! I have not come to beg your worship. I do not crave your prayers. I demand only this: Obedience.
Bow, and live beneath my shadow.Defy me, and your blood will pave the path to my throne below."*
The room shook as though the very stones groaned under his words. Several nobles fell to their knees out of sheer terror.
Priest (stammering):"B-blasphemy! You… you cannot be a god!"
Azeron turned his gaze upon the priest. The man collapsed, choking, as if invisible hands were crushing his throat.
Azeron (quietly):"Then deny me… in silence."
The priest slumped to the floor, unconscious but alive—barely. The nobles recoiled in horror.
Azeron (to the King):"Your daughter is my herald. Through her, my name will spread until every throne rots and every crown rusts. You may cast her aside, but you will not silence her. Her voice is mine. Her will is mine. And soon… your kingdom will be mine as well."
The King trembled, gripping his scepter with white knuckles. Yet no words left his lips.
Azeron turned, his form blurring like smoke. His final words echoed as his body dissolved into shadow.
Azeron:"Remember this day. The day Azeron walked into your court, and left you choking on your fear."
And then—he was gone.
Silence hung heavy. Nobles trembled. Priests dared not breathe.And Liona, standing tall in the aftermath, smiled.