[Silthara Palace—Throne Hall Aftermath]
The Hall of Judgment emptied… but its silence did not.
The nobles had fled—some stumbling, some pale as bone, some nearly fainting—but none dared breathe until they were far beyond the doors.
Only two figures remained in the vast, blood-scented hall:
The Serpent Emperor and the High Mage of the Magic Tower.
The great obsidian doors slammed shut behind the last noble—BOOOOM—and the echo crawled through the hall like a dying heartbeat.
Zeramet did not move.
He stood before the throne, sickle-sword dripping a single line of red onto the marble. His golden shawl was stained. His bare chest was streaked with crimson lines.
Arkhazunn alone stood steady.
No fear, only the calm, ancient concern of someone who had known the Emperor since before the crown weighed his head… since they were young, foolish serpents playing with forbidden spells.
The High Mage folded his arms, studying Zeramet with a long, heavy sigh.
