The rhythmic grinding of the carriage wheels against the cobblestones echoed in Viktor's ears like a relentless death sentence being read aloud. Each rotation brought him closer to a future he had never craved, yet could never escape. With a trembling fingertip, he parted the silk curtains by a mere millimeter to peer outside. There, along the mud-slicked streets, throngs of invisible people knelt like lifeless monuments hewn from clay. Their faces were pressed into the dirt, hands bound behind their backs—human offerings laid at the altar of his rising power.A wave of nausea washed over Victorius; he felt a profound loathing for this cold, blood-stained majesty. Yet, his face remained a mask of frozen marble, his gaze shrouded in a ruthless, calculated silence. He knew the rule of this world: to survive, one must turn their heart to ice and keep their soul in chains.Absentmindedly, he toyed with a silk handkerchief, its edges intricately embroidered with gold thread. Then, with a quiet finality, he let it slip from his fingers through the open window. He watched as it fell into the mire—a flash of gold swallowed by filth. It was his final farewell to innocence.As the carriage crossed the castle threshold, the chilling breath of the stone walls bit at his skin. Four hundred and seven servants and slaves awaited him in a silence so thick it was suffocating. In a single, synchronized motion, the servants bowed ninety degrees, while the slaves struck the hard stone with their knees, collapsing into a posture of absolute submission. As Viktor stepped from the carriage, the sharp crack of his leather boots resonated beneath the soaring vaults of the hall, a sound that sent a ripple of terror through the hearts of those assembled."Your Excellency, Master of Wills..." the head servant whispered, his voice trembling as his forehead nearly grazed the cold floor. "Today marks three years since your father, the Great Lord, passed. The entire realm has held its breath for your coming of age. The preparations are complete. The ceremony begins now. Today, you are officially proclaimed the High Lord."Viktor halted. In the towering mirror before him, he saw not a seventeen-year-old youth, but a prisoner bowed under the crushing weight of destiny. The air was thick with the scent of ancient dust and the metallic tang of power. Without a word, he gave a ghost of a nod, his shoulders bracing for the blood-soaked responsibility of an entire empire.
