Alteria walked two steps ahead of him, her stride measured, neither hurried nor relaxed.
The hem of her cloak skimmed the marble floor.
Silent but precise.
Each footfall echoed with the memory of those who had walked this corridor before.
Generals, queens, condemned bloodlines.
Raze followed, hands at his sides, eyes forward.
He didn't need her to glance back to know she was tense. The silence between them had weight.
Intentional.
She broke it only when the throne room came into view. "Don't interrupt him. Don't correct him. Don't flinch."
Her tone was flat. Not unkind. Just final.
"If you cause a scene in front of the King, he won't punish you. He'll punish me."
Raze didn't reply.
"I'm serious." Her voice dropped half a pitch. "You may think you know what he's capable of, but you don't. This isn't your world yet. If he decides to make your life hell, there won't be an appeal."
Still, he said nothing.
"Just bow," she added. "But don't kneel. He'll take that as weakness."
The twin doors of the throne room stood open. Wide. Watching.
Inside, everything was calculated austerity.
Vaulted ceilings. Tall windows pouring in thin light.
White floors stretched endlessly between obsidian pillars. Gold-veined banners hung without movement, like verdicts rendered in silk.
King Augustus sat at the far end of the chamber.
His throne wasn't adorned with jewels or crowns.
Just a high seat of black iron, marked with the Von Rimu crest: the ram, curling inward.
They entered in tandem.
Alteria's steps slowed into a graceful incline.
She bowed. Not low, but deep enough to acknowledge weight. Raze mirrored the gesture.
Shorter. Heavier.
His head dipped only slightly.
It was respect. Not reverence.
Augustus didn't move.
Not at first.
He let the silence sit.
When he finally looked up, it wasn't at Raze.
"This is him?" he asked, his voice smooth with the edge of command. "The one you put your faith in?"
He still hadn't made eye contact with the Drakos.
"Your new accessory."
The last word cracked the air.
Not shouted, just placed.
Like a knife laid across the table instead of thrown.
Raze's eyes stayed level. Alteria straightened.
"Yes," she said. No apology. No explanation.
Augustus leaned back. Still expressionless.
"Mm."
Alteria answered without hesitation. Her voice didn't shake. "Yes. I trust him."
It wasn't pride. Not defiance. Just fact.
She didn't overstate it. She knew that would only amuse her father more. So she left it there.
King Augustus shifted. Barely.
One elbow moved to rest on the arm of his throne.
His fingers traced the line of his staff.
"And what is it you trust him with?" he asked. "Your safety? Your secrets? Your throne?"
Alteria said nothing.
He tilted his head slightly.
"You've had pets before. Summons. Blades. Bodyguards. They all either bent or broke."
Still, she didn't respond.
Augustus's eyes narrowed. Not in frustration, but curiosity. He turned his gaze, finally, to Raze.
"I've heard things. Rumors. That you resist commands. That you speak too freely. That you hesitated during the oath."
Raze stood still. His hands remained at his sides.
"I said the words."
"Words are easy," Augustus replied. "But loyalty is action. Obedience is instinct."
Raze didn't move.
"Obedience isn't instinct. It's training."
A spark sounded.
"You think you've been trained?"
"No."
His voice remained even.
"I think I've been tested."
Something in the King's face twitched.
Not amusement. Not anger.
Just a sharper kind of attention.
"I wonder," Augustus said, "if you would still be so bold without a Princess to hide behind."
[ system ping: DRAKONIS – instability detected ]
Alteria flinched. Her screen blinked to life.
A stat box unfurled across her vision.
System data crawling faster than her thoughts.
Before she could react—
Raze moved.
Up the steps. One. Two. Three.
He stopped just below the final rise, standing eye-level with the King's throne.
"Whether or not you believe in my skill," Raze said quietly, "doesn't matter to me."
His voice didn't rise.
"But I won't let you speak to her like that."
Silence fell.
Then Raze turned.
He jumped.
A clean glide backward. Air shimmering around him. His boots touched down beside Alteria.
Augustus didn't speak. He didn't need to.
Nyra shifted.
One brow raised. Not surprised. Just impressed.
Alteria blinked. Once. Then again. No words.
Raze dusted his shoulder with one quick swipe.
"I'm heading into town," he said, voice casual. "Thalia asked for a few things."
He pivoted, cloak sweeping behind him as he strode toward the exit.
As he walked, the light caught his back.
Once, then twice.
For a second, his royal tunic blurred. Glitched.
The image of a black football kit shimmered underneath—number 11, ghosted in white.
Then gone.
One of the guards stepped forward, instinct twitching in his heel. Augustus raised a finger.
Not a command. A permission revoked.
The guard froze.
Augustus didn't look away.
Didn't order. Just watched.
No one followed.
No one spoke.
But everything had changed.
…
The throne room didn't echo after he left.
It absorbed the silence like it had expected it.
Like this wasn't rebellion. Just inevitability.
Augustus didn't move.
Alteria remained still beside the dais, watching the air where Raze had stood. Not stunned.
Just measuring the fallout.
Nyra took a step forward, arms folded loosely.
"Bold," she murmured. "I liked that."
Her father didn't answer.
A flicker of magic skimmed the edge of the room.
A residual trail where Drakonis had activated.
Static shimmered faintly along the floor.
Like ash stirred by memory.
"You said he was broken," Augustus said finally, voice low. "I'm not convinced."
"I didn't say he was broken," Alteria replied. "I said he was still waking up."
The King's eyes narrowed. "You know what happens to things that wake up before they're ready."
"They stumble," she said. "Then they stand."
He turned his head slightly toward her—not impressed. Not angry. Just colder now.
"Let's hope you're right."
Alteria stepped back from the stairs. "I usually am."
She turned. Walked without waiting for dismissal.
Nyra lingered. Watching. Then gave a soft hum under her breath and followed.
Behind them, Augustus sat alone. Not still. Not calm.
Not yet. He looked toward the empty doorway and tapped the head of his staff once against the floor.
No crack. No noise. Just that motion.