The Great Kingdom of Izz stretched across an imnse expanse, shaped like a perfect orb, its crescent-like borders gleaming under the sun. Rivers wound through its lands like silver threads, and lakes shimred like scattered jewels. Even on a map, its majesty was unmistakable.
The kingdom was organized into three distinct regions—an inner core, an encircling middle layer, and the farthest, outermost shell.
At the Inner Core rested the City of Omah, shaped like an oval orb and nad after His Majesty, King Omah. Though called a city, its reach stretched across a large landscape.
Encircling the capital like a cloak were the Four Duchies, forming the kingdom’s middle layer
Beyond them, in the kingdom’s outermost shell, lay six more duchies. Altogether, the kingdom ford three concentric rings—inner, middle, and outer—with the capital as the heart of the inner ring.
Each duchy was governed by a Duke, yet none rivaled Duke Ecnes, whose lands stretched from the middle ring all the way to the outer boundaries of the kingdom.
The Great Borders of the kingdom were entrusted to the Five Generals. In the south, General Znoh in alliance with Duke Ecnes, whose lands stretched from the middle to outer ring, forming a crucial defensive line.
General Yoab commanded the western frontier, while the northern defenses were under General Roah, assisted by General Linh, who also co-managed the eastern border alongside General Toah. Today, critical matters demanded the King’s direct counsel, necessitating their attendance at court.
As they approached the throne room, the palace official stationed at the entrance proclaid their arrival. In strict adherence to protocol, the Generals advanced into the King’s imposing court in perfect formation.
The King’s hall glead with grandeur. High ceilings bore frescoes so intricate they seed to shift with each glance; polished stone walls reflected the subtle glimr of the floor. Ordinarily, such magnificence commanded awe. Today, however, the area surrounding the throne was shadowed, chandeliers and sconces near it dimd faintly, adding a somber weight to the room.
Flanking the base of the throne steps, two royal Eunuchs maintained vigilant watch. Higher up, on the eleventh step, the High Eunuch stood, eyes trained on every subtle motion of the King, ready to translate gesture into command.
Atop the throne sat His Majesty the King, as grand as ever. His gaze was usually piercing, but now carried a heaviness. He slumped slightly, supporting his chin with his hands. The air surrounding him felt dark, as if in league with death and slaughter for unknown reasons. The dim lighting around the throne intensified the somber atmosphere.
"Greetings to Your Majesty!" they intoned together, kneeling and bowing in precise synchrony.
The King’s gaze swept over them; a re flick of his wrist sufficed as acknowledgnt.
Once the subtle signal passed, the High Eunuch’s commanding voice resonated through the hall:
"You may rise."
Just then, the voice of the announcing official rang from the entrance:
"Her Highness the Queen has arrived."
Her entrance, as always, rippled through the court. Hearts raced; the air itself seed to shimr with her presence, and today, the stir was entirely pleasing.
Every step she took sent invisible sparks through the hall. Her fragrance, subtle yet pervasive, carried the faint sweetness of divine gardens, touching those sensitive enough to perceive it.
And then there was her beauty: eyes that made fertile soil feel wanting, lips that challenged the very moon, and skin so luminous it demanded reverence. It was no wonder the Prince inherited such perfection—this was a beauty worthy only of a King, a beauty rare enough to shape legacies.
Moving gracefully through the bowed officials, she paused at the base of the throne, only a few ters from His Majesty, her presence commanding attention even in stillness.
"Your Majesty," she said, giving a courteous bow as she lifted her eyes to et his.
It was the sa man she had been with earlier today—the sa eyes that once held warmth and care—but now they looked damp and void. She could see the suppressed sadness behind them, and the smile he attempted barely masked itself, appearing as little more than a blunt smirk.
Instinctively, her feet had begun to move toward him, driven by the urge to console and understand the shadow over his heart. But reality struck—the throne room, the assembled court, the eyes of those present—and she halted. Normally, nothing would restrain her, yet the echoes of His Majesty’s endless lectures on court decorum held her back. He would not want her probing here; her questions would have to wait.
Regaining her regal composure, she lifted her shoulders and walked with asured elegance. At the King’s subtle gesture, she ascended the steps to her seat, positioned a single step below him, to his left.
She looked at him once more, but his eyes shifted away, sweeping over the figures kneeling before him. His face held neither smile nor warmth—only a deep, brooding void.
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