The next morning, Liraeth and Lumberling rode through the winding avenues that led straight to the emperor’s castle. The palace lood higher with every step, a colossus of white stone and gilded spires that seed to pierce the sky itself.
At the great gate, two guards stood at attention. Their armor glead, their auras sharp and steady, True Knights, Knight One Stages.
Lumberling’s eyes narrowed slightly. ’Even True Knights here are treated as door guards?’ The realization sent a quiet ripple through him. In most places, such n would be commanders, heroes in their own right. Here, they were simply stationed to hold a post.
He glanced at Liraeth. She caught his look and gave a faint, knowing smile. "The capital doesn’t asure strength the sa way the provinces do. Here, being a True Knight is only the beginning."
They passed beneath the archway, and the palace unfolded before them.
The interior was a world of its own, gleaming marble floors that reflected the light of towering chandeliers, pillars carved with scenes of emperors past, and banners of crimson and gold that draped the walls like rivers of fire. The air itself seed charged, heavy with history and power.
Lumberling slowed his steps, his eyes lingering on the artistry, the craftsmanship.
"This place..." he murmured under his breath, "feels alive."
Liraeth’s gaze swept the vaulted ceiling and the rows of armored guards that lined the corridors. "That’s because every stone here was built to remind you of who sits at the center. You can’t walk these halls without feeling the weight of the empire."
They were soon guided by a servant down a long corridor, where the sound of voices echoed from beyond an open doorway. As they entered, they realized they were not alone.
A dozen others were already gathered, a mix of knights, nobles, and rchants, all clad in their finest attire. So bore scars that spoke of battles survived, others carried the proud stiffness of officials unused to waiting.
Lumberling’s eyes scanned them with quiet curiosity.
A butler, draped in black and silver, approached with a polite bow. "Please wait here. His Majesty is currently occupied with pressing matters. Once he is ready, you will all be summoned to the throne hall."
The words carried no room for argunt, yet were spoken with the calm authority of soone used to being obeyed.
Lumberling nodded once, finding a seat at the edge of the room. Liraeth sat beside him, her posture as composed as ever, though her sharp eyes flicked across the others, quietly weighing each face.
Lumberling let his gaze drift across the hall. Most people gathered here carried the steady weight of True Knight auras. The strongest he sensed was a Knight Three Stage, and that spoke volus about the kind of company assembled here.
Then, his eyes caught on one figure.
A man sat apart from the others, cloaked in a hood of dark red and black. The armor he wore seed to drink in the light, its edges sharp, almost predatory. His presence wasn’t overwhelming in strength, but it was... different. Sothing dark and elusive.
Lumberling studied him longer than he should have. The man turned, almost as if pulled by that attention, and their eyes t.
For a brief instant, a strange familiarity struck Lumberling, like catching the scent of smoke from a fire he didn’t rember starting. He had never seen this man before, and yet sothing about him lingered, as though they shared an unfinished thread.
The man’s gaze was cold, impassive, and then, just like that, he looked away.
"Who is that?" Lumberling murmured under his breath, leaning toward Liraeth.
She followed his line of sight, and her expression sharpened the mont she saw the hooded knight.
"The Cloaked Fang," she said, voice low. "One of the empire’s rising nas. His deeds have spread far, killed two Sengolio generals, cut down officials, survived a mission no one else would’ve walked out of. He even turned back pirate fleets when entire cities were at risk."
Lumberling frowned. "Two generals? Generals are usually Knight Three Stage. But he... doesn’t feel on the sa stage."
"He isn’t," Liraeth replied. Her lips curved faintly, though her eyes stayed cautious. "Knight Two Stage. Yet he fights above his rank. Just like you."
Lumberling leaned back, folding his arms. "I see. So that’s why he feels different. A dangerous fellow, then."
His gaze flicked around the rest of the chamber. Nobles with polished smiles, knights with heavy pride, rchants clutching docunts. All of them waiting for the sa man, the Everlight Sovereign himself.
But it was the hooded knight who lingered in his mind, as if the familiarity wasn’t going to let him go so easily.
An hour slipped by before the sound of asured footsteps drew everyone’s attention. The butler reappeared, his composure as crisp as ever.
"Prepare yourselves," he announced, his voice carrying easily across the chamber. "You are about to et the emperor."
The murmurs quieted. A faint tension coiled in the air as the doors groaned open.
One by one, they stepped inside.
The hall was vast, soaring ceilings carved with golden reliefs, high windows spilling beams of light across a floor of polished obsidian. And at its far end, raised upon a dais of black marble, stood a throne of iron. Its jagged edges jutted upward like a crown of blades, sharp and unforgiving, as though the seat itself was a reminder of what it cost to rule.
Gathered along the hall’s edges were nobles in jeweled robes and officials in austere uniforms, their faces masks of expectation and intrigue.
Lumberling’s eyes swept toward the dais again.
The first thing he felt was the pressure. Five figures stood like unshakable pillars beside the throne, Legates of the empire. Three n, two won, each radiating a force that pressed down like a mountain. Knight Four Stage, every one of them. Their armor glead with subtle enchantnts, their very presence enough to still the breath of lesser n.
’So these are the Legates...’ he thought. There were only ten in the entire empire, and not all of them were present. The rest were likely away, on missions, or stationed elsewhere.
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