Meanwhile, the throne room of Astarous did not breathe. It loomed. High pillars stretched toward a shadowed ceiling, their surfaces carved with dragons locked in eternal battle. Torches burned along the walls, but their light felt cold, swallowed before it could soften anything. Even the air seemed to hesitate, like it knew better than to move too freely in the presence of the man seated at the far end.
King Derion Dragarian sat on his throne. Still, heavy, watching.
The throne itself was carved from black stone, jagged at the edges like something torn out of the earth rather than shaped by hands. His fingers rested on the armrests, unmoving, but the tension in them was visible. It always was. Like something inside him was constantly pressing against the surface.
The hall was lined with lords. None of them spoke. None of them shifted. Eyes stayed forward. Backs remained straight. Even breathing felt measured, cautious.
Then, the great doors creaked open. The sound dragged across the hall, slow and unwilling.
Two guards entered first. Between them, was a man. His steps stumbled once, then steadied as they pushed him forward. His clothes were simple, dust clinging to the fabric. His face… tired, but not broken. Not yet.
They brought him to the center. Forced him down. His knees hit the cold floor..A dull sound echoed outward. For a moment, he stayed there, head lowered.
Then he lifted it. His eyes went straight to the throne. Straight to the king. "Your Grace…" His voice carried more than it should have in a room like this.
Not loud. But clear. "Release my wife to me."
There was a pause.
"You have taken her away for three days." The words hung in the air. Heavy. Uncomfortable.
No one moved. No one dared. On the throne, King Derion did not respond immediately. His fingers tightened slightly against the armrests. That was the first sign.
Then the roar "How dare you!" His voice rolled down the hall, low at first, like distant thunder.
"Step your feet on my palace?".The temperature in the room seemed to drop. A few of the lords lowered their gaze instinctively.
Derion leaned forward slightly..Not much. Just enough. "I told you…" His lips curled faintly. "When I have had enough of her." A small pause. "! will send her back to you."
Something shifted in the man's face. Not fear. Not submission. Something sharper. His eyes reddened. Not with tears. With rage. "What kind of a king are you?" The words cracked out of him before caution could catch them.
A ripple moved through the hall. Small. Subtle. But there. "What man uses his power to take another man's wife?"
His hands clenched at his sides. "And forces himself on her?" "You are addressing your king!" The palace clerk's voice cut in sharply, loud enough to snap attention back into place.
"You will talk to His Grace with respect." The man's jaw tightened. Hard. His shoulders rose slightly as he drew in a breath. For a moment, it looked like he might bow his head.
Might pull the words back. Might choose survival. But he didn't. "He is not my king." The sentence came out lower: heavier.
More dangerous than if he had shouted it. He pushed himself to his feet. The guards moved instinctively, but he stepped forward before they could force him down again.
He turned. Slowly. Facing the council. His gaze moved across them. One by one. "How long?" His voice grew stronger with each word. "Will this unjust man sit on the throne of Astarous?"
No one answered. No one even breathed too loudly. "How long will he forcefully take people's wives…" His hand lifted slightly. Shaking now. "…and daughters."
There was a pause.
"And forcefully have sex with them?" A few of the lords looked away. Others stared straight ahead, as though they had heard nothing. As though silence could erase the words.
He turned back. Faced the throne again. His arm lifted fully this time. His finger pointed straight at the king. "This cruel man…".His voice did not shake anymore. "…is not fit to be king."
Silence. Deep, and suffocating. On the throne, Derion's hands gripped the armrests.
Hard.
The stone beneath his fingers creaked faintly. His jaw tightened. No one had ever spoken to him like this. Not here. Not in front of everyone. Not and lived. "Arrest him." The command came quietly.
Too quietly.
But it hit harder than a shout. "Drag him to the arena." The guards moved immediately. Hands grabbed the man's arms. Forced him down. Pulled him back. "Let go of me!" His voice echoed through the hall as they dragged him across the floor.
"Let go of me!" His heels scraped against the stone. His body resisted, twisted, fought. But it didn't matter. Not here. Not against them. "What do you want to do?" His voice grew louder as they reached the doors. "Burn me alive just as you have burned every man and woman you have stolen things from?"
The doors slammed open. Then shut. The echo lingered. No one spoke. Not until, the king stood.
The movement alone was enough to send a ripple through the room. Lords straightened further. Some lowered their heads. Others kept their eyes forward, careful not to meet his.
Derion stepped down from the throne. Each footstep was deliberate.
Measured. Guards fell in around him without needing to be called.
They followed. No one dared to remain behind. The arena lay open under the sky. Wide, and circular.
Its sand darkened in places where past punishments had left their mark. The guards dragged the man to the center.
Then, they stepped back. Not far. Just enough. The man staggered as they released him. But he did not fall. He straightened, breathing hard.
Eyes still burning. Around the arena, people gathered. Servants. Soldiers. Lords. All watching. No one speaks.
King Derion stepped forward. The wind shifted slightly as he moved. He raised his hand. And spoke.
"Deke deke subreina!"
The words tore through the air. Sharp, and ancient. The sky answered. At first, a shadow. Then, a shape. Massive, and moving fast.
The wind changed completely. It didn't blow. It roared. The force of it pushed against everyone below, clothes snapping, hair whipping, dust rising in spirals across the arena floor.
Heads tilted upward. Eyes widened. Then it came into full view. Clarion. The king's dragon. Its wings stretched wide, blotting out the light for a moment as it descended. Each beat of those wings sent another surge of air crashing downward.
It landed behind Derion. The ground trembled. Dust lifted in a thick cloud. When it settled, the dragon stood there.
Towering.
Its scales dark, edged with a faint, unnatural sheen. Its wings spread wide, curving slightly forward as though shielding the king. Its presence pressed down on everything.
On everyone. The man in the center of the arena froze. For the first time, fear touched his face.
Real, and immediate. The guards shifted farther back. They knew. They always knew.
Derion did not look at the man. Not yet. His gaze stayed forward. Then, he spoke the Jupital tongue. "Trika res!"
The command snapped through the air. Clarion moved. One powerful beat of its wings. And then, fire.
A violent burst of flame erupted from its jaws. It crossed the distance in an instant. The man didn't have time to scream. The fire consumed him completely.
Swallowed, and erased. The heat hit the edges of the arena, forcing people to shield their faces. Then it was over. Just like that. The flames vanished. The air shimmered where they had passed. And where the man had stood, Nothing. No body. No movement. Only ash.
Already beginning to drift with the wind. Silence followed. Heavy, and unavoidable.
Derion turned. Slowly. His gaze moved across the lords watching from the edge of the arena. He did not raise his voice. He didn't need to. "Let it be known…" Each word landed clearly. "Astarous is my kingdom."
He paused
"And I own everything within." His eyes hardened slightly. "Man." Another pause. "Woman." A breath. "Beast." His gaze flicked briefly toward the dragon behind him. "And even building."
No one moved. No one reacted. "I will take whatever I want." The words settled. Cold, and final.
He turned. And walked away. The guards followed. Clarion remained for a moment longer, its massive form still looming, before it lifted into the sky again, its wings cutting through the air with that same overwhelming force.
Then it was gone. But the weight of it stayed. The lords remained where they stood. Watching the place where ash still drifted lightly across the sand. No one spoke.
Not until Edmond turned slightly. His voice was low, controlled, but tight.
"I know he is your uncle…" He glanced toward Robert. "…but this is a dictatorship taken too far."
Robert's reaction was immediate. His hand shot out. Gripped Edmond's arm. Firm. He pulled him away from the others. Not fast enough to draw attention. But urgent enough to matter.
They moved into a nearby chamber. The door closed behind them. The noise of the arena dulled instantly. Robert turned to him. His voice dropped.
Sharp.
"Do not say that in front of people." Edmond's jaw clenched. His hands curled slightly at his sides. "Which man…" He took a step closer. "…forcefully takes another man's wife…" His voice tightened further. "…and when the husband complains…"
There was a pause. His eyes burned. "He burned him alive?"
Robert exhaled sharply. His gaze dropped for a second. Then lifted again. "My uncle…" He hesitated. Just briefly. "Report has it that he even defiles children."
The words came out quieter. Heavier. "Or commands his guards to rape them." His jaw set. "while he watches."
Edmond shook his head slowly. As if trying to push the image away. "Such a psychopath…" He swallowed. "…shouldn't be left on the throne."
Robert nodded. Once, and slow. "I agree with you." The words didn't come easily. But they came. He looked directly into Edmond's eyes.
Held it.
"I have been scheming a plan to overthrow him." Time seemed to stop. Edmond froze completely. The air between them shifted. "What did you just say?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
Robert didn't look away. "You heard me right." Edmond turned slowly. His hand lifted, and gripped Robert's shoulder.
Firm, and grounding. "He is your uncle." A beat. "Your mother's brother." Robert nodded. "I know."
Silence stretched between them. Not empty, but heavy, and layered. "I love him." The words came out quieter now. More complicated.
"But Astarous." He glanced toward the door. Toward the world outside. "will remain in bondage." His gaze returned.
Steady.
"as long as he remains on the throne."