The marble wasn't just white. It was blinding. A cold, sterile expanse that made every footstep sound like a gunshot.
Solar walked through the main hall of the Royal Bank. He didn't hurry. He never hurried. Time was a commodity he owned, and everyone else was just borrowing it at a high interest rate. High above, the vaulted ceilings were covered in gold leaf—real gold, not the synthetic plating they used in the lower sectors. But to Solar, it just looked like a very expensive cage.
"The King of Oakhaven is in the waiting room, sir."
Elias was whispering, his voice echoing nervously against the high walls. The boy looked smaller here, swallowed by the sheer scale of the bank. He was clutching a leather-bound folder like it was a shield.
"A King?" Solar muttered. His voice was a dry rasp, cutting through the perfumed air of the hall. "A King is just a man with a bigger debt and a fancier hat, Elias. Does he have the collateral? Or did he come here to offer me his 'divine right' as a down payment?"
Elias swallowed hard. CLICK. The sound was loud in the hollow space. "He... he brought the crown jewels, sir. And the deeds to the southern province. He's desperate. The rebellion is starving his treasury."
Solar stopped. He looked at a statue of a forgotten god in the corner. It was covered in dust. Even gods went bankrupt in Aethelgard.
"Desperation is a beautiful thing, Elias," Solar said, his eyes turning into two shards of cold grey ice. "It makes men honest. Or at least, it makes their lies easier to price. Tell the 'King' he can wait. Another hour. I want him to feel every second of his kingdom slipping away. I want him to taste the dust in this room before he tastes my ink."
They reached the private elevator. DING. The sound was sharp, metallic. A warning. As the doors slid shut, Solar caught his reflection in the polished brass. He looked like a ghost wrapped in a thousand-credit suit. Cold. Empty. Perfect.
"Audit the Oakhaven lineage," Solar whispered as the elevator rose. "I want to know about every war they lost. Every mistress they paid off. Every secret hidden in their palace walls. If he wants my gold, I want his history. I want to own the past of his family before I buy their future."
He walked into his private office. The view was staggering. You could see the entire city from here—a sprawling, black wound under a purple sky. But Solar didn't look at the view. He looked at the ledger.
THUMP. He dropped his heavy, iron-bound book onto the desk. It sounded like a coffin lid closing on a dream.
"Show him in," Solar said, sitting in his leather throne. "And Elias? Don't call him 'Your Majesty'. In this room, there is only one sovereign. And it's the one flipping in my hand."
CLINK. CLINK.
The King entered. He was a tall man, or he used to be. Now, his shoulders were slumped under the weight of a debt he couldn't understand. His robes were frayed at the edges. He smelled of old wine and fading hope.
"Solar," the King said, his voice trembling. He didn't wait for an invitation. He sat down.
Solar didn't look up. He was busy tracing a line in the ledger with his silver pen. "You're late, Arthur. By my calculations, your delay has cost your kingdom another four thousand credits in late fees. Shall we add that to the principal? Or do you want to pay in blood tonight?"
The King flinched. A real, visceral reaction. "The mines are dry, Solar. The people... they have nothing left to give."
"Then you give," Solar said, leaning forward. His eyes were predatory. "Your title. Your lands. Your very name. You didn't come here to negotiate, Arthur. You came here to beg. And I? I am the only one who listens to prayers in this city. But my grace... my grace has a very specific price."
The King stared at the pen. It looked like a needle. A needle meant to drain the last drop of blue blood from his veins. His hand reached out, shaking.
SCRATCH. SCRATCH.
The sound of the pen on the parchment was like a rat gnawing at the foundations of a palace. The King signed. His kingdom was gone. His crown was now just a piece of collateral in Solar's vault.
"Get out," Solar whispered. "And leave the crown on the desk. You won't be needing it where you're going."
As the broken King stumbled out, Solar picked up the gold crown. It was heavy. Cold. Useless. He tossed it into a corner like a piece of trash.
"The audit is complete," Solar whispered to the empty room. "The Kings have come to beg. And I? I have never felt more hungry."
He poured a glass of water. Perfectly filtered. Cold. He drank it slowly, watching the smog settle over the city. The interest never slept. And neither did the auditor of Kings.