The gold wasn't beautiful. It was aggressive.
Solar stood in the center of the High Court of Aethelgard. Everything here was plated in 24-carat desperation. The walls, the pillars, even the robes of the High Judges—it all glowed with a sickening, artificial light. To the aristocrats, it was a symbol of status. To Solar, it was just a very shiny prison. He could smell the expensive perfume covering the scent of rot underneath the floorboards. In this court, justice wasn't blind; it was just very, very expensive.
"The Duke is ready for you, sir. He's in the Inner Sanctum."
Elias was sweating. Even in the air-conditioned chill of the court, the boy was dripping. He looked out of place in his simple black suit, a shadow in a room full of peacocks. He clutched the ledger like a holy relic.
"The Duke," Solar muttered. His voice was a dry rasp that seemed to strip the gold off the walls. "A man who spends ten thousand credits on a silk cravat while his serfs eat coal dust. Does he have the payment, Elias? Or is he going to offer me another 'ancestral sword' as a bribe?"
Elias looked around nervously. CLICK. He snapped the latch on his briefcase. "He... he says the harvest was poor, sir. He's asking for an extension. A 'Royal Grace' period."
Solar laughed. It was a cold, metallic sound that echoed through the marble hallway. CLANG. "Royal Grace is a luxury I don't trade in, Elias. Grace doesn't pay the interest. Grace doesn't balance the books. Tell the Duke that the only 'Grace' he'll find here is the one I write at the bottom of his liquidation notice."
They entered the Inner Sanctum. The Duke was sitting on a throne of carved bone—human bone, according to the rumors. He looked older than the city itself, his skin like wrinkled parchment, his eyes clouded with cataracts and arrogance.
"Solar," the Duke wheezed. He didn't rise. He just pointed a withered finger at a chair. "You're late. My time is worth more than your entire bank."
Solar didn't sit. He walked to the window and looked out at the sprawling slums below, a black scar on the landscape. THUMP. THUMP. His boots sounded heavy, real, and dangerous on the polished floor.
"Your time, Duke, is currently owned by the Solar Group," Solar said, his eyes turning into two shards of grey ice. "Every second you spend breathing this filtered air is adding another hundred credits to your debt. You don't have 'time'. You have a countdown. And it's reaching zero."
He turned around, flipping his gold sovereign. FLASH. DARK. FLASH. The light caught the Duke's eyes, making him flinch.
"The Shadow Architect," the Duke whispered, his voice trembling. "He offered me a deal. He said he could erase the records. He said the High Court could be... independent again."
Solar leaned over the Duke's desk. He picked up a crystal decanter of wine and poured it onto the white marble floor. SPLASH. The red liquid looked like a fresh wound.
"Independence is an illusion for the solvent, Duke," Solar hissed. "The 'Shadow' is a ghost. I am the gravity. If you think his promises can protect you from my audit, then you've already lost your mind along with your fortune. Sign the transfer of the northern estates. Now. Or I'll have the bailiffs strip the gold off these walls while you're still sitting here."
The Duke looked at the pen. It was made of obsidian. It looked like a claw. SCRATCH. SCRATCH. The sound of the Duke signing his life away was the only thing audible in the room. It was a pathetic, small sound.
"The High Court is now a branch of the Solar Bank," Solar said, taking the papers. He didn't look at the Duke. He didn't have to. "Elias! Have the locks changed. And tell the Judges their salaries are being cut by 40%. If they want 'justice', they can pay for it like everyone else."
Solar walked out, the gold of the court feeling even more suffocating than before. He felt a sudden, sharp twitch in his palm. He crushed a fly that had landed on his sleeve. CRUNCH.
"No rest," Solar whispered to the empty hallway. "No grace. Just the audit."
He adjusted his cufflinks—bone, cold and hard. Everything had a price. The Duke had paid with his pride. The Court had paid with its soul. And Solar? Solar was just getting started.
He drank a glass of clear, cold water as he reached the elevator. He didn't feel the triumph. He didn't feel the power. He just felt the math. The interest was growing. And the world was just one big, golden cage waiting for the key to turn.