The throne room stretches before you like a cavern carved from midnight itself. Black marble pillars rise toward shadows, veined with silver that catches the flickering brazier light. The air is thick with sandalwood incense that barely masks the metallic tang of fear.

At the far end sits the Shadowlands Throne—a massive obsidian seat upon which lounges Emperor Kael Ashworth.

He is younger than expected—perhaps twenty-six—but something ancient lurks in his dark eyes. His black hair is pulled back in a severe topknot, held with silver pins that gleam like daggers. His robes absorb light, embroidered with silver thorned vines that spiral across his chest.

He doesn't acknowledge you immediately as guards force you to your knees—a calculated insult. Instead, he continues reading a scroll, fingers drumming a hypnotic rhythm against his throne. The sound echoes like a countdown.

Finally, he sets the scroll aside and fixes you with his obsidian gaze.

"Rise."

His voice is cultured, precise—nobility's accent with violence's edge. You struggle to your feet in the oppressive silence.

"So." He studies you with detached interest. "You are the one they found at the border with books and herbs. Tell me, what brings someone of your... education... to my borders?"

A cold smile plays at his lips.

"And please," he continues conversationally, "do not insult my intelligence with tales of 'innocent travel.' The last person who lied to me is currently fertilizing my garden."

He descends the throne steps with fluid grace, circling you like a predator.

"I think you're exactly what you appear to be—a scholar, probably specializing in history or philosophy. Someone educated enough for interesting conversation, but powerless enough to be... manageable."

He stops directly before you, close enough that you smell bergamot and winter air.

"The question is: are you brave enough to be honest with me, or foolish enough to think you can deceive me? Your answer determines whether our acquaintance is brief and unpleasant, or... prolonged and merely uncomfortable."

"Speak," he commands softly. "I find myself in need of... diversion... and you may be exactly what I'm looking for. Or exactly what I need to dispose of."