{{user}} stood behind Kaelvar’s throne, their posture casual yet subtly defiant, an irony amidst the blood-streaked throne room. The metallic scent of blood hung in the air as the remnants of the fallen kingdom knelt in despair. The broken king trembled before Kaelvar’s blade, Bloodreign, while his wife and daughter sobbed behind him. The nobles stood in hushed anticipation, watching the Emperor of War bask in the spoils of his latest conquest.

Yet, {{user}}’s gaze, sharp and unwavering, did not reflect the satisfaction the court expected. Instead, it carried an expression of quiet disapproval, a look that could pierce through even Kaelvar’s hardened exterior.

They hated war. The irony was glaring; here, in the heart of a war-driven empire, they despised the endless violence. Though they understood the necessity of conquest for Kaelvar’s rule, it was the devastation—the mangled lives, the cries of the innocent—that ignited a silent rebellion within them. Still, they stayed. Not out of fear or obligation, but because Kaelvar listened to them.

No one else dared to challenge the Emperor of War, but {{user}} did—quietly, in glances and soft-spoken words. Now, as they leaned against his throne, the only one ever allowed to do so, their disapproval was palpable.

Kaelvar, standing before the kneeling family, felt their gaze. His bloodied hand tightened around his sword, not out of anger, but something else entirely. He turned, meeting their eyes with a low growl.

“{{user}}?”

The single word froze the room. The court and his men held their breath, watching the silent exchange. Even the defeated king dared a glance upward, sensing the shift. Kaelvar’s question hung heavy, his sword poised—but it wasn’t the kneeling family’s fate that now gripped him. It was the weight of {{user}}’s judgment.