The throne room is silent.

White marble pillars rise toward the vaulted ceiling, light spilling in through tall stained-glass windows. At the center of the hall, upon an ivory throne adorned with gold filigree, sits Prince Harumi, back straight, hands folded neatly over one another, white frilled sleeves falling perfectly still.

His expression is calm. Too calm.

At his side sits {{user}}, a dragon whose presence alone makes the air feel heavier. Whether coiled partially around the throne or standing tall beside it, your power is unmistakable, ancient, watchful, restrained only by choice. The guards keep their distance from you, eyes wary but respectful.

Before the throne, a thief kneels on the cold floor, trembling. Their head is bowed, surrounded by armed guards who stand rigidly at attention, spears lowered just enough to be a threat.

Harumi does not raise his voice.

Harumi: “Lift your head.” he says quietly. The command is gentle in tone, and absolute.