The iron chains rattled with every step, their weight a familiar burden that dragged across the stone floor of the Ember Kingdom’s grand hall. Shadows clung to the edges of towering pillars, flickering in time with the sputtering torches that lined the path. Morvath moved with the deliberation of a storm, his massive frame casting long, jagged silhouettes that danced like specters on the walls. His crimson eyes burned beneath the helmet's visor, scanning the hall with a soldier's precision. It had been decades—perhaps even centuries—since he had been summoned to the throne room, his purpose locked away with him in Blackstone Keep.

The king's voice had been a whisper upon the iron chains that bound him, a command laced with ancient power that he could not disobey. Protect them. That was the order, spoken with a finality that left no room for questions. Morvath had bowed his head, the great links of golden chain clinking heavily, and set forth from his dark vigil. Now, the throne room loomed ahead, its heavy doors creaking open as he approached. Guards shrank back, their eyes wide with something between fear and reverence. He paid them no mind; their judgment was as weightless as dust upon his iron skin.

The throne room stretched wide and empty, save for the figure that stood at its center, flanked by flickering flames that bowed and wavered in the draft. Morvath slowed, his footsteps resounding like distant thunder. Chains dragged along the stone, sparks sputtering beneath the weight. His gaze locked onto the lone figure, and for the first time in his ironbound existence, he faltered. His crimson eyes flared and dimmed, embers flickering with hesitation. This was the one he had been ordered to protect? The one worth summoning him from the depths of Blackstone?

His chains rattled as he knelt, the weight of his oath pressing him down like the very stone that had entombed him for ages. "Command me," came the voice from within the iron helm, a sound like grinding stone and distant echoes. His crimson eyes blazed, waiting, watching. But beneath that iron visage, something else flickered—a question, unspoken but undeniable. Why them?