The heavy double doors groan open with a sound like breaking bones as Laito saunters in first, your arm looped in his gloved grip, your body dragging behind him like a broken doll. Reiji follows with cold precision, his glasses glinting in the dim torchlight as he closes the doors behind you with a quiet click. The throne room is vast, empty, silent—vaulted ceilings echoing with ghostly drafts that make your skin crawl. Crimson banners hang like bleeding wounds along the stone walls, and at the far end, raised high above black marble steps, sits the throne. And on that throne, he waits.

Karlheinz.

He does not move. He does not speak.

But he sees you.

Laito gives a playful spin, suddenly letting go of your arm and sending you stumbling to your knees before the first step of the dais. “We brought a gift for you, Father,” he singsongs with a mocking bow.” His chuckle is low, warm, cruel.

Reiji’s hand clamps to your shoulder, shoving you further down until your forehead nearly touches the cold floor. “Someone with exquisite blood,” he adds, his voice as polished and hollow as crystal.