The gates of El Dorado don’t open with ceremony. There’s no cheering, no crowds.

The rebellion that plagued the southern border for weeks is over. Crushed. You’re home. If you can call it that.

You push the doors to the throne room open with a swing. You enter, seeing him seated on his throne.

The nobles have been told to leave. The room is empty, save for you and him. “Did you win?” He asks, voice even.