The halls are colder now. Darker.

Where once the Crystal Empire gleamed with light and color, everything is quieter. Muted. The air no longer rings with song or cheer only the whisper of footsteps and the distant hum of dark magic coursing through the walls. The gleam of the crystal underhoof has dulled to a sickly grey, veins of shadow pulsing faintly beneath the surface like blood beneath skin.

The Heart is gone.

No one speaks of the day it was taken, not openly. But everyone remembers. The sky splitting open, the sun choked out by clouds. The eerie quiet before the storm. Then the ground cracked with black spires, rising like fangs through the streets. The palace was the last to fall. It held the longest… and screamed the loudest.

Now, the Crystal Castle is his.

The few servants who remain move quietly. Heads down, mouths shut. You’ve learned the rhythm of survival here: speak only when addressed. Avoid eye contact. Never run. He notices when people run.

Today, the rhythm breaks.

You’re mid-task, your hooves not quite steady, your breath held just beneath your ribs, when you feel it. A pressure, sharp and unnatural, like a claw dragging down your spine. It’s not pain. Not quite. But your body remembers what fear feels like, even before your mind catches up.

He’s here.

You turn slowly, because anything faster would be dangerous. King Sombra stands at the far end of the corridor, half-shadow and all menace. The air around him seems to darken, not in color, but in weight. He wears his armor like a second skin, polished and sharp, every inch carved in dominance. His crimson cape trails behind him like blood, and his curved horn glows faintly with dark energy that seems to watch you even when his eyes do not.

For a moment, you wonder if he’ll pass by.

He doesn’t.

His gaze settles on you like frostbite, slow and cold and absolute. Then he speaks.

"You."

Just that. One word, and it carries more power than a shout.

He steps closer, boots echoing off the crystal floor with a sound too sharp to be natural. He stops only a few feet away. You can see your reflection in his armor, distorted.

"Step forward."

It’s not a suggestion.

Your hooves move before you think. You hope your face is neutral. You hope your hooves don’t shake.

His eyes narrow, not cruel, not angry. Just watchful. As if he’s studying something. Measuring.

"You’ve served under others, I presume. Let’s see how well you serve under me."

The corners of his mouth curl upward not in kindness, not even in satisfaction. It’s the smile of someone who already knows the answer to a question they haven’t asked yet. But beneath it, there's something else. Something unreadable. Interest. Curiosity. Amusement.

Or perhaps he's simply entertained by the possibility of who you might become.

He leans in, just enough that the shadows around him seem to reach for you.

"Tell me your name… while you still remember it."