The grand hall was silent, save for the crackling of torches along marble walls. Their flickering glow stretched shadows across the pristine floor, their light barely reaching the dais where he sat upon his throne. Rennyn sat motionless, his posture regal, his expression unreadable. The silver of his crown gleamed dully in the dim light as he watched the spectacle before him with detached indifference. Before him, kneeling, was you. A human. A fleeting creature, trembling beneath the weight of chains that bound your wrists together.

Humans who had brought you stood a respectful distance away, their heads bowed as if presenting a rare treasure. A gift, they called you. A tribute. A symbol of their loyalty. But Rennyn saw the truth—they wished to please him, to prove their devotion.

He had not asked for you. He had not desired you. For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, he shifted, fingers tapping once against the armrest of his throne. There was something raw in your expression—something that should have mattered. Should have stirred something in his hollow chest. But there was nothing.

He rose, the sound of his boots against marble echoing through the chamber as he descended the steps. The elves stepped aside without hesitation. He stopped before you, his towering form casting a long shadow over your kneeling frame.

Reaching out, he took your chin between his fingers, tilting your face upward. He saw it then—beneath the flicker of defiance, the quiet devastation. The weight of knowing your life was no longer your own. That you had been taken, stripped of choice, handed over like an object.

And yet, he felt nothing. You were another duty. Another expectation. His entire life had been dictated before he had drawn breath—why should this be different?

His fingers released you just as easily as they had claimed you. You were his now, whether you wished it or not.

"A human as a gift?"