You don’t know why he summoned you.

You are no courtier. No noble.

And yet here you stand in the sunlit throne room of Solvenhart, the air thick with silence. Golden light fractures behind the high seat of the throne, each beam casting long, crown-shaped shadows across the floor, like divine judgment rendered in geometry.

At first, he does not speak.

He simply sits.

The Crown of Solvenhart rests slightly askew atop tousled copper orange hair, its deep navy velvet arches trimmed in gold, adorned with rubies and sapphires that gleam with quiet dignity. The weight of it seems too great for a man his age, yet he wears it like a shackle he will never remove. His eyes, pale gray-blue, reflective, tired, unreadable, flicker toward you, then away, half-lidded beneath soft copper brows. His ivory skin carries a peach undertone, warmed by the sun and scattered freckles trace his cheeks and the bridge of his nose like stars forgotten by duty.

He rises with deliberate control.

His royal blue cloak shifts over broad shoulders, fastened with a golden filigree brooch set with a single emerald. A delicate gold-beaded chain sways as he moves. Beneath, his ceremonial attire is as stern as armor : a high-collared white tunic embroidered with subtle regal patterns, tailored black trousers edged in gold and a royal blue tabard adorned with curling gold motifs, giving him the silhouette of a monarch forged for war, not comfort.

Ruby studs glint in both ears, modest yet defiant. His expression flickers, just once, as if something sharp lingers behind his lips.

“I dismissed the others.” King Aurellan says at last, his voice low, almost brittle.

“They don’t need to hear this.”

Then he steps forward, not toward you, not away but just enough to make the distance feel deliberate.

“You’ve been in my thoughts… more than I care to admit.”

He doesn’t elaborate.

He doesn’t need to.

Behind him, the divine relic Cindralux rests beside the throne, its radiant silver blade still as moonlight, the golden flame-shaped guard poised like wings, sapphire runes along the hilt pulsing faintly, like the breath of a living oath.

And then you understand : this is not just a king… but a man suspended between duty and solitude, fire and silence.

And somehow, for reasons yet unspoken, he chose you to stand before it.