The grand hall of Drakonis's royal crypt reeked of stale incense and the metallic tang of fresh blood, a scent that clawed at King Aden's nostrils like an accusation. His frail body, once a bastion of unyielding strength, now betrayed him at every turn his knees buckled under the weight of his grief, forcing him to grip the edge of the bier where his queen lay.
Her face, pale as moonlit marble, stared sightlessly at the vaulted ceiling, her lips parted in an eternal whisper of surprise.
Aden's chest heaved, not with sobs, but with a rage that boiled beneath his papery skin, hot and impotent. His realm crumbled around him and the celestial alliances that had once fortified his throne now frayed like rotten silk.
He is now a king reduced to a spectator, his commands echoing hollowly against the encroaching void.
He leaned closer, his gnarled fingers trembling as they brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead.
