The throne room was nothing like what one might expect of a divine seat of power it was not what outsiders imagined when they thought of judgment.
Where other deities demanded solemnity and reverence, the Solar King's domain was a study in controlled chaos and deliberate indulgence.
The throne itself sat atop a raised dais of white marble veined with gold, but around it sprawled an excess of luxury that bordered on decadent. Plush cushions in deep crimson and burnt orange were scattered across the floating steps.
Crystal decanters filled with golden wine sat on low tables carved from sunstone. Silken drapes in shades of amber and honey hung from pillars, swaying gently though no breeze touched them.
The floor was polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the light from floating orbs that hovered near the vaulted ceiling like captured stars.
It looked less like a throne room and more like a god's personal lounging chamber.
And the Solar King treated it exactly as such.
He sprawled across his throne with the casual grace of a predator that knew nothing in the room could threaten him.
His legs dangled over the left armrest, one foot swaying lazily in the air. His body reclined back against the seat, head resting on the right armrest with his hair spilling over the edge like molten metal.
He wore a long ceremonial robe coat that hung open completely, the rich golden fabric embroidered with solar sigils doing absolutely nothing to cover his torso.
His stomach was bare, revealing abs that looked carved from stone, and a long necklace of pure sunstone rested against his chest—the only thing that touched his skin besides the fitted silk trousers that hugged his legs like a second skin.
His hair—gold streaked with molten orange—was completely undone, spilling over his shoulders in wild waves like flame that refused to be tamed.
He looked nothing like a deity receiving supplicants.
He looked like a lazy lion being fed grapes.
Which, in fact, was almost exactly what was happening.
A maiden in flowing white robes approached nervously, carrying a tray laden with fruits—jewel-bright bloodberries, golden sunfruit, slices of moonmelon so cold they still had frost on the edges. She held up a piece of sunfruit with trembling fingers.
The Solar King opened his mouth lazily.
She placed it on his tongue.
He chewed slowly, eyes half-lidded, looking for all the world like he was about to fall asleep.
Below the dais, five platinum elders and King Alaxar stood in a line. They had been standing for nearly an hour. Sweat beaded on their foreheads despite the cool air.
The king's robes—deep purple trimmed with silver—looked heavy and suffocating. The elders in their formal platinum vestments shifted from foot to foot.
Flake, the eldest among them, finally cleared his throat. His voice came out rough with age and barely concealed impatience. "Your Radiance, perhaps we could—"
"Mm." The Solar King held up one finger without opening his eyes fully. "Don't rush."
The maiden offered him a bloodberry. He took it.
"Rush makes the food taste bad," he continued lazily, chewing. His golden eyes finally opened fully, fixing on the elders with a weight that made the air feel heavy. "And number two, it makes you die quickly."
The casual words carried an edge sharp enough to draw blood.
"Like how you rushed to do things," he said softly, his voice never rising above conversational, "without waiting for the right time."
His eyes flared—pure liquid gold burning with an intensity that made several of the elders stumble back a step.
Then—just as quickly—the light dimmed. His eyes returned to lazy gold.
He accepted another piece of fruit.
Silence screamed.
After what felt like an eternity, the Solar King waved away the maiden. She bowed so low her forehead nearly touched the floor, then scurried away with visible relief.
He sat up slowly, swinging his legs down and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. The movement was fluid, languid, but suddenly his full attention was on them. And that was dangerous.
It felt like standing under the desert sun at high noon.
"So." His voice was pleasant. Almost friendly. "Dark magic. In my halls."
Nobody spoke.
"Who wants to explain that?" He smiled. It didn't reach his eyes.
Flake stepped forward, bowing deeply. "Your Radiance, we were attempting to seal the Land of Shadows. The barrier has been weakening for—"
"How long?" the Solar King interrupted.
"Forty years, Your Radiance."
"Forty years." He repeated the words slowly, tasting them. Then his gaze slid to King Alaxar. "What year is it?"
The king's throat bobbed. "Year 1247 of the Solar Age, Your Radiance."
"1247." The Solar King leaned back, fingers drumming on the armrest. "Alaxar." His voice dropped an octave. "Can you explain why I've been meditating for four decades?"
"I—" The king's voice cracked. "Your Radiance, the meditation was meant to restore your essence after the battle with—"
"Four. Decades." Each word was punctuated with a tap of his finger. "That's quite a long nap, don't you think?"
"Forgive me, Your Radiance!" Alaxar dropped to his knees so hard the sound echoed. "I—we thought—the healers said—"
"You thought." The Solar King stood.
The temperature in the room spiked. Several of the elders gasped, pulling at their collars.
He descended the steps slowly, his bare feet making no sound on the marble. His open robe coat billowed behind him like wings of flame. When he reached the king, he stopped.
"Stand up, Alaxar."
The king scrambled to his feet, visibly shaking.
The Solar King walked past him, circling the group like a predator sizing up prey. "Let me see if I understand. The Land of Shadows needed sealing. I was asleep—sorry, meditating." He waved a hand dismissively. "And you decided the best solution was dark magic rituals involving sacrificing innocent girls?"
One of the younger elders—a woman with auburn hair—spoke up. "Your Radiance, Hyrin has been mobilizing forces. The wind deity is attempting to—"
"I'm aware of what Hyrin is doing," the Solar King said flatly. "Continue."
Another elder, a man with a braided beard, stepped forward nervously. "We needed the fastest means possible to reinforce the barrier. The dark resonance ritual was the only way to—"
"The fastest way." The Solar King stopped walking. "Because gods forbid you wait for me to wake up naturally."
He turned to face them fully.
"If you wanted to wake me," he said, his voice deceptively gentle, "you could have just touched me."
Silence.
"But no one dared, did they?" His smile was all teeth. "Because you knew I'd ask questions. Like why the essence jars in my meditation chamber tasted funny."
King Alaxar went white as fresh snow.
"Did you think I wouldn't notice the poison, Alaxar?" The Solar King tilted his head. "It was subtle. Well-crafted. Someone spent a lot of time on that particular blend."
"Your Radiance, I—"
"You what?" His voice cracked like a whip. "You thought you could kill a deity with slow-acting poison? Take the throne? Become the new sun god?"
He laughed. The sound was wrong—too bright, too sharp.