"Alaxar." He turned to the king. "Step forward."
"Greed always kills," the Solar King said conversationally. "You want to be a deity? Train your core. Build your power over centuries like the rest of us did."
He leaned in close. "Don't take shortcuts trying to kill one. You won't replace me. That idiot Hyrin won't let you—he'd kill you the moment I was gone and claim this territory for himself."
Alaxar's knees buckled. "Please—"
"Not that I've forgiven you, Alaxar." The Solar King straightened. "I don't forgive."
He turned back to the others. "Anyone else have confessions? Now's the time."
The elders shook their heads frantically. Flake looked like he might faint.
The Solar King's expression shifted—back to that lazy, almost playful ease. "Honestly, I'm not that upset." He stretched, his back arching. "I enjoyed the rest. Four decades of not dealing with politics or wars or idiots was rather nice."
He walked back toward his throne, climbing the steps with easy grace.
"But here's how things are going to work now." He settled back into his sprawl, legs over one armrest again. "The dark magic stops. Immediately. No more sacrifices. No more rituals. If you need divine power to seal the Land of Shadows, you ask me. Novel concept, I know."
He waved a hand. "Alaxar, you're stripped of your position as king. You'll serve as royal steward until I decide you've earned back an ounce of trust. Your elder daughter can have the throne—she's young and stupid but at least she hasn't tried to poison me yet."
"And Hyrin?" Flake asked quietly.
The Solar King's smile turned sharp. "Let him come. I've had four decades of beauty sleep. I'm feeling refreshed."
His golden eyes glowed briefly.
"Anyone else have questions? No? Good. Get out."
They fled.
The Solar King lounged back, closing his eyes.
Someone get me more fruit," the Solar King called lazily, one hand dangling off the armrest. "And maybe some wine. Being terrifying makes me thirsty."
The head butler—an elderly wolf beast with silver fur and impeccable posture—bowed deeply. "At once, Your Radiance."
He gestured sharply. One of the maids lined against the wall immediately scurried forward, her hands trembling as she gathered the empty tray. Another rushed toward the kitchens, her footsteps quick and nervous.
The tension in the room had barely begun to ease when the massive doors burst open.
A general stumbled in—armor clanking, chest heaving. He dropped to one knee so fast the sound echoed.
"Your Radiance!" His voice cracked with urgency. "The High Current Hyrin has arrived!"
The maids froze. Several exchanged terrified glances. One pressed her hand over her mouth to muffle a gasp.
The Solar King's expression shifted—his lazy amusement draining away, replaced by a frown that made the temperature spike.
He sat up slowly, running both hands through his wild orange-gold hair and sighing like a man who'd just been woken from the best nap of his life.
"That wind bastard." He stretched his arms overhead, joints popping audibly. "I've never met such an airhead in my entire life."
The general kept his head bowed. "He's positioned above the eastern district, Your Radiance. On his airship."
"Of course he is." Aurex stood, his long coat billowing despite the still air. "Dramatic as always. Where exactly?"
"Eastern district, near the market square."
"Good enough."
Then he vanished.
A flash of golden light exploded where he'd stood, so bright several people flinched. When it faded, the throne sat empty.
☆ ☆ ☆
The eastern district was chaos.
Beast folk ran through the streets—mothers clutching children, merchants abandoning their stalls, guards shouting orders that no one followed. Above them, suspended in the sky like a storm about to break, floated an airship.
It was massive—silver metal etched with swirling wind patterns, sails made of condensed air that billowed and cracked like thunder. At its prow stood a figure.
Hyrin, the Wind Deity.
He was built like a brawler—broad shoulders, thick arms corded with muscle, athletic frame that screamed power and violence.
His grey hair was short and completely untidy, sticking up in wild directions with silver streaks running through it like lightning.
Cat ears sat atop his head, flicking with agitation. A long cloud-grey tail lashed behind him.
He wore a sleeveless shirt that hung completely open, revealing a torso covered in glowing wind marks—swirling tattoos that pulsed with blue-white light across his chest and arms.
Fitted black trousers hugged his legs, tucked into heavy boots. Everything about him screamed street fighter, bully, the kind of guy who started bar fights for fun.
And he was laughing like a maniac.