The throne was still there.
It hadn't been moved, covered, or destroyed. It was simply empty.
The hall was vast and silent, and the Vidrium floor reflected a dull light that no longer looked clean. There were stains that wouldn't come off with water. Servants tried for hours before giving up.
No one gave them clear instructions.
Since the queen's death, the palace functioned like a body without a head. Doors still opened and closed on schedule, shifts still existed, lights turned on at the same hour every day. Everything continued… but without purpose.
A small group of officials waited in one of the side corridors. They didn't speak to each other. Some hadn't slept in days. Others avoided looking down the hallway, where a faint metallic smell still lingered.
A young woman, an archivist from the northern wing, clutched a stack of documents to her chest. She didn't know why she had been summoned. No one had explained anything.
When the doors opened, they entered.
The Seven Pillars did not walk in together, yet it felt as if they had. Conversation died instantly. No one dared to move.
Gabriel spoke first.
—We won't sit down —he said, pointing toward the center of the hall—. That no longer makes sense.
The throne remained behind them, untouched, like something that no longer belonged.
Marcus unfolded a projection in the air. Data. Maps. Numbers. Perfectly organized.
—The country cannot remain without a visible figure —he said—. People need something they can understand. Something simple.
—And what do you propose? —Julius asked, arms crossed.
—A transition —Marcus replied—. Nothing radical. Nothing that looks like a seizure of power.
Haskell sat on one of the side benches, her hands clasped tightly together. She said nothing.
—We cannot rule as Pillars —Azrael said calmly—. That was never the idea.
Michael let out a short, humorless laugh.
—The idea died with the queen.
An uncomfortable silence followed.
Gabriel took a deep breath.
—We need a figure —he said—. Someone who stands in front. Who signs. Who speaks. Who carries the word "responsibility."
—A new king? —someone asked from the back, voice shaking.
Gabriel turned his head slowly.
—No —he said—. Never again.
Marcus already had a name prepared.
—Julian Verrak —he said—. Minor official. Clean profile. Ambitious, but manageable. No one will question him.
—Will the people accept that? —Haskell asked, speaking for the first time.
Marcus looked at her.
—The people will accept whatever is explained to them properly.
No one replied.
⸻
The broadcast went out the following day.
Public screens. Official statements. Messages repeated until exhaustion. People stopped in the streets to watch. Some did so with relief. Others with fear.
PROVISIONAL STATEMENT
"The royal family has been dissolved.
The country is undergoing a period of reorganization.
There is no reason for panic."
There was no mention of executions.
No names were spoken.
No apologies were offered.
Only stability. That was the word repeated most often.
In the markets, people whispered.
—So there's no king anymore?
—They say we'll choose now.
—They say it's better this way.
—They say a lot of things.
Inside the palace, Julian Verrak stared at his hands. They were sweating.
He had never been in that hall before. He had never spoken in front of important cameras. No one asked him if he wanted the position. They only told him it was "the right thing."
Gabriel explained what to say.
Marcus told him what not to say.
Julius assured him the army would stand behind him.
—Just read —they told him—. And don't go off script.
Julian nodded.
When he finally spoke, his voice trembled only at first.
—The people of Norgalia deserve to govern themselves —he said—. The age of the crown has come to an end.
People applauded. Some cried. Others didn't understand anything.
Behind the cameras, no one smiled.
⸻
That night, the archivist from the northern wing returned home later than usual. She had seen things that didn't add up. Documents that contradicted each other. Records that vanished when she tried to copy them.
When she reached her apartment, she dropped the papers on the table and sat on the floor, exhausted.
She turned on the radio.
—…a new stage for Norgalia… stability… an orderly transition…
She turned it off.
For the first time in years, she was afraid to ask questions.
Somewhere inside the palace, the throne remained empty.
And no one was in a hurry to fill it.