The stairway seemed endless, each step carrying them higher into a silence that thickened like fog. The spire's light glowed brighter, but the air grew colder, pressing against their lungs with every breath.
At last, the stairs ended.
They stood inside a vast circular chamber. No ruin. No chains. No moss. Only smooth black stone, polished like glass, stretching out in every direction. In the center stood a single chair—no, a Throne.
It wasn't carved or forged. It looked as if the world itself had given up a piece of its foundation and shaped it into a seat. Its edges bled faint light, its surface veined with cracks that pulsed like veins of molten iron.
And sitting upon it—
Kar'veth.
Not a statue. Not an echo. But the full presence of the Shackled Sovereign. His chains trailed into the stone floor, vanishing as if they had no end. His faceless helm tilted upward, acknowledging Leon's arrival.
