Inside the royal chamber, the air was thick with the scent of power and ambition. A young maid, her hands trembling slightly, draped the final layer of the ceremonial robe across Turik's broad shoulders. The fabric was a masterpiece of Zuran craftsmanship: heavy brocade dyed in the deep crimson, its hem lined with the rarest fur—the pelt of the legendary white wolf of Zura, said to embody courage and dominion.
"
Turik gazed at his reflection in the tall silver mirror before him. The man staring back no longer looked like a soldier or a schemer. He looked like destiny incarnate. His eyes gleamed with a hard, unyielding light.
"The day has finally come," he murmured, a faint smile curling at the edge of his lips. "Today, I shall be crowned King of Zura. And soon, Northem, Estalis, and Westalis will kneel before me. When that day comes, I will not just be king—I will be emperor."
