The throne room was quiet.
Shadows pooled in the corners of the austere stone chamber, and the single window that looked out over Darwin's domain showed only darkness, the eastern territories slumbering under a moonless sky.
Darwin sat motionless in his wrought-iron chair, fingers steepled before him, sharp grey eyes fixed on nothing. The scar across his forehead seemed darker tonight, more prominent, as if the skin itself remembered old wounds and was preparing for new ones.
Behind him, the great map of his territory hung on the wall—a web of influence that had taken years to weave. Greenday to the west, supplying bodies for his work. Neo to the east, pulling minerals from the mountains. Xlomoph to the south, keeping his machines running. Rain's operation, smaller but vital, keeping everyone fed.
Four pillars. Four guarantees that his vision would continue uninterrupted.
And now—
"My Sovereign."
