~ The King's Palace — The Benefactor
The throne room was enormous.
Carved from the same dark stone as the sect leaders' chamber, but on a scale that dwarfed it. The ceiling — vaulted, supported by pillars of condensed sword qi — was two hundred feet high. The walls were lined with ancient tapestries depicting the history of the sword domain. The floor was polished to a mirror sheen. At the far end, on a raised dais, the throne — a seat of black iron and silver, the metal forged from fallen meteorites — sat empty.
The king stood beside the throne. Not on it — beside it. He was old. Older than the sect leaders. His hair was white, his beard long, his eyes — sharp, gold-flecked — carrying the weight of five centuries of rule. His robes were dark blue and silver. His sword — a true spirit sword, fully materialized, the blade humming — hung at his hip.
