Varo's voice dropped to a deadly calm, each word carrying the weight of a promise.
"Orimo… you know what to do."
Orimo clenched his fists. Veins pulsed along his arms, resolve burning through his body.
"Absolutely."
The march reached the palace.
The moment the people saw the king standing there, something inside them snapped.
They accelerated—running like wild beasts unchained, rage blazing in their eyes. Sand scattered beneath their feet as they surged forward.
The soldiers rushed ahead of King Rexar, forming a shield.
The king raised his voice, strained yet firm.
"You have all fallen into his trap!"
Somewhere above.
Hidden within the ruins of a distant building—
Ashyrn whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.
"Boom."
THUD—!!!
The palace erupted.
A violent explosion tore through stone and marble alike. Fire roared skyward. Smoke swallowed the air. The royal palace—symbol of stability, history, and rule—collapsed into blazing rubble.
Flames danced atop the ruins as ash rained down like judgment.
King Rexar's eyes widened. His breath caught in his throat.
Around him, the citizens froze—then clenched their fists.
Silence broke.
They lunged.
"How dare you?!"
"How could you do this?!"
"We thought King Rexar was better than that!"
Fists slammed into flesh.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
The king fell to his knees. His crown tumbled into the sand. His white beard—once a symbol of wisdom—shone under the sun, now stained as blows rained down mercilessly upon him.
No one listened.
No one questioned.
From atop a nearby house—
Ashyrn watched.
Smoke curled around his ash-grey skin as his coat fluttered in the heat.
His eyes narrowed.
"…He didn't die."
A slow, twisted smile crept across his face.