The Dark Lord's Court
The throne room felt different now. The floating violet flames still cast their pale light across the obsidian pillars. The tapestries still depicted centuries of conquest. The advisors still stood in their appointed places, faces hidden beneath dark hoods.
But everything had changed.
The Dark Lord sat on his throne, one hand resting on the armrest, the other loose at his side. His silver hair caught the light, his pale face unreadable. But his eyes—those ancient, calculating eyes—held something they hadn't held in centuries.
Acceptance.
"He's here," the Dark Lord said quietly. His voice carried through the vast chamber, bouncing off stone and shadow. "The prophecy child. The Absolute of Energy and Matter. The one who will supposedly end me."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"Today couldn't get any better."
