Torches lined the great hall of Gathrax's citadel.
Their flames threw long shadows across walls carved from bone. Ribcages of enormous creatures arched overhead like cathedral vaults. Spines of things that had once ruled this zone before Gathrax arrived now served as pillars, their vertebrae polished smooth by years of hands and smoke.
The banquet table stretched thirty feet.
Roasted meat, fruits from the green zones, wine in crystal decanters, bread still warm from ovens. Servants moved between dishes with the silent, synchronized precision of puppets. There were eight of them. Each one identical to the last.
Duplicates.
Gathrax sat at the head of the table, his massive frame draped in furs, his golden teeth catching the torchlight as he smiled.
"Welcome, welcome, welcome!"
His voice boomed through the hall. Warm. Generous. The voice of a man delighted to host.
Cruxius sat opposite him.
