>>Draegon
The palace doors groaned as they swung open, the massive obsidian panels etched with ancient runes parting slowly under my command. Cold night air flooded in, laced with ash, blood, and something fouler still—a scent of corruption that made even demons flinch.
I stepped out into the night.
Behind me, the echo of my boots died on the black marble. The moment I crossed the threshold, I unclasped the mantle draped over my shoulders. It slid off with a heavy whisper and fell to the ground like a discarded shroud.
No kingly symbols now. It would only hinder me.
Drakkar and Draken emerged behind me, each of them falling into step a few paces back—ready to fight despite everything.
The soldiers assembled like shadows with form, flowing into the moonlit courtyard in tight rows and precise formations. There were hundreds of them—demon warriors I had been personally overseeing ever since I became king.
