Sonder pushed the doors open and they did so without resistance.
They did not creak or groan. They simply parted; the heavy stone gliding aside smoothly.
The throne room was vast and bright.
She stepped into it.
It wasn't like the rest of the castle. There was no chaos of duplication or overlapping here. Nothing was mismatched. Everything had a place and everything belonged where it stood.
Rows of tall pillars lined the hall, evenly spaced. Between them hung long banners of dark fabric, dulled by age. They had no symbols on them; no sigils or heraldry or marks of ownership.
The stone floor was polished and her steps echoed throughout it.
At the far end of the hall rose the throne.
It stood tall and was made of dark stone, like the rest of the castle. It was simple but unmistakably regal. There was no excess ornamentation, no jewels or gold or anything else.
Seated upon it was a man.
He sat slumped, unmoving, his head bowed to the ground. His hands rested loosely on the arms of the throne.
His skin was pale and ashen, almost gray, drawn tight against his sharp bones.
Long, dark hair hung lifelessly around his face.
Dust had settled upon him as it had upon the banners and floor, as though he was merely another forgotten fixture of the hall.
He was a corpse.
The dust-creature attached itself close to Sonder's shoulder, unusually still.
She advanced slowly. Her steps and staff clinking against the floor.
She felt no threat, no immediate one at least, just like it was with the rider and its dragon.
Instead, there was a strange calm here, like deep and heavy water.
Her gaze went around the hall.
This room made sense. It was the only place in the castle that did. Everything aligned.
The pillars, the banners, the throne itself. It formed a single and deliberate space, where everything else felt layered and confused.
It was beautiful and serene, and that serenity made her suspicious.
She did admire it, but that didn't mean that it was right.
Sonder returned her gaze to the figure on the throne.
If this was the lord the rider had spoken of, then he wasn't anything like she had imagined.
She thought she'd find a tyrant or something like that, but instead, he looked… left behind. Or abandoned.
She took another step closer.
"Hello?" she said to the man on the throne, her voice echoing faintly through the hall.
He did not respond.
She studied him more closely now.
His chest did not rise.
What she could see of his face: his eyes were closed, sunken deep within their sockets.
If not for the way he sat, still somewhat upright and enduring, she would have sworn he had died there long ago.
She wasn't the only undead in the world, she thought. Maybe he was too?
But what were the chances of that?
There was some pity in her.
What kind of ruler ended like this?
She shifted, preparing to turn away and to search the room for any sign of a shard.
And then the man moved.
It was subtle at first. Almost imperceptible.
A finger twitched against the stone arm of the throne.
The dust-creature let out a soft, startled coo.