Liliana's threads snapped one by one, her body trembling as though her existence itself was under audit. "This is their law… to name what we are… and strip us down until nothing remains but obedience."
Roman planted his hand against the stair, every bone in his arm shattering under the weight. Yet he still snarled up at the impossible crown. "Then name me corpse all you want, bastard—I'll still spit blood in your face."
Milim's laughter, though frayed, only climbed higher. Her violet fire writhed, mutating against the Throne's pressure. "HAHA! YES! Rewrite me! See if I don't tear your script to ribbons from the inside!"
But Leon—Leon stood like the eye of a storm. His flame, though small compared to the vastness of the descending crown, did not flicker. It coiled tighter, burning not outward but inward, condensing, becoming something denser than decree.
The Throne's voice boomed again, every syllable a gravity well.
"FLAME IS KINDLING. STEP IS CROWN. YOU PRESUME TO UNWRITE LAW."
