In a vast, shadow-drowned hall, a young woman stood frozen with her gaze locked to the floor. She dared not lift her eyes, for the presence before her was not something she was worthy to face. The figure's form remained obscured in the gloom, as though the darkness itself refused to reveal him.
When he spoke, his voice rolled through the chamber like distant thunder, heavy and commanding, each word carrying the weight of a storm.
"So… Y'tharion was actually Zarion, and he fooled me until now."
The woman flinched. Her lips trembled as she stammered, "Y-Yes, my lord."
The figure's hand came crashing down upon the arm of his throne. A violent shockwave erupted, the ground trembling beneath her feet. The floor groaned as cracks splintered outward. The force knocked her off balance and she collapsed to her knees, her palms pressed hard against the cold stone.
