The Weight of Kings
"Leon Moonwalker… if you walk this world again, then so shall death."
The words rolled through the tent like a decree written in flame. For a heartbeat, no one moved. Every man present could feel the weight behind those syllables—an oath that could burn kingdoms.
The silence stretched, deep and heavy, until Garay turned back toward his war table. The firelight caught his green hair, glinting against the gold-threaded sigils on his cloak. His fingers rested on the edge of the table, knuckles pale, jaw tight.
No one dared to speak.
Outside, the wind screamed across the blackened plains. The night itself seemed to remember Leon's last war—the charred soil, the corpses buried under the ash, the shadows that still lingered where his power had scorched the land.
Garay exhaled sharply through his nose, his voice low but steady. "This meeting is over."
