The entity stepped closer.
One step. Just one.
But it closed the distance between them in a way that had nothing to do with space or movement and everything to do with presence. Suddenly it was there, in his face, in his space, in the air he breathed, and Soren had to force himself not to retreat, not to show weakness, not to flinch.
Its head—her head, Eris's head—tilted again, and the golden eyes narrowed slightly.
"AND WHO ARE YOU, BEARER OF AENITHRA'S BLOOD, TO STAND BEFORE US UNBURNED?"
The question was layered. Complex. Demanding an answer that went beyond names and titles and the shallow definitions mortals used to make sense of themselves.
Soren straightened, drawing himself up to his full height even though it made no difference, even though he knew the entity could reduce him to frozen vapor with a thought.
"I am Soren Nivarre, Emperor of—"
"NO."
The word cut through his answer like a blade through silk. Final. Absolute.
