The Shadows That Whisper Counsel
Ben lowered his gaze, exhaling a slow, weary breath.
"Tell me, Rafi…" he repeated quietly, more to the emptiness than to the man before him, "what am I to do now?"
The vast throne room answered only with silence. The kind that presses down, heavy and intimate. The golden light from the high windows had faded, leaving behind long shadows stretched across marble and stone. The banners hung motionless—Lionheart's sigil glinting faintly, as if watching in judgment.
Ben stood still for a moment, staring at the floor as if the answers might be carved somewhere between the tiles. The crown on his head felt heavier tonight, though no one remained to see the doubt in his eyes.
A low hum broke the silence—soft, unnatural.
Before the throne's steps, the air wavered, darkened, and from the thin crack of shadow, a figure emerged.
Kneeling. Cloaked in black from head to toe.
"...Sire."
