Her bow concluded, and she remained motionless, forehead slightly inclined, eyes downcast. Silence thickened in the throne room; every breath seemed suspended, leaving only the faint crackle of torches and the distant rustle of banners hanging from marble columns. The guards stood frozen, like statues of bronze, immovable under the king's piercing gaze. Even the Prime Minister, usually quick to fill silences with flattering murmurs or timely remarks, observed quietly, a calculating smile tracing his lips as his eyes followed every subtle gesture of Aurelia.
Each second stretched, dense and heavy, as if time itself had paused to catch its breath. In this stillness, the slightest movement—the blink of the king's eyes, a subtle gesture of his hand, the brushing of his cape against polished marble—would alter the atmosphere and set the tone of the audience, down to the faintest shadow flickering in the chandelier light.
The king adjusted his posture slightly, his purple cape sliding over the sculpted armrests like a river of velvet. His sharp gaze swept the room, lingering on every face before returning to her, heavy and probing. Then his voice sounded, deep and commanding, filling every corner of the vast hall:
"I have been informed of an incident in Tarnis," he said, each word dropping like a stone into the suspended air. His gaze seemed to pierce into her mind, searching for the smallest hint of deception. "Explain to me why one of our heroes, believed dead long ago, is involved in this matter."
A barely contained murmur rippled among the guards and advisors. Fingers tensed around sword hilts, lips pressed tight, but a single frown from the king silenced them instantly, the whispers evaporating as if they had never existed.
Aurelia inclined her head ever so slightly, her expression once more an impeccable mask of control. Her features were perfectly composed, her posture immaculate, radiating an icy calm that challenged the authority of the king's words. Her voice, clear and measured, cut through the tension with precision:
"The attack originated from demons during the expedition," she announced without hesitation. "One of our heroes was captured, and by rebelling, managed to turn the tide, striking down the enemy general."
Each word resonated with unwavering composure, as if her certainty made the room itself tangible. Those familiar with political cunning could hardly detect that none of her account was true. Her mastery transformed lies into apparent truths, wrapped in dignity, and even the walls seemed to hold their breath, acknowledging her authority.
She did not pause, continuing with her voice sharp and deliberate, each syllable slicing through the stillness like a finely honed blade:
"Demons are mobilizing extensively, even before the resurrection of the Demon King," she stated. "We must prepare for every contingency."
Her posture remained perfect, gaze unwavering as a sword poised for the strike. No tremor, no hint of emotion—only the undeniable weight of undeniable truth. Her words seemed to imprint on the air, leaving invisible traces across the polished marble. The guards, still as statues, absorbed each syllable, measuring its weight.
The king remained silent for a long moment, eyes locked on her, scrutinizing each microexpression and tonal inflection for the faintest sign of doubt. A light breeze stirred the banners, but the room's tension magnified every sound. He adjusted slightly on his throne, hand resting on the carved armrest, and slowly nodded, weighing the veracity of her warnings against his power.
"You are correct," he said finally, his voice firm and deliberate, echoing across the marble. "Your warnings must be heeded. If the demons are already moving, we must fortify our defenses and prepare our troops."
The room exhaled, subtly, as if every occupant sensed that this was no mere council, but a decree: the kingdom's safety now relied upon Aurelia's insight and command. Even the incense in the air thickened, lending gravity to the moment.
Her body remained straight, gestures controlled, breaths measured. She mentally traced every network of power, anticipating armies' movements and strategies. Though the slightest misstep could be fatal, her voice never wavered, unshakable as an approaching storm could not touch her.
Beside the king, the Prime Minister offered a complacent smile, shaking his head with feigned indifference. He cleared his throat and spoke, smooth and honeyed:
"Come now… there is no need to exaggerate. They are minor skirmishes, and we have more than enough soldiers to handle a few marauding demons." He chuckled dryly, then added, as if underlining his importance, "But what foresight! This is why His Majesty esteems you, Priestess Aurelia. Always thinking several steps ahead."
His words drifted awkwardly through the room, clashing with the icy gravity that hung over everyone. The king remained unmoved, piercing eyes fixed on the minister, sharp as blades. Every syllable seemed to bounce off an invisible wall of authority and mastery.
Without so much as a glance, the king lifted a hand, cutting off the minister's vain commentary. His expression stayed impassive, yet the subtle shift in his tone—from commanding to measured curiosity—made the guards shift uneasily.
"Enough," he said, dry and sharp as the unsheathing of a sword. Silence fell heavy and expectant. Then his gaze returned to Aurelia, probing not only her words but her very essence.
His fingers traced the carved armrest of his throne, each contact sounding like a punctuation of authority, filling the room with the weight of his presence. Aurelia followed each movement without flinching, her steel eyes gleaming with icy clarity. She knew any falter in posture or tone would be detected instantly. Each second stretched into eternity, a tense, invisible cord connecting priestess and sovereign, ready to vibrate at the slightest provocation.
"When the ritual concluded, the sky itself turned violet, unsettling even my soldiers," the king said, pausing to let his gaze slide over her. "Has the disturbance completely passed?"
The question hung, heavy with implication. It was no simple inquiry; it was a test, weighing her control and veracity. Any hesitation could signal failure.
Aurelia tilted her head slightly, expression flawless as always. Her voice carried rare weight, a measured sincerity beneath its usual icy precision:
"The sky has returned to normal, Your Majesty. The disturbance has vanished entirely. There is no cause for further concern."
Each word landed with precise clarity, leaving no room for doubt. The guards sensed it too—the calm, unwavering authority behind her voice.
Yet behind the perfect mask, a colder thought pierced her mind like the edge of a hidden blade:
They cannot act without us. The crown is mere ornament without the Church of the Chapel of Silence. They are bound to trust us… in every way.
Aurelia felt this truth strengthen within her, silent but absolute. Power lay in subtle influence, patience, and mastery—not in the throne's helpless authority. Every word, every gesture in the room reinforced it: the crown shone, but true control lurked in the pious shadows.
The king's gaze lingered, scrutinizing every nuance, but he found neither hesitation nor fear. Aurelia's icy composure outshone the throne itself, imposing respect and silence, a quiet dominion he could not contest.
He relaxed slightly, a discreet breath lifting the tension. His gaze softened, a measured relief flickering behind its severity. The room's weight seemed to ease imperceptibly.
"Very well…" he said, deep but lighter than before. "The people need not fear this disturbance."
His eyes met Aurelia's with barely veiled acknowledgment. "Your vigilance reassures me, Priestess. Your insight is trustworthy." His words resonated like a royal seal of approval, and the guards and advisors felt a subtle release, the air itself lightened.
Suddenly, the heavy doors burst open. A young servant, flushed and breathless, rushed in, stumbling onto the purple carpet before kneeling, forehead glistening with sweat.
"Forgive my intrusion, Your Majesty!" he gasped. "But… news has just arrived from the scouts. The heroes… they… they have fallen into a massive, unexplored chasm within the dungeon!"
A shiver ran through the room. Murmurs rose among the guards and advisors; even the Prime Minister cleared his throat in surprise.
The king straightened, eyes cold steel. His voice struck like a blade:
"What?! An unexplored sector…" His tone sharpened with concealed concern. "If true, the danger is far greater than we imagined."
Then, with measured gravity, he commanded:
"Send messengers immediately. I want a full report on their findings… and whether the heroes can be saved."
Aurelia remained kneeling, face impassive, but her mind raced, evaluating scenarios and implications. An unknown chasm… its depths are never accidental. If the heroes were driven there, someone moves in the shadows… perhaps to our advantage.
Lowering her head slightly, she concealed the calculating gleam in her eyes. Her voice, perfectly controlled, resonated through the hall:
"Your Majesty, if the dungeon still hides new depths, it signals that the world is shifting. But the Church of the Chapel of Silence will be ready to support the crown in this ordeal."
Her words carried a solemn promise, yet also a subtle reminder: without the Church, the throne could neither perceive nor survive the unseen threats. Power remained silent, patient, and vigilant—and Aurelia knew it better than anyone.