The ceremony was over. The applause of the nobles and the calculated smiles of the Council of Seven faded as the heavy doors of the Palace Throne Room sealed shut behind them. Alvian didn't linger to bask in the glow of his new title. Titles were intangible assets; they provided influence, but they couldn't block a blade or freeze a god.
He walked down the coral steps of the palace, the [Vestments of the Void Monarch] rippling around him like a cloak of living shadow. The new mantle of the Eighth Guardian, a heavy drape of shimmering blue scales, sat upon his shoulders, adding a regal weight to his silhouette.
Valeria walked a half-step behind him to his right, her hand resting habitually on the pommel of her sword. Seraphina melted in and out of the shadows to his left, her mechanical eye whirring softly as she scanned the perimeter.
"So," Valeria broke the silence, her voice echoing slightly in the grand hallway. "You're a King now. Or close enough to it."
