King Alaric didn’t flinch. He sat atop the Obsidian Seat, his fingers tracing the notch in his ancestral blade. Beside him, the High Mage whispered a containment spell, but the air was already thick with the scent of ozone and burnt lavender—the calling card of the .
The heavy iron doors of the Throne Room didn’t just open; they were shattered inward. [S1E7] An Attack on the King
Out of the dust stepped a single figure clad in rags that seemed to drink the torchlight. No army followed. King Alaric didn’t flinch
Malakor gasped, his form flickering. "The prophecy... said you were a King of Gold. It never said you’d bleed for a servant." The heavy iron doors of the Throne Room
"A King," Alaric spat, rising from the shards of his throne, "is only as strong as the people he protects."
