The gates opened without a sound. The courtyard was vast, empty, and paved with stone so dark it seemed to drink the grey afternoon light. Your escorts did not follow you past the threshold. The massive doors shut behind you with a final, echoing thud.

A single attendant, an older man with hollow cheeks and downcast eyes, waited. He bowed, not to you, but to the space you occupied.

At the end of the longest hall stood two towering doors, carved with the image of a four-armed demon. The attendant pushed one open, then melted back into the shadows, leaving you alone on the threshold.

The throne room was immense. Braziers of blue flame cast long, dancing shadows. At the far end, on a dais of black obsidian, sat the King.