39Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhe3eqJmr7TThe office chamber is empty, painfully so. The red rug stretches across the floor like a spilled banner of blood, its colors too bright for how hollow the room feels. The lanterns along the walls burn steadily, casting warm light across the oak‑wood beams and polished shelves — but none of that warmth touches Theron.
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The desk stands at the far left end, carved from dark oak, heavy and imposing. The King’s chair behind it is high‑backed, crowned with gold trim — once made him feel like a ruler.
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Now it feels too big.
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Too heavy.
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Undeserved.
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Theron sinks into it anyway, shoulders slumped, hands limp at his sides. His face is pale, his eyes unfocused. He doesn’t feel like a king. He doesn’t feel like a father. He can't feel anything…
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But destruction.
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The silence presses on him.
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The room that once amplified his authority now swallows him like quicksand. The red rug glows beneath his feet like a warning, like the King’s chair no longer recognizes him.
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His breath hitches.
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His fingers tremble on the armrest.
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He stares at the door like a man waiting for a verdict.
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Footsteps.
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Slow and measured.
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Approaching.
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The door creaks open.
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Zackarias steps inside — black robe trailing behind him on his shoulders, his expression unreadable.
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Theron stares with nothing left inside. He looks to Zachary with hollow eyes…
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…as if Zack were the last person left who might still tell him he matters.
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He looks small — a man wearing a crown he no longer believes in.
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Zackarias steps inside fully and closes the door with a soft click — the kind that sounds like a sentence passed.
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He studies Theron for a long-uncomfortable moment.
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Then he begins.
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Zack approaches the desk slowly, like he was examining a carcass.
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Zacharias:(voice smooth like oil)
“Theron… my king,’
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‘You’ve made terrible choices.”
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Theron swallows.
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Theron:
“Excuse me?”
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Zacharias:
“Let’s start with the obvious.’
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“You hired Metro — a bandit — as overseer. A man with renegade friends. A man whose presence alone divided your army, plundered your village, and left your soldiers slaughtered defending a crop that could never be protected.”
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Theron:(jaw twitches)
“I—”Zack cuts him off.
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“And then…’
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‘you let him fool you into his religion. Into believing he was some… chosen savior. You handed him influence.
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Power and Control.”
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Theron’s breath hitches.
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Zack leans closer.
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Zack:(voice dropping)
“And now? Five of your King’s Guards lie dead. Killed by Paul — who probably claims self‑defense.”
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(scoffs)
“Your own advisor delayed the report. Lied to you.”
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Theron:(blinks, stunned)
“What… what are you saying?”
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Zack’s eyes harden.
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“I’m saying Metro has now killed two priests and five guards from the Great City.”
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Theron’s face drains of color.
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Zack sucks his teeth — a sound of pure disappointment.
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“Of course no one has informed you. Why would they? The people don’t hold you as their king anymore. Your life is in danger. Your family’s legacy is hanging by a thread.”
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Theron’s hands shake on the desk.
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Zack steps closer and pushes his robes out of the way so he can sit on Theron's desk — his aura unfurls.
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Black.
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Swirling.
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Alive.
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His eyes glow a deeper, more violent red than Traeven’s ever has.
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Theron recoils, dizzy, like the air itself had turned poisonous.
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Zack softens his tone — which somehow makes it worse.
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“You must repent, Theron. You must save your throne while a piece of it still remains.”
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Theron whispers.
“Zacharias...”
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Zack:(smoothly)
“I support you. But you cannot overthrow temple law. God’s law.”
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He places a hand on Theron’s table, closer — gentle, fatherly, suffocating.
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“Metro must be publicly executed.”
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Theron’s breath catches.
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“Hasan will join forces with you undoubtedly. If you refuse… you will die. Not by my choice. By The Council’s.”
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Theron stares at him, trembling.
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Zack leans in, voice almost tender.
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“I know what it’s like to work so hard and receive no appreciation. I know that pain. Make the right choice… and God will smile upon you.”
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Zack pulls out a parchment.
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Rolls it open.
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Sets it on the desk.
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*Capture and Execution Order — Metro of the Highlands*
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Theron stares at it like it's a venomous snake.
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The darkness around Zack presses on him — a weight, a presence, a command.
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Theron reaches for the quill with shaking fingers.
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Very slowly.
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He dips his quill in red.
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Signs.
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A blood oath.
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Zack’s smile spreads slowly—beautiful in shape, monstrous in meaning.
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Zacharias:(murmers)
“Well done.”
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He rolls the parchment with a reverence that feels like mockery, like a priest blessing a blade meant for the wrong throat.
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Zachary:
“You’ve just saved your kingdom.”
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Zack watches him with calm, almost tender curiosity—like a scholar observing a rare creature in its final moments of clarity.
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Zacharias:(voice low)
“Do not fear…’
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‘…Once you let go, it all opens up for you.”
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Zack tucks the tied parchment.
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Leaves, the door closed gently behind him, but still clapping louder than ever when fully shut.
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Theron doesn’t know what he's feeling, it's as if something is drinking from him.
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A cold pulse travels up his arm, into his chest, into the hollow place beneath his ribs where fear has begun to nest. Then—The torches gutter.
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The shadows on the walls stretch. And the world tilts. A sound rises behind him—soft at first, like fabric dragging across stone. Then it multiplies. Layers. Echoes. Whispering. Laughing. A chorus of voices in his mind.
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Theron’s breath catches behind his office chair. The chamber darkens, not from the torches dying, but from something moving between the flames and the air.
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Shapes and tendrils.
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Silhouettes that flicker like broken memories.
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He blinks—And the shadows swarm. They pour from the corners, from beneath the table, from the cracks in the stone. They coil around his legs, his arms, his throat. Circling him like wolves deciding where to bite first.
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Theron stumbles back.
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The room is gone.
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The office chamber dissolves into a storm of black ribbons, spiraling upward like smoke sucked into a void.
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He tries to shout, but the sound is swallowed before it leaves his lips.
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He hears them.
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The voices.
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Some whisper his name.
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Some laugh.
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Some cry.
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Theron spins, but there is no one there.
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His heartbeat slams against his ribs. His knees buckle. He reaches for the table, but his hand pass through it like mist.
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The world is unraveling.
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Theron collapses to one knee. He still feels the pressure, and just before the darkness swallows him whole
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—He realizes the truth–
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shadows surge upward, drowning the last sliver of torchlight, leaving only the echo of a whispered satisfied breath and the faint, distant sound of winter wind howling through the mountain halls.
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and then Add to home screen.