Heavy, hurried footsteps echoed through the palace corridors.

  Nobles rushed in from everywhere, eager to witness this royal summons, even those who had absolutely no connection to the matter.

  Althéa walked forward with quick, almost cutting strides, followed by Lucanis and Velara.

  She appeared calm. A calm that was never a good sign with her.

  "My mother wants Kael’s head at any cost," she said.

  Velara smiled softly, her hands crossed behind her head.

  "I think everyone has figured that out. But there’s no need to worry about Kael. He’ll get out of it."

  Lucanis, who had remained silent until now, spoke with a strained voice despite his effort to remain neutral.

  "How can you say that so calmly?"

  "I know Kael better than the two of you," Velara replied.

  Althéa cast a brief glance at Velara, who immediately continued with that half-mocking, half-serious tone that belonged only to her.

  "Whether you like it or not, I’ve spent more time with him. I know his potential. And I repeat what I told your father, Princess… that boy is a cockroach. He’ll never die."

  They began descending a wide spiral staircase.

  Lucanis insisted, slightly breathless from the tension.

  "You really think he has a way to defend himself against all those accusations?"

  "You heard the king," Velara replied. "What he wants is to understand how Kael did… what he did."

  Althéa tightened her jaw slightly.

  "And you know my mother. She’ll have the final word."

  Lucanis lowered his voice.

  "I’m sorry to say this, Althéa… but your mother is terrifying. Even the Class-S creatures in the Gorges didn’t scare me that much."

  Velara let out a small laugh.

  "She has that effect on everyone," Althéa confirmed.

  The tall woman added, more seriously:

  "Kael is one of the few people with enough nerve to stand up to her. Don’t worry."

  Lucanis and Althéa stared at her in disbelief.

  The three of them finally emerged onto a balcony overlooking the throne room.

  The hall was immense — a cathedral of stone and light.

  Large circular balconies encircled the upper levels like stacked rings, each filled with nobles leaning over the void, eager for the slightest spectacle.

  Below, a gigantic red carpet stretched its scarlet brilliance from the monumental doors to the foot of the throne. A towering column of white light entered through the great doors, cutting the silhouettes into sharp shadows.

  The throne, perched on a three-step dais, was a living piece of artistry: an amethyst crystal perfectly sculpted, its edges so fine they caught the light like blades. At the top of the backrest was carved a nine-branched sun, each branch illuminated differently whenever the stained-glass light brushed against it.

  Just above it, a vast stained-glass window dominated the chamber: a woman with long white hair thrusting a spear into the heart of another kneeling figure.

  The colored glass exploded in shades of purple, gold, and deep blue, casting shifting fragments of light across the hall like divine signs fallen from the sky.

  At the foot of the throne, and all along the balconies, a dense crowd of nobles, aristocrats, and high-ranking members of the palace already filled the space — an ocean of silk, jewels, and tense faces. The murmur of their voices mingled with the rustling of fabrics, giving the hall the impression of a gigantic organism breathing in anticipation.

  The great doors opened, letting a crushing light flood into the throne room.

  A wave of heat, almost burning, poured into the hall, as if the light itself carried weight.

  The guards entered and formed a line, their footsteps echoing with military precision, creating a clear, almost ceremonial corridor.

  Then seven people entered.

  At the exact moment their silhouettes crossed the threshold, the air changed.

  Lucanis and Althéa felt an invisible pressure crash down upon them — brutal, implacable. Their shoulders sank by a millimeter — no more — but it was enough to steal their breath.

  It was as if a mass of stone had fallen on them, as if the light itself weighed something.

  Lucanis ground his teeth, surprised by the intensity. His heart, normally disciplined, skipped a beat before racing again.

  Althéa felt her breathing shorten. A deep vibration spread through her chest, a heavy hum reminding her that she was nothing but an ember before a blaze.

  Their Elan reacted on its own, trembling like an animal pressing itself to the ground before a predator.

  They were caught off guard.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Completely.

  Velara noticed their discomfort and burst out laughing.

  "Now that you can actually feel the Elan, it’s strange to stand in front of Singularity, isn’t it?"

  The four women and three men walked between the rows of guards, their steps muted by a mixture of admiration and fear. With every movement, the air trembled, as if space itself refused to remain stable around them.

  They took their places in a line before the throne, forming a second honor guard — motionless, immaculate, terrifying.

  Lucanis murmured, his voice stiff under the pressure:

  "Who are… these people?"

  The weight pressing on his shoulders did not fade. On the contrary, it seeped into his body inch by inch, as if his own skeleton suddenly weighed twice as much. Every breath became a struggle.

  Althéa, tense, tried to maintain composure.

  "They are the Seven of the Celestial Laws…"

  Lucanis, still fascinated — and crushed — his throat tight, continued observing the knights.

  "If they’re Singularity… and you are one too, Velara… why don’t we feel this in your presence?"

  Velara simply shrugged, as if the answer were obvious.

  "I constantly restrain my Elan output."

  She added with a calm smile:

  "Trust me, if I didn’t hold back, you wouldn’t even be able to stay in the same room as me."

  Lucanis had no difficulty believing her.

  A man then appeared at the threshold of the great doors. His silhouette, carved out of the backlight, did not resemble a simple human presence: it had the density of a verdict.

  Even motionless, he seemed to weigh on the entire hall.

  Then he stepped forward.

  At the precise instant his first step echoed, the applause died on its own — as if smothered by something older, more powerful than simple authority.

  An icy cold spread through the throne room.

  The king had entered.

  This man was not merely the sovereign of the kingdom — he was its backbone.

  He crossed the hall as if the world itself had been carved to step aside for him.

  As he passed, nobles bowed their heads, some lowering them until they nearly touched the carpet. When he passed before the Seven, they too bowed — slowly, deeply, sincerely.

  That single gesture was enough for Lucanis to understand: even Singularity bent before him.

  The king climbed the steps to the throne, each of his footsteps sounding like a verdict. He stood before the amethyst seat, rising like a solar altar. The queen joined him, austere, sovereign, impenetrable.

  And then the silence fell.

  Not an ordinary silence. A silence that made it seem as if the hall, the walls, even the stained-glass windows themselves were holding their breath.

  The king did not speak yet.

  He did not need to.

  Lucanis turned to whisper something to Velara…

  But she was no longer there.

  She had vanished as silently as a shadow.

  He spotted her a second later: already standing beside the Seven of the Celestial Laws, upright, perfectly in place, as if she had always been there. It looked as though she had materialized among them.

  He didn’t even have time to be surprised.

  The king spoke.

  "Bring in the one concerned."

  He had not raised his voice.

  He had not needed to.

  The mere tone of it spread through the hall like a tide of steel, imposing the order and the course of events.

  A bearded man entered the hall from a stairway: Captain Adonis.

  In front of him, half-naked, serpent-like marks running across his chest and back, a bandage wrapped completely around his neck, his hands bound behind him…

  Kael.

  Silence fell like a stone.

  Althéa inhaled too sharply.

  Her chest began to beat faster, heating with a sharp, uneasy warmth, as if an invisible hand had just pressed directly against the center of her sternum. A brief dizziness — tiny, but impossible to ignore — rose behind her eyes.

  Kael, meanwhile, stopped in the center of the hall a few meters from the Seven.

  He swept the hall with his gaze…

  but not like a man observing a crowd.

  His gaze moved slowly, methodically, as if he were reading something the others could not see. Every face his gaze passed over froze for a fraction of a second, as if brushed by an unknown presence. Even the most arrogant nobles stopped speaking when his eyes touched them.

  He seemed neither impressed nor afraid.

  Only… out of place.

  As if part of him were not truly there, or were observing the scene from an impossible angle.

  Adonis approached, whispered a few words in his ear, then stepped back into the crowd, leaving Kael completely alone, exposed in the center of the hall— alone before dozens of hostile gazes, yet strangely still, almost calm.

  "He seems calm… and in good health," Althéa murmured to Lucanis.

  She forced her voice to remain low, but her throat was dry.

  Lucanis nodded, a faint nervous smile on his lips.

  They were not the only ones who had noticed the king’s arrival.

  He sat on the throne. Immediately, the nobility collapsed in a perfectly choreographed wave, like a single organism obeying a single command.

  A man dressed like a scribe stepped forward near the red carpet.

  He tried to maintain a dignified posture; his eyes mostly shone with contempt.

  "We will now hold session against the accused present here: Kael," he declared.

  He turned a page with almost theatrical care, savoring every second.

  Then, in an unnecessarily loud voice:

  "Kael… without a name."

  The hall burst into laughter.

  A crude, ugly laugh rolled across the balconies like a filthy wave.

  Lucanis clenched his fists.

  Althea did too — except her knuckles turned white.

  The scribe continued, far too confident:

  "Kneel."

  Kael answered simply, without emotion:

  "I can’t."

  A shiver ran through the hall. The queen smiled venomously, leaned toward her husband and whispered something in his ear.

  The king did not react.

  The scribe repeated, this time almost shouting:

  "Kneel before your king, Ombrevu!"

  Kael rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and sighed, exasperated.

  "Yeah… I knew that was going to be a problem, damn it."

  An outraged clamor exploded.

  Nobles rose to their feet, furious.

  Guards began stepping forward, hands on the hilts of their weapons.

  Then Kael spoke louder, very calmly — and that calm, precisely, silenced part of the crowd.

  "I cannot kneel."

  "Because of my Dominant Trait."

  Velara detached herself from the Seven with the casualness of someone simply picking up an object from the floor. She approached a banner of House Soléandre — a heavy metal pole deeply embedded in the stone.

  She grabbed it with one hand.

  And tore it from the ground as if uprooting a dandelion stem.

  The crowd jolted collectively.

  Kael turned — too late.

  In a fluid, almost lazy motion, Velara slipped one leg between his, grabbed his shackles, twisted her wrist… and Kael suddenly found himself thrown onto his backside, as if swept away by an invisible gust.

  She then planted the banner into the floor between his arms, pinning him like fabric beneath a needle.

  The silence shattered into shocked murmurs.

  Velara crouched in front of him, placed a hand on his shoulder with the ease of a teacher annoyed with a clumsy student.

  Kael grumbled:

  "I’m not your student anymore… you don’t have to hit me!"

  She replied, perfectly calm, almost amused:

  "You couldn’t kneel. So I did it for you."

  "And the banner… was that really necessary?!"

  "With you? Always."

  "I’d rather avoid another disaster."

  She tapped the metal lightly — as if checking it was secure — then stood up without even brushing the dust from her hands and returned to stand beside the Seven as if nothing unusual had just happened.

  Lucanis leaned toward Althéa.

  She stood straight, hands behind her back, but her foot tapped the floor with barely contained nervousness.

  "He always has to make a memorable entrance," he murmured.

  Althéa let out a small strangled laugh despite the tension.

  Kael, still seated and immobilized, once again swept the hall with his gaze.

  The scribe resumed, raising his voice:

  "Good… We may begin. I hereby open th—"

  A rough, dry voice cut him off.

  The king.

  "I will conduct this session."

  And the entire world seemed to hang, suspended from his lips.