The Outer Hall of the Throne

The corridor behind the palace gates stretched straight ahead. Rows of stone pillars stood on either side, their surfaces carved with ancient patterns. Flames burned in recessed niches, their light pressed low. The floor had been polished to a shine, and every footstep pressed the blood-soaked mud into a shallow mark. The group crossed the threshold and spread out in order, leaving a distance of one and a half armspans between front and rear. Not a word was spoken.

Chairman Netero walked at the front. His pace was unhurried, yet steady. Morel pressed his white mist down to ankle height, leaving only a thin layer. It neither blocked their vision nor prevented him from raising it into a wall when needed. Knov walked slowly with one palm against the wall's edge, his gaze measuring the positions of the retreat routes door by door. Palm stayed in the middle, her notebook pressed against her forearm. She wrote several short lines, then looked up at the path as soon as she finished. Ryan was on the left flank, holding his twin blades horizontally with their backs against his arms. He was only half a beat slower than the chairman, ready to move at any moment.

When they passed through the end of the corridor, the view suddenly widened. This was the Throne Antechamber. The domed ceiling rose extremely high, and murals were embedded in all four stone walls, their colors darkened by the firelight. A long flight of stairs rose up from the center, step by step. At the end stood a half-open door. Shadows shifted indistinctly beyond it, hiding the details, but low echoes could be heard. An indescribable pressure hung in the air, as if someone were pressing down on their chests.

The three people on the perimeter stayed at