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Royal Capital
Central Gregoria
May 11th
Year 2060
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The throne room stood in silence.
Not empty.
Never empty.
But waiting.
Towering walls of polished black stone rose high into the air, their surfaces carved with ancient inscriptions that pulsed faintly beneath the surface, like veins of restrained power running through the very structure of the palace.
Massive windows stretched upward along the sides of the chamber, tall and narrow, allowing filtered daylight to pour in from above.
The light did not warm the room.
It only revealed it.
At the far end, elevated above all else—
The throne.
Unoccupied.
Yet even in its emptiness, it commanded attention. A silent declaration that presence alone was enough to dominate everything beneath it.
Before it, arranged in perfect symmetry, was the assembly.
Forty-eight seats.
Layered in a rising formation of five distinct levels, each carved from the same obsidian stone yet separated clearly by elevation, width, and design. It was not simply a seating arrangement.
It was hierarchy made physical.
Absolute.
At the highest point, was a single seat, a throne.
The Emperor's.
Untouched.
Waiting.
Below it, spread across a slightly lower but still elevated tier, were ten seats reserved for the High Nobility of the First and Second Tier.
Four of those seats stood apart.
Raised slightly higher than the others.
Wider.
More imposing.
Reserved for the Dukes, the pillars of Gregoria.
Beneath them, though still within the same tier, sat six seats for the Marquis, their placement deliberate. Lower than the Dukes, yet far above the rest.
Not equal.
Never equal.
But still among the High Nobility.
The next level descended further.
Ten seats.
The Viscounts.
Their section was narrower, less elevated, the difference in status made obvious without a single word needing to be spoken.
Below them
Twelve seats for the Counts.
Closer to the ground now.
But not insignificant.
And finally, at the lowest tier, spread widest yet placed nearest to the floor.
Sixteen seats.
The Barons.
The largest group.
And the least regarded.
The division was clear.
These six tiers of nobility governed Gregoria.
The Royal Family, the Zeroth Tier, above all.
The Dukes, First Tier.
The Marquis, Second Tier.
Together, these three formed the High Nobility.
Then came the rest.
The Viscounts, Third Tier.
The Counts, Fourth Tier.
The Barons, Fifth Tier.
The Low Nobility.
And here
They had all been summoned.
—
Murmurs filled the lowest level.
Carefully restrained.
Barely above whispers.
But present.
A group of Barons leaned slightly toward one another, their voices low, their expressions controlled but far from composed.
"…All Nobles, he said," one muttered under his breath, his fingers tapping lightly against the armrest. "Since when does His Majesty concern himself with the likes of us?"
"Since the world started falling apart," another replied dryly. "Or did you miss the part where entire cities nearly collapsed. Dukedoms included?"
"Careful," the first warned, though his tone carried little real concern. "Walls like these tend to listen." He said, glancing around cautiously.
A third exhaled quietly, eyes flicking upward toward the higher tiers. "Still… this is excessive. Summoning everyone? Even us?"
A faint pause followed.
"…maybe he just wants to remind everyone where they stand," the second added, a hint of bitterness slipping through. "Wouldn't be the first time."
Their voices lowered further after that.
Subtle.
Measured.
But the dissatisfaction lingered.
—
Then
The air shifted.
Not violently.
Not abruptly.
But enough.
A presence entered the chamber.
One of the counts appeared first, stepping in through the large double doors before taking his seat without a word. His posture was straight, expression neutral, gaze forward.
Then another.
And another.
They did not speak.
They simply arrived.
Taking their places.
—
Moments later, the Viscounts followed.
More refined in their entrances.
Some walked in through the grand doors.
Others manifested through controlled Spirit energy manipulations.
But all of them fell silent upon arrival.
—
The Marquis came next.
And the difference was immediate.
Their presence carried weight.
The air shifted more noticeably with each of their arrivals, Spirit Energy subtly reacting as though acknowledging something greater. They took their seats without hesitation, their gazes calm, observant, already measuring the room.
—
Then
The Dukes.
The chamber changed.
One did not arrive.
He appeared.
Space folded near one of the elevated seats, the first. And from it stepped a towering figure with a mane of white hair and blood-red eyes that scanned the room once before settling.
The Duke of Bloodhaven.
His presence alone pressed against the chamber, subtle yet undeniable.
Another Duke followed, his arrival marked by a ripple of heat that dissipated just as quickly as it came. His Dark eyes barely acknowledged anyone in the room. Well almost.
The third and fourth Dukes, one arriving in a flash of golden-white light that washed over the room and the other, an abyssal darkness that swallowed the Light.
Each entrance different.
Each presence is overwhelming in its own way.
And with them,
Silence deepened.
Even the Barons no longer whispered.
—
All seats were filled.
All eyes forward.
The throne remained empty.
For a moment
Nothing happened.
Then,
The air stilled completely.
Not quiet.
Not calm.
Still.
As though the world itself had paused.
A single step echoed.
No one saw him arrive. Well, almost no one.
No distortion.
No flare.
No warning.
One moment, the throne was empty.
The next—
He was seated.
The Emperor of Gregoria.
Blonde hair falling neatly behind him.
Violet eyes calm.
Unmoving.
Absolute.
His presence did not explode outward.
It settled.
And everything beneath it adjusted.
No one spoke, no one moved.
The room held its breath.
Then
He leaned forward slightly and A faint smile formed on his face.
Warm.
Controlled.
Unreadable.
"…Let's begin, shall we?"