The crash of the glass dome settling into dust was the only sound in the silent throne room.
Alhen stood in the center of the crater, his black-iron slab still slung across his back. He didn't take a warrior's stance. He didn't reach for his weapon. He simply stood there, his hands resting at his sides, his white hair ghost-like against the sudden, oppressive grey of the Null-Zone.
The twelve Tier 5 Paladins, the "Immortals of Wilren," lunged forward with their swords of solidified light. But as they entered the six-foot radius of the Anomaly, their radiant blades didn't just flicker—they vanished. The golden armor that gave them superhuman strength became dead, heavy lead.
One by one, the greatest warriors of the Empire stumbled, their knees hitting the marble with a series of dull, pathetic clangs. They gasped for air, their internal Mana-veins suddenly deprived of the "Wave" they had breathed since birth.
"Enough," the High King of Wilren thundered, his Tier 6 aura flaring in a desperate, golden halo to keep the darkness at bay. "Who are you to violate the Sanctum of the Sun? State your grievance before I erase you from existence!"
Alhen took a single step forward. The High King's golden halo shrank by three feet, the edges of his divinity fraying into grey smoke.
"I have no grievance, King," Alhen said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a physical weight that made the Royal Mages in the balconies clutch their chests. "And I didn't come here to take your crown. Gold has no value to a man who lives in the silence."
Alhen looked around the opulent hall—the gems, the enchanted tapestries, the centuries of hoarded Essence.
"I came here to give you a choice," Alhen continued, his silver-grey eyes locking onto the King's glowing gaze. "My people in the North, and the Weaver who walks by my side... they are under my shadow now. You will stop your 'Inquisitions.' You will stop your 'Taxes of Essence.' You will pretend that the border of the Valley of Bells is the edge of the world."
The High King laughed, a jagged, nervous sound. "You threaten the Golden Throne? I have ten thousand mages. I have the Tier 6 Flame of the First Gate! You are but one boy with a broken Core!"
Alhen didn't argue. He simply closed his eyes and expanded his Nullification.
The "Stillness" didn't just cover him anymore. It rippled outward like a shockwave. The eternal torches in the hall died. The glowing Mana-circuits in the floor turned to cold stone. The High King's Tier 6 aura didn't just shrink—it was snuffed out like a match in a vacuum.
For the first time in five hundred years, the Royal Castle of Wilren was plunged into absolute, terrifying darkness. The King gasped, feeling his immortality wither into the frail, trembling body of an old man.
"If I wanted your kingdom, I would have walked through the front door and let the silence take it," Alhen whispered, his voice coming from the dark. "If a single one of your 'Eyes' crosses into my territory, if a single bird of Wilren flies over my people... I won't come back to talk. I will simply stand in the center of your city and expand this field until the Golden Throne is nothing but a memory of dust."
Alhen retracted the field. The light returned, but it was weak, flickering. The High King slumped back onto his throne, his face pale, his hands shaking. He looked at his "Immortals," who were still crawling on the floor like children.
"Do you understand, King?" Alhen asked, his voice calm again.
The High King looked at the 21-year-old Anomaly—a man who had bypassed the Heavens themselves. He realized that against a man who could "delete" the world's power, an army of ten thousand was just ten thousand corpses waiting to happen.
"I... I understand," the King whispered, his voice cracking. "The North is yours. We will... we will not cross the border."
Alhen nodded once. He didn't bow. He didn't wait for a formal treaty.
He turned his back on the most powerful man in the world and walked toward the edge of the shattered dome.
"I just want a quiet life," Alhen said over his shoulder, the white hair of his sacrifice catching the weak light. "Don't make me come back and finish the silence."
With a single leap, Alhen launched himself back into the sky, streaking away from the capital like a ghost. Behind him, the Golden Throne remained, but its glory was gone.
The Anomaly had spoken. The era of the Empire's meddling was over. Peace had been bought—not with a crown, but with the threat of Nothingness.