The grand throne room stretched out in regal splendour, its soaring marble columns supporting archways that towered above like guardians of an ancient realm. Golden candleholders flanked each side of the red-carpeted aisle, their flames flickering softly, casting a warm glow over the lavish setting. Intricate tapestries lined the walls, and the air was thick with a sense of majesty and forgotten power.
At the far end of the hall, raised on a platform of pale stone steps, sat the throne—a towering chair of silver and crimson. The tall, arching back of the throne nearly kissed the stained glass window behind it, through which moonlight poured in, casting pale reflections on the polished floor below. The throne itself was as imposing as it was elegant, with curved armrests and engravings of long-lost symbols running along its edges, as if woven into the very fabric of its existence. It commanded respect, a seat meant for someone with power beyond mere mortal comprehension.
