As the soldiers swept through the palace, their boots echoing in the once-grand halls, Kaelix stood in the heart of the throne room, his sword still drawn, though his gaze was distant. Thaddeus, the fallen king, was being dragged away in heavy chains, his furious curses and protests bouncing off the walls like the cries of a dying animal.
Kaelix barely spared him a glance. His mind had already moved beyond the moment, calculating their next steps with the precision of a strategist who couldn't afford to fail.
The metallic scrape of a blade being cleaned pulled his attention. Theron approached, methodically wiping the blood off his sword before sheathing it. He stopped beside Kaelix, his expression unreadable. "Satisfying," he said, voice calm, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of grim satisfaction.
"Rathorne?" Kaelix asked, his tone as sharp and clipped as ever.
"Dead," Theron confirmed. "He put up a fight, but his loyalty to Thaddeus was his undoing."
