The silence shattered as Ignathar's molten voice filled the chamber, rolling over the kneeling Kosmo and the struggling Alexander like an unstoppable tide. It was a voice that commanded attention, each word carrying the weight of centuries of authority and power. His golden eyes burned with an intensity that seemed to scorch the air itself, casting flickering, ember-like shadows on the seamless walls.
"You," he began, his gaze locking onto Kosmo with a precision that left no room for doubt. The word reverberated through the chamber, addressing not merely the man but the essence of who he was. "You entered chaos and did not falter. Your strikes were deliberate, your actions measured. In the storm, you were the fulcrum—steady, unyielding."
Kosmo's head remained bowed, his breathing even but slow. Though his exhaustion was clear in the slight tremor of his shoulders, he did not move. He listened, absorbing the words without daring to respond. The faint glow of his gauntlets had dimmed entirely, leaving only the soft light of the chamber to catch on the fine lines of their craftsmanship.
Ignathar stepped closer, the heat of his presence radiating outward. The embers along his arms pulsed faintly with his measured movements. "There is strength in restraint, Kosmo," he continued, his tone sharp and cutting. "But restraint is not always the answer. You must learn when to abandon it, to let the storm consume you, and to strike with finality. Discipline is the foundation of greatness, but even a foundation must bear the weight of its structure."
Kosmo inclined his head slightly, the motion subtle but deliberate. It was acknowledgment without defiance, a quiet acceptance of the Sovereign's critique.
Then Ignathar turned, his molten gaze falling upon Alexander. The shift in his focus was palpable, the heat in his tone growing heavier, more oppressive. "And you," Ignathar said, his words a smoldering accusation. Alexander froze under the weight of his attention, his attempts to steady himself faltering as he leaned more heavily on the abductees assisting him.
"You brought chaos without control," Ignathar declared, his voice rumbling like the distant roar of an inferno. "Your strength is undeniable, yet strength without purpose is an affliction. You moved as though power alone could carry you, but power without discipline is a raging fire, consuming all in its path until nothing remains. You are that fire, Alexander—destructive, aimless, and ultimately hollow."
Alexander's jaw tightened, his face twisting with disbelief and indignation. His hands clenched into fists, his body trembling as if bracing against the Sovereign's words. He opened his mouth, but no sound came. Whatever protest he might have voiced withered under the intensity of Ignathar's judgment.
"You came here," Ignathar continued, his tone growing colder, "boasting of victories not yet earned. You claimed respect you had no right to demand. Arrogance, Alexander, is tolerated only when it is justified. Yours is not. Your failures have made it intolerable."
The abductees holding Alexander exchanged uneasy glances. One of them—a young woman with wide, fearful eyes—pressed the makeshift bandage harder against his brow, as if hoping the action might distract her from the Sovereign's scrutiny.
Ignathar stepped closer still, his towering form casting a long shadow over Alexander. "You have shown defiance," he said, his molten tone softening slightly but losing none of its edge. "But defiance without reflection is a weakness. You could not adapt. You could not overcome. Instead, you faltered. In this place, failure is not just a flaw—it is a stain."
Alexander's lips pressed into a thin line, his frustration barely contained. He struggled to push himself upright, his breaths labored as his body fought against both exhaustion and indignation. But the weight of Ignathar's presence pinned him in place, leaving him no avenue for escape.
The Sovereign's golden gaze flicked back to Kosmo. "Kosmo," he said, his voice steadier now, though no less commanding. "You have earned acknowledgment. But do not mistake acknowledgment for approval. There is a vast difference between enduring the storm and commanding it. You have shown us your foundation. Now, you must build upon it, or it will crumble beneath the weight of expectation."
Kosmo exhaled slowly, the motion barely perceptible as he maintained his kneeling posture. His silence spoke of understanding—not submission, but a recognition of the Sovereign's words as both critique and challenge.
Ignathar straightened, his presence somehow growing even more imposing. "The Valcrys does not reward mediocrity," he intoned, his voice echoing through the chamber like the toll of a great bell. "It does not suffer weakness or tolerate failure. You have been tested, and your worth has been revealed. Remember this, for the trials yet to come will demand more than strength, more than defiance. They will demand everything."
The chamber fell silent as Ignathar stepped back, his golden eyes dimming slightly as he returned to his place among the Twelve. The air felt heavier for his absence, his words lingering in the minds of all present like embers refusing to fade.
Kosmo remained motionless, his head bowed, his body a picture of quiet endurance. Alexander slumped further against the abductees, his face pale but his jaw still tight with the remnants of defiance. The Sovereign's judgment had struck deeper than any blow, leaving both men with a weight they would carry long after the echoes of Ignathar's voice had faded.