The Evil King’s POV…..

The fire never truly warmed the throne room.

It only illuminated it.

Black flames curled along the obsidian walls, licking ancient runes carved deep into stone older than kingdoms. The air tasted of iron and incense, of blood soaked into the bones of the mountain itself. This place was alive—aware of me, of my will. It breathed when I breathed. It listened when I spoke.

I sat upon the throne carved from the spine of a long-dead god, fingers resting ...