Inside, the palace was eerily quiet.
I had never been here before, never even glimpsed it beyond the towering walls that surrounded it. And yet, as I walked through the grand hall, I couldn't help but feel like it was too still.
I didn't know what a normal day inside a palace was supposed to look like.
But I had assumed there would be more.
More people, more movement, more noise—scribes rushing to deliver messages, nobles in heated debate, guards standing at attention, waiting for orders.
But instead, there was just silence.
What struck me most was the wealth.
The vast, overwhelming display of power in the form of gold-inlaid statues, towering banners of the royal crest, chandeliers of silver hanging overhead.
My eyes landed on a single statue of a mounted knight, carved from polished obsidian, veins of gold running through the armor like cracks of lightning.
That thing alone could feed an entire village for a month.
But here it stood, serving no purpose except to exist.
That's power, I guess.
The privilege of a man who already has everything.
At the heart of the chamber, the King sat on his throne.
He was old, his beard streaked with gray, lines of age carved into his face—but even now, he looked like he could march onto the front lines and fight alongside his men if he wanted to. His frame was broad, sturdy, and his eyes—icy blue, sharp as a blade—held a weight that could crush any man who stood before him.
To his right and left, standing at silent attention, were his most loyal warriors.
The twins.
His adopted son and daughter, said to be raised as his own.
The male, Dain, was built like a fortress, clad in thick plated armor, his posture unshakable. A massive spear rested in his hand, its tip gleaming under the dim torchlight.
The female, Kira, stood just as firm but carried herself with an air of quiet grace. Where Dain was solid and immovable, she was calm and poised. She wielded a sword, its edge refined and polished, resting at her side like an extension of herself.
Neither spoke.
They didn't need to.
In front of the King, a man kneeled, bound in chains, his head lowered, a guard gripping his shoulder.
The King was speaking to him, but from this distance, I couldn't make out the words.
Astrid stopped abruptly, standing several paces away, keeping her distance from the unfolding judgment.
She hesitated for a second, then whispered, "He's a murderer. Killed his own wife."
I frowned.
"Why?"
She shook her head. "I… don't know. But the King will punish him severely."
A pause.
Then, in a lower voice, "He lost his wife. Long ago. When I was just born."
Her voice barely carried, but there was something in it—something almost distant.
I exhaled, shifting my grip on The Mother's head.
Something told me the punishment would be more than severe.
The King rose from his throne.
His presence alone commanded the entire room, but when he spoke—his voice filled the chamber, shaking the very air.
Loud. Absolute. Unshakable.
"I am King Edric, ruler of Valkenheim."
His gaze bored into the kneeling man, cold and merciless.
"And by my decree, you are sentenced to death."
The prisoner's head snapped up.
"No, no! You need to understand!" he shouted, his voice breaking, his body thrashing against the guard's grip.
But there was no mercy here.
The guard yanked him up, dragging him toward the exit as he continued to scream, plead, fight.
Then, his eyes locked onto Astrid.
"My lady, please!" he begged, voice raw with desperation. "Please help me!"
Astrid didn't even look at him.
Didn't flinch. Didn't react.
Instead, she tightened her grip on my wrist.
And without a word, she led me forward—straight to the King.
The King, still standing strong, looked down at us as we knelt before him.
His voice was steady, firm—but almost too casual.
"What problem did you bring today, Astrid?"
I frowned slightly.
Something about the way he said it felt off.
But then again, I had no idea who Astrid truly was.
"Fa—" She started, then caught herself.
She cleared her throat, straightened, then spoke again.
"My King, I bring you the Hero of Valkenheim."
Her voice was steady now, formal.
"The killer of The Mother."
Silence.
The King's eyes locked onto me.
Not just his.
The twins behind him—Dain and Kira—their gazes fell on me as well, sharp and calculating.
I exhaled slowly, then lifted The Mother's severed head.
Dain stepped forward, took it from my grasp, then turned and delivered it to the King, who—without another word—lowered himself back into his throne.
The King turned the severed head over in his hands, examining it carefully, as if checking for any signs of deception.
Then—he smiled.
"Many thanks to you, young man." His voice was calm, yet carried the weight of absolute authority. "You are indeed the Hero of Valkenheim."
His gaze settled on me once more.
"May I catch your name, young man?"
I swallowed, straightened my back slightly. "Erik."
The King nodded.
"Thank you, Erik."
Then, his voice rose—not just for me, but for everyone in the hall to hear.
"I, as the ruler of Valkenheim, hereby declare you the Hero of our Kingdom."
A declaration. A title.
It felt heavy.
"And with that title, comes privilege." The King leaned forward slightly, his tone almost amused. "As the Hero, you will have access to the finest food and drink in the land, free housing anywhere in Valkenheim, gold should you request it, and land to claim if you so desire."
Then, his eyes narrowed slightly, voice dipping just a little.
"But tell me, Erik."
A pause.
"Is there anything you truly desire?"