For years uncounted, Asterius had waited for this moment, dreamt of it, hungered for it. The grand hall bathed in sunlight filtering through the towering stained-glass windows. Each pane told stories of kings vanquishing foes, forging empires, and standing unyielding before the tide of history. The mingled scents of burning incense and polished steel filled his lungs, undercut by the delicate perfume of rose petals scattered across the marble floor.
The crowd gathered was massive, a veritable sea of humanity, their faces turned to him as though he were a god descending from the heavens. Awe, hope, and expectation burned in their eyes. Above them, massive azure banners adorned with intricate golden embroidery hung heavy from the vaulted ceiling, illuminated by the flickering glow of countless candles.
Asterius’ boots struck the polished stone sharply as he advanced toward the dais. After all this time… I can finally claim what was rightfully mine to begin with.
The throne stood before him, made gilded iron and blackened wood. Ancient runes etched into its surface seemed to pulse faintly, alive with an arcane energy. His pulse quickened, but not from fear. No hesitation lingered. No one will deny me. Not now. Not ever.
A lone priest emerged from the shadows, wearing robes heavy with golden thread work. In his hands, he cradled the crown: a masterpiece of precious metals and jewels.
The priest’s hands quivered as he extended the crown, lips parting to recite the sacred rites. But Asterius interrupted him, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Do you think I need your permission to claim what is mine?”
The priest recoiled as though struck, his trembling hands clutching the crown tighter. Fear flashed across his face, and he stumbled back, bowing his head so low that the golden trim of his robes brushed the floor. His whispered apologies were barely audible, drowned out by the crackling tension that filled the hall.
This is the moment the world will remember. Asterius reached forward, his hands closing around the crown. The cold metal sent a shiver through him, its surface humming with a palpable power that surged into his core. He exhaled slowly, savoring the weight of it in his hands.
Raising the crown high above his head, he allowed the golden artifact to catch the light of the hall’s hundreds of candles. The crowd erupted into a thunderous cheer, their voices rising like a crashing wave.
“Asterius! Asterius! All hail the king!” they chanted.
“Long live Asterius!” another voice cried, sparking a cascade of praise.
“Our savior! Our king!”
The sea of faces below blurred for a moment in the flickering light, their expressions unified in unbridled devotion. Asterius felt the roar of their approval reverberate through his chest, a symphony of loyalty that swelled to an almost unbearable crescendo. He lowered the crown slowly onto his brow, its weight settling firmly, not as a burden, but as the final seal on the man he had become. It is done, I am finally whole.
Turning to face the crowd, he spread his arms wide. The sea of voices fell into an immediate, expectant silence. No one moved. No one even dared to breathe too loudly. The reverence in their collective gaze was a tangible force that filled the room, magnifying his every word before he even spoke.
“This is the dawn of a new age!” he proclaimed with a thunderous voice, carrying to the farthest reaches of the grand hall. “No longer shall we be shackled by the mistakes of the past or the weakness of those who came before. Under my reign, the fields will flourish, the cities will thrive, and the strength of our people will rise to heights undreamed of.”
The hall erupted once more, the thunderous roar of his people echoing through the vaulted chamber, as Asterius stood before them. “But prosperity does not come without cost. It demands vigilance. Sacrifice. Strength. I will not rule as a shepherd coddling his flock. I will rule as a king who leads warriors, builders, and dreamers. Together, we will carve a legacy that will endure for centuries.”
The hall erupted once more into cheers, a thunderous wave of voices cascading over Asterius like a storm. He stood tall on the dais, the crown settled firmly on his brow, and allowed a faint smile to tug at his lips, though it was more for show. There is something amiss… I can feel it.
Beneath the euphoria of triumph, a strange unease rippled through him. Asterius' instincts sharpened. His gaze swept across the grand chamber, catching subtle movements that didn’t belong, shadows shifting where none should be, figures skulking along the edges of the crowd. Assassins?
The first sound of warning came not from his eyes but his ears: a sharp, unnatural crack that sliced through the jubilant cries like a blade. Asterius’ head snapped toward the eastern wall, just as the groan of stone giving way filled the air. A moment later, a deafening explosion ripped through the hall, shaking it violently.
The towering stained-glass windows shattered in an eruption of light and sound, spraying jagged fragments over the crowd. Screams replaced cheers as people scrambled to shield themselves. The stench of smoke and singed stone filled the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. A second explosion tore through the rear of the hall, hurling rubble into the air in a blinding plume of dust.
Asterius stood motionless amidst the chaos, his senses flaring. The once-celebratory atmosphere had turned poisonous, the energy in the room thick with malice and violence. He closed his eyes for a single, steadying breath, the cacophony of panic dulling in his ears. They dare to strike me here? In my moment of triumph?
When his eyes opened, they burned with a searing azure light. Flames erupted from his body in an instant, cascading outward in radiant waves of blue. A fiery halo blazed above his head, bathing the chamber in its otherworldly glow. The panicked cries of the crowd faded to a murmur, his focus narrowing as his mind stretched outward, probing the energy around him. Three. To the east, north, and west. I must dispose of them all quickly.
Immediately, Asterius moved, his enhanced state transforming him into a streak of blue light. He vaulted over shattered debris and darted through the chaos, his flames leaving trails of scorching heat in his wake. His senses honed in on the first presence at the eastern gallery.
The figure stood cloaked in shadow, his hands weaving intricate patterns as he muttered guttural incantations. The air around him shimmered with raw, dark magic, coiling into a spell meant to sow destruction among the terrified crowd. Not on my watch.
Asterius surged upward, clearing a collapsed pillar with a single leap. Blue fire roared around him as he closed the distance, his movements precise and unrelenting. With a sweeping motion of his hand, his flames burst outward, engulfing the mage in a torrent of searing heat. The man’s chant broke into a scream, sharp and fleeting, before his form disintegrated into ash.
Fools, Asterius thought coldly, his glowing eyes scanning the wreckage below. You should have known better.
Stolen story; please report.
Pivoting, Asterius shot toward the northern wall, where another explosion had come. A group of conspirators worked frantically, their hands moving to set up another magical device. One of them shouted a warning, but it was too late. Asterius descended upon them like a storm. His flames lashed out, searing through their defenses with terrifying precision.
One man lunged at Asterius, his blade flashing in the dim light. The strike came fast, but Asterius caught the weapon mid-swing. His hand closed around the steel, the searing heat of his flames reducing the blade to molten slag as the soldier’s eyes widened in terror.
Before he could react, Asterius drove his other fist, wreathed in radiant blue fire, into the man’s chest. Bone cracked, flesh burned, and the man crumpled to the ground, his screams dying with the last flicker of flame.
Good, Asterius thought, stepping over the smoldering body. I just need to keep the pace. No hesitation, no mercy.
The final group huddled in the western alcove, their voices rising in panicked unison as they chanted an incantation. Tendrils of magical energy wove together, forming a shimmering barrier between them and their advancing king. Asterius stalked toward them, his blazing aura bathing the walls in flickering shadows. The air pulsed with their frantic attempts to hold him back, but it was futile.
With a roar, Asterius barreled into the shield, his flames surging outward in a furious storm. The barrier cracked and splintered under the weight of his assault, shards of magical light scattering like broken glass.
He pressed forward, his aura flaring brighter, until the shield shattered completely with a sound like thunder. The conspirators barely had time to gasp before his flames consumed them. Their cries were brief, swallowed by the inferno, and when the fire receded, only ash remained, swirling in the smoky air.
As the final embers faded, Asterius stood amidst the carnage, chest rising and falling with steady breaths. He cast his gaze down at the smoking remnants of his enemies, jaw tightening in grim determination. I'll have to investigate who these assassins are soon, but first…
Turning from the destruction, Asterius faced the hall. The shaken crowd stared at him, their faces pale and their eyes wide with disbelief. Many clutched each other, their fear palpable, yet laced with awe. The silence was heavy, broken only by the faint crackle of dying flames.
Straightening his shoulders, Asterius strode back toward the throne, his boots echoing against the stone floor with deliberate finality. Smoke curled around his feet as he walked, his presence commanding every gaze. “The threats to this kingdom will not end today. But neither will my resolve. Remember this moment, for it is the beginning of an era where no enemy, within or without, will escape my wrath.”
The crowd erupted into cheers again, though the underlying tension remained thick in the air. Asterius knew their applause wasn’t only for his triumph; it was for their hope that he could maintain the strength he’d just displayed. He swept his gaze across the crowd one final time before raising his hand for silence. The room fell quiet as he addressed the guards stationed near the edges of the hall.
“Escort the guests to safety,” he commanded. “Ensure no harm befalls them. If any enemies linger, eliminate them.”
The guards snapped into action, ushering the stunned crowd toward the exits. Asterius turned from the dais, his jaw tightening. He felt the residual heat of his flames in his veins, his heightened senses still thrumming with energy. This is no coincidence. The timing, the location, it was deliberate.
He stepped outside and broke into a run. The chill of the night air rushed against him, though it failed to cool the fire still smoldering in his aura. He darted through the twisting streets, his boots striking against the cobblestones with a rhythmic precision. The orderly cityscape of the palace district gave way to the industrial sector, a sprawling labyrinth of towering structures and intricate machinery.
The industrial area loomed like a mechanical behemoth. Iron towers jutted into the sky, their frames covered in tangles of pipes and conduits that hissed with steam. Massive gears and wheels turned slowly along the sides of buildings, their movement powered by unseen mechanisms.
When Asterius approached, the magical wards surrounding the area flared in response to his presence. Runes lit up along the ground, shimmering as they activated defensive enchantments. A ripple of energy coursed outward, forming an invisible barrier meant to deter any who dared trespass.
However, Asterius stepped forward despite this, his flames briefly igniting as they pushed against the wards. The barrier collapsed instantly, the runes flickering and then dimming to lifeless etchings. How typical.
The interior of the workshop was a chaotic symphony of sound and motion. Massive vats bubbled with viscous liquids, their surfaces glowing with unnatural colors. Rows of tools and half-finished constructs cluttered workbenches that stretched the length of the chamber. Steam hissed from overhead pipes, creating an ever-present shroud of mist.
As he moved deeper into the labyrinthine space, the constructs stirred. Mechanical golems, crafted from gleaming brass and iron, turned their crystalline eyes toward him. Smaller clockwork creatures scurried along the floors and walls, their spindly limbs clicking with every movement. One of the larger golems stepped forward, its blade-like arms whirring as they extended. The constructs shifted into defensive stances, their glowing eyes fixating on Asterius.
But as he stepped closer, his flame aura flickered once more, casting an ethereal glow that filled the room. Recognition dawned in their mechanical eyes. One by one, the constructs retreated, their weapons lowering as they cleared a path for him.
A towering golem, its frame reinforced with blackened steel, stepped forward. Asterius addressed it with calm authority. “Take me to Septima.”
The golem whirred in acknowledgment, turning and lumbering deeper into the workshop. Asterius followed, his steps echoing against the metal flooring. They passed through corridors lined with intricate machinery, the air growing cooler as they descended further. The lighting dimmed, leaving only the faint glow of magical sigils and the rhythmic pulse of energy flowing through the conduits.
At last, the golem stopped before a pair of reinforced doors adorned with intricate runes glowing faintly in shades of molten red. The air around the doors thrummed with power, a palpable force that made Asterius’ flames flicker faintly in response.
The golem pressed a massive, clawed hand against the door. A deep, resonant hum filled the corridor as the runes flared to life, bathing the space in a blood-red glow. With a grating hiss, the doors parted, revealing the chamber beyond.
Unlike the rest of the workshop, the room was much darker. The oppressive brightness of the outer halls gave way to a shadowed sanctum, where machinery whispered rather than roared. Tubes and conduits snaked along the walls, their inner workings pulsing with faint, rhythmic light.
At the center of the room stood a figure that made even Asterius pause. How unfortunate it is that I actually need her help.
She towered over most humans, her presence commanding and unnerving. Her torso retained the shape of a woman’s, but it was far from human: gleaming metal plates formed her skin, catching the light with a polished sheen that betrayed her artificial nature. Her jet-black hair cascaded like silken wires over shoulders of smooth alloy, framing a face too precise to be real. Crimson lines, sharp and angular, stretched from the corners of her glowing red eyes to the tips of her jaw, like war paint etched into her very being.
Below her waist, her body twisted into something monstrous. Eight segmented, metallic legs extended outward, each ending in wickedly sharp talons that clicked softly against the steel floor as she shifted. The legs moved with a calculated grace, the faint whir of servos and gears accompanying every motion. Tubes and conduits wove through her limbs, glowing faintly with the same red energy that pulsed through the runes on the door.
A black cloak draped over her shoulders, its fabric embroidered with sigils that pulsed faintly, echoing the energy coursing through the room. As Asterius entered, her glowing crimson eyes locked onto him, unblinking and cold.
“Septima,” Asterius greeted. “We have enemies testing the boundaries of this kingdom. I need answers.”
Septima tilted her head with deliberate precision, the faint hiss of hydraulic joints accompanying the movement. Her voice emerged smooth but layered with a faint metallic resonance, each word imbued with an almost eerie clarity. “I understand, my king. Tell me what you require of me.”
“Some of the corpses of the assailants might be too damaged. I want you to extract as much information as possible from what remains.”
“Do not concern yourself, my king. Even the smallest fragment: flesh, bone, or otherwise, contains the information I require. Nothing escapes my methods.”