Throne of the Ash Realm

The monarch was sitting in a high-backed leather chair beside the moonlit pool. A figure began to take shape on the calm water's surface, shimmering with the enchanting essence of the night.

"I am listening to you," the monarch stated. His mask enveloped the light in darkness, and his eyes blazed with a gray fire. "I trust you haven't come up with another excuse for me."

Lord Dekaris Zharqasti's reflection flickered faintly, distorting his keen features due to the mild movement of the water. However, his voice was clear—cold, crisp, and devoid of apology.

"We've searched every corner of the known realms," Dekaris said, his tone clipped. "The last clone of Ru remains elusive. It's as if he's vanished from existence."

The monarch's gloved fingers tightened around the armrests of his chair, the leather creaking under the pressure. His masked face betrayed no emotion, but the air around him grew heavy, charged with a quiet, seething rage. "Elusive," he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "A word I grow tired of hearing, Dekaris. Ru is not a ghost. He is a king. And kings do not simply... vanish."

Dekaris's reflection flickered, his expression hardening. "With all due respect, Your Majesty, Ru is no ordinary king. He has resources—alliances—that even we cannot fully comprehend. He—"

The monarch interrupted, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. He rose from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate, every step echoing with authority. "I do not pay you to make excuses, Dekaris. I pay you to deliver results. And yet, here we are, still empty-handed."

He turned away from the pool, his long coat sweeping behind him as he began to walk. The gallery stretched out before him, a vast expanse of black marble that sparkled like glass under the dim light. The walls were lined with towering statues, their forms frozen in moments of beauty, pain, and despair. Each one was a masterpiece, carved with exquisite detail, their faces so lifelike they seemed to breathe. But the Monarch knew the truth—these were not mere sculptures. They were trophies. Souls he had captured, preserved in stone for his private collection.

As he walked, his gloved hand trailed lightly over the surface of a statue, his touch almost tender. "Do you know why I collect them, Dekaris?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost contemplative. "It's not just for their beauty. It's for their... permanence. In this world, everything fades. Everything crumbles. But here, in this gallery, they are eternal. Frozen in time. Perfect."

He paused before a blank pedestal, its surface smooth. "And yet," he murmured, his voice tinged with longing, "the one I desire most remains beyond my grasp. Ru. He is the most valuable work of art that I want to acquire."

The monarch stood there, his masked face reflecting in the polished marble, causing the gallery to pause. The statues watched him silently, their stone eyes seeming to follow his every move. He turned away from the pedestal, his gaze sweeping over the gallery. The high ceilings vanished into shadow, their surfaces etched with intricate patterns that glimmered faintly in the dim light. The air was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of ash and incense. It was a place of beauty and terror, a testament to the monarch's power and his unyielding will.

"You're a fool, Dekaris," the monarch spoke again, his voice cold and sharp. "To think you could fail me and live to tell the tale. But I am not without mercy. You have one more chance. Bring me Ru's last clone. Or I will find someone who can."

Dekaris's reflection flickered again, his expression unreadable. "And if he resists?"

As the edges of the mask captured the moonlight, deep vortices emerged in the monarch's eyes. "Then remind him who I am. Remind him that I do not accept no as an answer."

With a wave of his hand, the pool's surface rippled, and Dekaris's reflection vanished. The gallery was silent once more, the only sound the soft tap of the monarch's boots against the marble floor as he continued his solitary walk.

"Ah, Ru," the Monarch murmured, his voice a velvety whisper that echoed through the vast space. He paused before a blank pedestal. "You would be the crown jewel of my collection. Your beauty, your power—it's unmatched. A king among kings, frozen in time, forever mine." He tilted his head, his masked face reflecting in the marble floor. "But you elude me still. How long must I wait to see you here? How long must I endure this... longing?"

He turned to a nearby statue, a figure of a woman caught mid-dance, her face frozen in an expression of joy. The monarch reached out, brushing his fingers against her marble cheek. "You were beautiful once," he said softly. "However, you pale in comparison to him." His voice turned icy and cutting. "None of you hold the same value as he does. None of you will ever match his beauty."

As he walked, the gallery seemed to stretch endlessly, its high ceilings vanishing into shadow. The statues watched him silently, their eyes—though made of stone—seeming to follow his every move. The monarch's footsteps echoed, a rhythmic tap-tap-tap that filled the silence. He paused again, this time before a statue of a man with wings, his face twisted in anguish. "You fought me," the Monarch said, tilting his head. "And now you are here. A lesson for the others. A reminder of what happens to those who defy me."

He sighed, a sound that carried both weariness and longing. "But Ru... Ru would never fight me. Not truly. He would understand. He would see the beauty in this, the artistry. He would stand here, beside me, and we would rule together. Not as rivals, but as equals. As... more." His voice trailed off, and for a moment, the gallery was silent.

The earth shook.

The ground trembled beneath his feet, and the air grew heavy with the scent of sulfur and ash. The high ceiling of the gallery began to split open, cracks spreading like veins through the black marble. Dust and debris rained down as the ceiling parted, revealing the ashen sky above. The chains clanked, their iron tones reverberating in the silence. A colossal and bare figure gracing the atmosphere of the gray world gradually inclined towards the monarch in the gallery, becoming increasingly discernible as it leaned in.

The presence of this immense statue, bearing the weight of the heavens and topped with emptiness, served as a testament to the monarch's ascent to authority.

It was the Faceless—a towering, monstrous being, his form shrouded in darkness, his features obscured by a void where a face should be. His black, imposing body, gleaming like diamonds, was adorned in embers and ashes. Chains bound his enormous arms and legs; their links shimmered softly with age-old runes.

The monarch did not flinch. He stood tall, his hands clasped behind his back, his masked face tilted upward to meet the Faceless's gaze—or lack thereof. "Father," he said, his voice calm, almost bored. "You've interrupted my musings. How... typical of you."

The Faceless let out a low, guttural growl, the sound reverberating through the gallery. The chains around him strained as he shifted, his massive form casting a shadow over the monarch.

"You were a bad king," the monarch continued, his tone icy. "Weak. Indecisive. You let the world crumble beneath your feet. I simply... corrected your mistakes." He gestured to the gallery around him. "Look at what I've built. A world of order. Of beauty. Of control. Something you could never achieve."

The Faceless growled again, the sound more menacing this time. The chains rattled as he strained against them, but they held firm.

"You hate me for it, don't you?" the monarch said, a faint smile in his voice. "But you should be grateful. I've spared you the humiliation of ruling a dying world. Instead, I've given you a purpose. A reminder of what happens to those who fail." He stepped closer, his boots clicking against the marble floor. "You are a relic, Father. A symbol of the past. And I... I am the future."

The Faceless unleashed a thunderous roar, sending the gallery reeling. The statues seemed to tremble, their frozen faces almost alive with fear. But the monarch remained unmoved. He stood before his father, a figure of calm authority, his masked face betraying no emotion.

"Rest now, Father," the monarch said softly. "Your time has passed. This is my world now. And soon... King Ru will be here too. Together, we will create something even livelier."

The Faceless roared again, but the monarch turned away, his attention already drifting back to the statues. He walked through the gallery, his footsteps echoing once more, as the chains pulled the Faceless back into the dark space, his growls fading into silence.

The gallery was still again, the statues watching, waiting. And the monarch continued his solitary walk, his thoughts consumed by the one who had eluded him for so long.

"Ru," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Soon. Very soon."