A Kingdom Holds Its Breath
The flames crackled, licking the air with hunger, but the throne room remained eerily still. The great pillars cast long shadows, flickering like ghosts on the marble floor.
At the center of it all, Shree Yan sat unmoved.
His white hair fell in soft waves over his shoulders, and his red eyes gleamed—not with anger, not with surprise. Only cold amusement.
"Is this how you announce your arrival, Tara?" His voice was quiet, yet it cut through the fire's roar. "With fire? With destruction?"
Tara stood amidst the ruins of the great doors, the heat of her power warping the air around her.
"How else should one greet a tyrant?" she answered.
A smirk ghosted across Shree Yan's lips. "A tyrant?" he echoed. "Tell me, how many did you burn on your way here? How many innocent lives did your flames consume?"
Tara clenched her fists, but she did not answer.
The Immortal King rose from his throne, his black robes flowing like a shadow in the dim light.
"You've come to kill me."
Tara's eyes burned with defiance. "I've come to end what should have never begun."
Shree Yan took a step forward. The flames that had devoured the palace doors bent away from him, as if afraid.
"Then come," he said, his voice like the whisper of a storm before the flood. "Let me show you why eternity belongs to me."