Title: “The Doors Open”

Scene: Council Chambers — Classic 😎's POV

I stood at the central dais of the grand council chamber.

All eyes were on me.

The circular room, lined with tiers of high-ranking officials, ministers, regional governors, and foreign dignitaries, buzzed with anticipation. Some leaned forward, curious. Some leaned back, skeptical.

I had just finished laying out the opening lines of a new reform—power distribution metrics, citizen representation, audit tracking for the lower-tier elite.

And then—

BOOM.

The twin gold-and-obsidian doors at the rear of the chamber swung open.

No knock.

No announcement.

Just presence.

And silence hit the room like a thunderclap.

Every council member turned at once.

He entered first.

Chris Blackwood.

Cloaked in layered black and royal silver. Crown of the empire on his head—not for tradition, but as a declaration.

Eyes cold. Expression unreadable. His very stride silenced whispers.

Then beside him—

Amara.

Emerald green flowing beside his darkness, a striking contrast. Her head held high, her gaze sharp as a blade. No smile. No softness. Just command.

She didn't walk in like a queen.

She walked in like judgment.

They didn't sit in the side gallery.

No.

They came down.

To the center.

To my floor.

I paused mid-sentence. I'd practiced for weeks. Prepared every contingency. But I hadn't expected this.

Chris didn't ask permission. He didn't wait for a welcome. He simply stood at the edge of the central floor, beside me, and said—

> "I see reforms are being discussed without the one who built the foundation they stand on."

No one breathed.

He turned to the audience—each row of power-dressed rulers and elite members watching like children frozen by thunder.

> "This is not a debate. This is a reminder."

He turned slightly toward me—measured, calm.

> "Classic is the future. But the present still wears a crown."

And then he looked at the room again.

> "I've returned not to ask questions... but to answer doubt."

His voice dropped lower, but somehow hit harder.

> "Let me be clear. There is no succession underway. I am not dying. I am not stepping aside. And no one—not Classic, not Amara—rules alone unless I say so."

He let that settle like ash after fire.

And then—

Amara stepped forward.

She didn't contradict him.

She complemented him.

> "What my husband means is: If you thought his silence was absence, then you misunderstood the Empire itself. We are not divided. We are now... reforged."

Gasps rippled in low breaths. Heads bowed slightly. Even the cocky ones blinked with newfound caution.

I didn't speak.

I didn't need to.

This was the reminder.

Not to silence me.

But to stiffen my spine.

Chris looked at me again—this time, not with threat.

But with something like... trust.

> "Continue, 04," he said.

And just like that, he took a seat beside the throne that hadn't even been prepared for him.

Everyone shifted.

And I stood taller.

> "As I was saying," I continued, voice unwavering, "reform is not rebellion. Reform... is survival."

And this time, they listened.

Not just because of me.

But because he had returned.

And they would never forget it.

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