Maria's wrinkled hand hovered over the drawer, her expression unreadable. She pulled it open with practiced care and lifted a small, black wooden box—etched with sigils too worn to interpret.
She placed it between them with reverence.
"Child," she said, turning to Richard, "there's one more thing I must give you."
The lid creaked open.
Inside, resting on worn velvet, was a dust-covered jade seal—its surface carved with the same diamond crest that mirrored the mark on Richard's back.
"This is the Royal Seal," Maria said quietly, "a symbol of your lineage… though it holds no political power anymore."
Richard leaned closer, instincts prickling. The seal radiated a low, humming energy. Quiet. Ancient. Watching.
Maria sighed. "Even if you declared yourself king, there is no throne left. No kingdom. No one alive to acknowledge that claim."
Jack frowned. "Then what's the point?"