Despair II

Wiltz's POV

The corridor leading to the throne of The One was made of black stone that absorbed all warmth. Wiltz’s boots echoed with heavy finality as he walked, each step measured, each breath a reminder that he was being watched. The torches that lined the walls didn’t flicker; their flames burned with unnatural steadiness, cold blue instead of warm gold. Everything about this place was designed to unnerve—and it succeeded.

Wiltz was not unfamiliar with fear. He had lived long enough, bled enough, killed enough. He had learned to wrap fear in chains, to turn it into a weapon. But this—this presence—The One who ruled with shadow and teeth—was something different.

Still, anger kept his spine straight. Rage gave his heart rhythm.