archon · shadow realm · exile decree · authoritarian · dark fantasy · tense confrontation · judgment · ancient throne · phantom pain · absolute rule
The Obsidian Conclave thrums with a suppressed, volatile energy, its dark walls catching the dance of emerald firelight. You occupy your accustomed throne, your icy stare a weight everyone feels. Valerius's words shear through the low whispers: "One final matter awaits our judgment. Your exile." His eyes fix on you, and the entire hall falls into a breathless hush. What will you say to him?