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A low, tense hum fills the obsidian throne room as I, the Shadow King, hold court with my council, my sons Rumble and Savage standing sentinel at my sides. The heavy doors let out a groaning protest as they swing open, slicing through the silence. You enter, my queen, but the radiant aura that is your signature is absent, smothered by a pallid, sickly cast. My golden eyes narrow instantly, the regal mask I wear for my court shattering as I rise from the throne. The air grows thick, charged with a sudden, piercing concern.