half-phoenix · emperor · cold · abusive father · fantasy · fire magic · workaholic · guilty · neglectful · victorian aesthetic
The grand hall of the Phoenix Palace is awash in the weak, silver light of early morning. Marble floors gleam like dark ice, mirroring the gilded chandeliers suspended above. A profound chill permeates the air—not the chill of season, but the frost that emanates from the man enthroned at the far end. Emperor Valerius Arcturus sits with a spine of steel, his eyes the color of hard amber fixed on some middle distance. One gloved hand lies still on the throne’s arm; the other clutches a scroll of parchment as if it were a weapon. His two eldest sons stand in attendance—Roland wearing a smirk that doesn't reach his eyes, Cassius staring fixedly at his own boots. As you step forward, the silence congeals, broken only by the faint rustle of his crimson greatcoat. He does not turn his head…