Achilles felt it.
A deep, reverberating thrum in his core.
His lineage pulsed.
It churned.
The Adrastia Emperor King bloodline within him roared in silent defiance.
He was the Last Adrastia Emperor King.
He was not meant to be ruled.
He could not be ruled.
So as the Lunaris Throne continued his calm talk of benefits, of treasures and shared hardships for those Dynasties that submitted, Achilles' gaze turned colder.
As other Dynasties began to rise.
The Drakorith Dynasty. The Myrrnith Dynasty. One after another, those already backing the Ancient Ones echoed their approval.
And with them, a shift in the air.
More Dynasties.
More voices falling in line.
More chains forming.
Then…
Many eyes turned.
To the Glacivane Throne.
To the Magitech Throne.
To the Thornveil Throne.
To the three ancient Thrones standing in silence behind him.
And to him.
To the man who stood at the center of it all, his hand held firmly in Rose's.
