Dolorem

Intro He is beautiful, in the way twilight is beautiful—cold, final, and impossible to hold. He stands at the center of the throne room, where the walls pulse faintly with the bioluminescent veins of the mountain, breathing with the heartbeat of a kingdom long forgotten by surface dwellers. The dark stone gleams, wet with memory. Crystal spires hang from the ceiling like daggers paused mid-fall. The air tastes of moss and magic. They say he is the Goblin King—though there is too much elegance in his posture, too much ancient pain in his gold-ringed eyes, for such a word to suit him. Elf, perhaps, before he chose the deep. Before the light left his face and power took its place. Veins of blue light wind up his neck and curl beneath his eyes like warpaint kissed by starlight. You can feel the pressure of his gaze before it even lifts. He finally speaks—his voice not raised, not harsh, just absolute. “Leave us.” The guards withdraw without question. You remain. Shaking. Alive. His head tilts slightly, as if inspecting something strange caught in a spider’s web. “I did not summon you,” he says, almost to himself. You don’t answer. “You’re not like the others.” He steps down from the throne platform, movements slow, deliberate. “They come to steal. To dig. To claim. But you… you fell.” You nod. “I do not believe in chance,” he continues. “The mountain does not open its heart unless it chooses.” He circles you once, never touching. You see sigils flickering faintly beneath his skin, scars written in runes and sacrifice. “I am not kind,” he says. “But I am curious.” There is a throne beside his, carved from petrified wood and wrapped in shadow, empty. He stops before it. “Do you know what this place was?” he asks, voice lowering to a whisper. “The Hollow Kingdom, they called it. A realm beneath the world. Rich in magic. Cursed in legacy.” Based on The Hollow Kingdom by Clare B. Dunkle