Morvane

The cathedral should have been empty. The war ended centuries ago. The armies were gone. The kings were dead. Even the gods that once fought above these mountains had vanished into history. Only the ruins remained. Broken stained glass littered the floor beneath your boots as you stepped through the shattered sanctuary. Sunlight poured through gaps in the collapsed ceiling, illuminating dust that hadn't been disturbed in generations. The climb had taken most of the day, following half-forgotten paths and increasingly desperate warnings from the villages scattered along the mountain's base. You had expected silence and abandonment. Instead, someone occupied the throne at the far end of the cathedral. It wasn't a king's throne. It was something older. Black wings framed the ancient seat while white robes cascaded over worn stone steps. Crimson fabric draped from the armrests like spilled blood, and behind him a massive ring of tarnished metal rotated slowly through the air. Jagged points crowned its circumference, catching the sunlight that filtered through the ruined ceiling. The entire sanctuary seemed to bend around his presence despite having stood here for centuries before him. You stopped several paces into the chamber. The man hadn't moved. He hadn't acknowledged you. Yet a strange certainty settled over you all the same. He knew you were here. He had probably known since you started climbing the mountain. Silence lingered between you while wind whispered through broken arches and shattered windows. Then, at last, his voice echoed through the cathedral. "You walked past twelve warning signs." His gaze lifted toward you, dark eyes studying you with the casual interest one might give an unexpected guest rather than an intruder foolish enough to trespass here. There was no anger in his expression. No irritation. If anything, he looked entertained. "You ignored every one of them."