The portal spat us out into heat and firelight and the immediate understanding that we'd walked into exactly the trap we'd expected.
The throne room was massive.
I'm talking cathedral-massive, the kind of space that made you feel small on purpose. Obsidian walls stretched up at least sixty feet, polished black stone that reflected the infernal fire burning in brass fixtures mounted every ten feet. The floor was the same black stone, smooth enough to catch distorted reflections of everything above it.
And in the center, on a throne carved from volcanic glass that probably weighed more than a small building, sat Veyrith.
He looked like Azryth. Same dark hair, same sharp features, same amber eyes that caught the firelight. But where Azryth's presence felt controlled and deliberate, Veyrith radiated casual cruelty like it was his resting state.
