The throne room was enormous. I stepped inside, and for a moment, my mind went quiet, the sheer scale of the place pressing in like a slow-moving wave.

  This wasn’t just some hall—this was the heart of the fort, a chamber built to command presence. Massive, supporting pillars lined the room. Thick, carved stone, standing like silent guardians, their surfaces etched with strange random designs, thought up by various builders on a whim — players doing player things.

  The place was mostly bare, but it wasn’t empty. There was weight in the cold stone walls, in the way the light from magic braziers and magic torches flickered against the rough-hewn edges, in the way the air felt heavy with something unspoken.

  This was a place meant for power. For command. For someone who actually belonged here. And then there was the throne.

  A single platform rose at the far end of the chamber, five steps up, placing it just high enough to overlook everything without feeling ridiculous.

  A throne. Not ornate, not draped in gold or velvet, not the kind of seat you’d find in an imperial court, but… imposing in its own right. It was made of dark, solid wood, reinforced with iron accents, its design sharp, practical, meant to last rather than impress. And yet I was impressed.

  Because it was mine.

  Or, at least, that’s what Lola had just finished explaining. “We didn’t have the money for decorations,” she admitted, shifting uncomfortably, her hands gripping her stack of papers a little too tightly. “But we commissioned a throne for you, Lady Charlie.”

  I exhaled slowly, eyeing the room again, taking in every detail I had glossed over at first glance. The banners hanging against the walls—the imperial ones were faded, repurposed, stitched with hasty embroidery, as if they had been rushed to make this place feel less empty.

  The subtle tension in the few people already gathered, waiting. Waiting for me. Something tightened in my chest.

  I wasn’t sure what it was.

  Pressure? Expectation? The weight of what this meant? I had never cared about thrones before. But this? This wasn’t just some symbolic seat of power.

  This was a place made for me. I grinned, slow and sharp, pushing down the unfamiliar twist of emotion.

  “Well,” I said, breaking the silence, my voice just a little too casual. “At least it’s not gaudy.” Lola sighed heavily, muttering something about how I could at least pretend to appreciate it. But I did. I really did. “Good job, Lola.”

  I strolled forward, my steps slow, deliberate, my gaze fixed on the throne as I traced my fingers along its edges. The wood was smooth, worn down by the careful work of craftsmen, but the iron accents were cool to the touch, solid beneath my fingertips.

  For a moment, I let myself imagine it. Myself, an independent ruler. Not a pawn in someone else’s game. Not a piece on a board moved by the empire. But something more.

  And just for a second, something inside me shifted—like a locked door clicking open somewhere deep, deep inside. It wasn’t memories. No images of a past life, no hidden knowledge waiting to be unearthed. But a feeling.

  A pull.

  As if I had just stepped into a place I was always meant to stand. Like how I felt about Irwen—that strange, inexplicable sense of familiarity, the unshakable certainty that she was related to me, even when I had no memories to prove it.

  Was it magic? Was Riker right? Was this world more real than reality? …Even if it was, that didn’t matter.

  I turned, my thoughts slipping away, and lowered myself onto the throne, moving slowly, deliberately, the weight of the moment sinking in as my knees tilted to the side and I settled into place. From here, the room stretched before me—wide, waiting.

  It wasn’t empty, but there were people missing. Like Alma. I rested my elbow on the armrest, fingers tapping idly as I glanced toward Lola, who, somehow, had already dragged a wooden table near the throne on right side and was stacking a towering pile of papers onto it.

  I raised an eyebrow. Of course. Even in the ceremony, bureaucracy haunted us. “Are we waiting?” I asked, shifting slightly.

  Lola didn’t even look up as she smoothed out the top document. “Yes, Lady, they’re late.” Her voice was light, carrying a hint of something suspiciously amused.

  I narrowed my eyes, turning fully toward her, just in time to catch the glint of mirth dancing in her gaze. “…Wasn’t this supposed to start in like a quarter hour?” I cocked my head, biting my lip, suddenly wondering if I had just breached some grand imperial protocol.

  Lola finally met my gaze, her lips twitching upward. “Yes.” She let the word linger, long enough that I knew something was coming. Then, with a playful tilt of her head, she added, “but, Lady, you are never late.” She paused for effect, then delivered the final blow. “It starts when you arrive.” And then she giggled.

  Lola. Giggled.

  I blinked, processing. Then, without thinking, I joined her. It wasn’t very ruler-like of me, but I didn’t care. “Okay, okay, but Lola, where is Lucas?” I finally asked, shifting in my seat. I had sent him a message, but he hadn’t been online all day. Which was weird. Lucas was the one person I could always count on to be hovering around, meddling in my affairs.

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  Lola barely glanced up as she flipped through another document. “Oh. He didn’t tell you?” she said, like it was the most casual thing in the world. “This morning, he said he had to go on a secret mission, whatever that means.”

  I blinked, then sighed. Typical Lucas. No, we’d never date. We were barely functional as friends, and even that was pushing it.

  The universe couldn’t let me have one moment of peace. The imperial attaché had arrived. He moved with that unshakable bureaucratic confidence, the kind of stride that said, I belong here, as if he weren’t, in fact, a thorn in my side.

  He approached the throne, his steps deliberate, before executing a polite, formal bow. Then, without hesitation, he stepped to my left. Of course. Protocol. Always closer to the heart. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, instead shifting my weight slightly, my fingers lightly tapping against the armrest of my throne.

  The presence of the attaché was an unwelcome shadow, but I wasn’t about to let it ruin the moment. Instead, my gaze flicked toward the wall behind me, drawn to the banners hanging high above. The imperial standard was dominating, draped directly behind the throne. A symbol of the empire’s presence, its authority, its claim over everything I stood for.

  And yet, beside it, were two smaller banners. Mine. The realization settled in my chest, slow and steady.

  Mine.

  They weren’t as grand, as imposing, but they were there, standing alongside the empire’s, claiming their own rightful place in this room. In this world. A smirk pulled at my lips, something slow, something defiant. Because no matter how small those banners were compared to the empire’s looming presence… They were mine. And soon? They wouldn’t be small at all.

  Before I could dwell on that mess, people started trickling into the throne room. At first, it was just a few, a handful of officers, couriers, and key figures, taking their places near the edges of the chamber. Then?

  The flow picked up. More people streamed in, fighters, guild leaders, adventurers from Earth, and even locals, their faces curious, uncertain, or calculating. Within minutes, the room I had thought was enormous felt full. More than a hundred people now stood inside, all waiting.

  For me.

  That was a new experience. The guards had positioned themselves near the doors, others posted along the pillars, some by the windows—all placed strategically. I wasn’t sure who had ordered it, but I was impressed. Everything felt official. Serious. Real. Too real.

  Lola’s voice woke me from my spiraling thoughts. “Lady, it’s time. Your speech?” And just like that, I froze.

  Oh. Crap.

  I should have been preparing what to say. I should have been going over my key points, figuring out how to rally people, how to inspire them. But instead? I had done what I always did… Winging it at the last possible second. I started sweating, and a shiver ran down my spine.

  Too late now. I forced myself to stand, focusing on my Right to Rule stat. It wasn’t impressive, yet, but when used sparingly and in situations where the gap between my authority and theirs was wide, it had an effect. I took a deep breath, my pulse steadying, and raised my voice. Loud enough that even the last row could hear me.

  “Welcome, everyone, to East Klippe.” My words echoed in the throne room, bouncing off the stone pillars. I let my gaze sweep over the crowd, letting them feel the weight of this moment. “We live in a historic time, and this fort, this stronghold, is a proof of that.”

  I let my voice tighten, just slightly, feeding into the gravity of the moment. “In a single week, we, players from Earth, with the help of seasoned builders and architects, proved that we are more than outsiders; we are a force that belongs here.”

  I let my words hang in the vast, magic torch-lit chamber, the weight of them settling over the gathered crowd. The response was immediate.

  Gasps. Murmurs rippling through the room like a wave. A few exchanged wide-eyed glances, while others, the more battle-hardened. The strategists, the skeptics, narrowed their gazes, absorbing the implications of what I had just said.

  “Don’t ask me the details,” I continued, raising my voice slightly, so it carried to the back of the room, “but my mother, Queen Irwen, is leading a rebellion against the empire.”

  A few sharp inhales. Some of the NPC imperial-loyalists in the crowd visibly stiffened, their hands twitching near their sword hilts. I pressed on, ignoring them. “She gathered the survivors of various elven kingdoms and fed them a story—a tale where she alone is the rightful ruler of all elven lands.”

  At that, someone snorted loudly. I didn’t even have to look. NightSwallow. The rogue leaned lazily against a nearby pillar, arms crossed, her hood drawn just enough to cast a shadow over her smirking face. “Classic.” She drawled, clearly unimpressed. “Now we get to join the imperial side in rebellion.” A few chuckles. A few glares.

  I ignored all of them. “But that is not important.” I cut through the growing murmurs, pulling the attention back to where it needed to be. “What is important,” I said, my voice sharpening, “is that she summoned a demon army and is marching here. And we need to stop her. Not for the empire.” I let my gaze sweep over them, my expression turning harder, colder. “For the civilians.”

  That landed.

  A shift in the crowd. Tension deepening, players glancing at each other, some nodding, others frowning, as if just now realizing that this wasn’t going to be a simple war. Then, because the universe refused to let me have a dramatic moment…

  “Yes! We’ll get a quest!” Scamantha yelled excitedly, pumping a fist in the air. That broke the dam. Excited murmurs erupted, some players already pulling up their system menus, looking for updates, checking for the ping of a new mission.

  I sighed, irritated but amused. “Indeed!” I raised my voice, cutting through the excitement before it could fully derail into players screaming about loot drops and EXP gains. “But please, let me finish.”

  I waited, arms crossed, as the energy died down. A few awkward coughs, some sheepish grins, but eventually, silence. I took a breath, then continued. “Today, I asked you all here for one reason.” My fingers tightened on the armrests of the throne.

  “To join my side.”

  “To join our fight.”

  I let the words settle before driving the point home. “To defend against the horde of undead demons.” They needed to understand this wasn’t just a numbers game. “For that,” I said, shifting gears, the next part of Lola’s plan sliding into place, “I’ve created a royal company.”

  More whispers.

  “Anyone not in a guild is welcome to join.” That got a reaction. Some nodding, some quick exchanges between loners in the crowd, a few calculating glances. I glanced at Lola, but she merely shook her head ever so slightly.

  She had done all the work behind this, and now she wanted me to take the credit. It didn’t sit well with me. But if I mentioned her name, she’d be angry.

  No.

  She’d be very angry.

  And scary.

  I wasn’t ready to test the full extent of that particular threat. So I pressed on. “And for those of you here on behalf of your guilds…” I let my gaze sweep the crowd—catching Luminaria’s quiet, thoughtful expression as she stood near the side of the room, her arms crossed, listening intently.

  A tactician. A strategist. A wild card.

  “…I have created a royal alliance.” That one hit like a shockwave. The murmurs exploded back into full-blown discussion. Some excited, some wary, others immediately checking their menus, probably looking for the alliance invite notification.

  Luminaria’s lips quirked slightly, but she said nothing while watching me, studying the room, already planning five steps ahead. A few guild leaders exchanged glances.

  Some with excitement. Some with cautious interest. Some, like NightSwallow, with quiet amusement, as if waiting to see how far I could actually take this.