Chapter 669: I Wish To Protect What She Left Behind
Back within the Solara Kingdom, in the capital of Zone Fifteen, the city of Ilis, the streets lay bathed beneath the steady warmth of the midday sun. Light spilled across stone-paved roads and tall, sunlit structures, giving the entire city a sense of life and motion. Citizens moved about as they always did, merchants calling out from their stalls, workers tending to their duties, and nobles passing through with quiet authority. It was a scene of normalcy—one that masked the strain the kingdom had endured not long ago.
At the heart of the city stood the royal palace, towering above all else with quiet dominance. The sunlight caught against the crimson banners draped along its high walls, each one embroidered with the Solaran crest, a blazing sun, radiant and unyielding. Royal guards maintained their steady patrols along the corridors and outer grounds, their armor gleaming faintly under the light, while maids and servants moved with practiced efficiency, tending to their endless responsibilities.
Within the palace itself, deep in the King's study, King Tharion Magna sat behind a broad desk layered with documents, scrolls, and reports. A quill pen rested between his fingers as he wrote with measured precision, his focus unwavering. Sunlight streamed through the tall window behind him, casting a warm glow over his well-kept red hair and neatly trimmed beard, outlining the quiet authority he carried even in solitude.
The steady scratch of the quill continued for a time, until a knock sounded against the heavy double doors.
"Come in," Tharion said calmly, not lifting his gaze from the page.
A few seconds passed before one side of the doors creaked open. A young man stepped inside, no older than his mid-twenties.
He wore the formal uniform of a Solarian High Marshal, dark, nearly black in tone, adorned with intricate patterns of gold and red that marked his rank and status. At his side rested a sheathed sword, its golden hilt catching the light with quiet elegance.
With red hair falling neatly across his brow and eyes that mirrored the king's own, calm, sharp, and unwavering, it was immediately clear who he was. Tharionson Magna, the third child of the Magna family, stood as a near-perfect reflection of the man seated before him.
"Greetings, Your Majesty," Tharionson said, offering a slight bow of his head.
"Greetings, High Marshal," Tharion replied, his tone even as he continued writing. "What brings you here today?"
"Just the report, Your Majesty," Tharionson answered without hesitation.
At that, Tharion finally set his quill aside. He leaned back into his chair, lifting his gaze to meet the young man standing before him.