Chapter 9: Lil’ Old Me
The dimness of the hallway lifted entirely, revealing the twisted decor of Nezethar's quarters.
There were skull chains nailed and bound along the edges of her door, a faint purple glow hidden beneath it.
On the same door was a big sign reading 'Do not enter unless you wish to die!', colored in black to maintain the same visceral bleakness that she'd been aiming for.
Ghastly heads peeked out from the hallway walls, mixed expressions of humor, depression, and happiness drawing a peculiar sense of eeriness that stole the breath of the heroes.
"You must know, the ones before you are the esteemed heroes." The king boomed, motioning his hand back towards the heroes as if they were to be beholden as mystical creatures.
"I must know...? Your Majesty, I have known of them since I exited the womb--prophesized of their triumph as soon as I could walk, and I have prepared for this day as long as I have breathed."
Nezethar's sarcasm was a harrowing contradiction to the king's stagnant monotone, almost poking fun at him.
"When it comes out of her mouth, 'Your Majesty' has little weight," Rowan muttered, looking at Liora as he'd said it.
Liora laughed into her balled fist, turning away from everybody else in the room.
"Well... still, I would urge you to act more professional in the presence of our future saviors." The king replied, sneering at her indifference.
"Hah, you think I haven't gone through this exact moment hundreds of thousands of times? Trust me, I know what I'm doing."