Inside the throne hall, the throne looked nothing like those from fairy tales.
Aiah stood before it, arms resting loosely at her sides. Her eyes traced the lines of darkwood and steel, each piece reforged, not for beauty, but for meaning. There were no gemstones, no ornate carvings. Just sturdy joints, burnished grain, and metal darkened by heat.
It wasn't uncomfortable. It was honest.
Built by the people. Shaped by pain, fire, and resolve.
Her fingers brushed the edge of the armrest. She hesitated, then slowly sat.
"It's not beautiful," she whispered, almost to herself. "But it's real."
The weight wasn't just physical. It settled across her shoulders, down her spine.
A door creaked open behind her.
"Why do you sit like it bites?" came a familiar voice, half-teasing, half-concerned.
Aiah glanced back, lips curling faintly. "Didi."
Her younger brother walked in, hair still a mess from training, face flushed with energy. He grinned and leaned against a pillar.
