As the last of the nobles scurried from the throne hall, fear-stricken and barely able to keep their composure, Anos exhaled in satisfaction.
The scent of fear, the echoes of silent dread that still clung to the air—it was intoxicating. He leaned back against his grand obsidian throne, one leg resting over the other, his fingers idly tapping the armrest.
His ruby eyes gleamed with untamed excitement, flickering with a sadistic hunger for the chaos to come.
"Ah, that was exhilarating," he mused, his voice carrying a dark chuckle. "I expected them to hold a bit more backbone, but it seems breaking one of their own was enough to turn their hearts into trembling, pitiful things."
The council stood at the base of the throne, their expressions unreadable—except for Iris, who watched her master with amused patience. She had known this would happen.
She had seen it in his eyes the moment he summoned the nobles. But what followed next was predictable, even for her.
"This is only the beginning," Anos continued, his tone growing more feverish. "We will not stop here. The discipline of my realm must be absolute, unyielding. And once it is, we will take our lesson beyond these borders. We'll plunge the neighboring realms into beautiful disorder, teach them the meaning of true fear."
He stood, his long coat billowing behind him. The very walls of the throne hall seemed to shake in response to his presence. His fists clenched at his sides as he envisioned it—empires crumbling, flames consuming entire kingdoms, the weak pleading for mercy that would never come. It was a dream worth chasing.
Iris, assumed the position as the voice of reason beside him, as she spoke. "Master, while your ambitions are boundless, you must first ensure you have the strength to manifest them." She met his gaze with unwavering certainty.
"Right now, your power is formidable, but even you know it—you do not yet have the strength to take on an entire realm alone. You need a weapon. And a master to teach you."
Anos clicked his tongue, the excitement momentarily dimming. "I dislike being forced into structure, Iris. Do you expect me to sit in training for years before I begin my conquest?"
Iris smirked. "Not years. Just one. One year of refining your weapon, one year of mastering your craft. And then, Master, you will be ready to carve your legend into this world."
Her words had weight, and Anos knew better than to dismiss them. He ran a hand through his raven-black hair, sighing. "Fine. But I will not have my weapon chosen for me. I will wield what calls to me."
"Then we must venture to the Dwarven Realm," Iris stated, the council nodding in agreement. "Among all races, the dwarves craft the finest weapons. You will find your weapon there."
Anos grinned. "Then let's go."
A small cough interrupted the conversation. A silver-haired demoness—Eiravyn, the Illusionist of the Council—stepped forward.
"Master, with all due respect, you cannot simply march into another realm as you are now. The dwarves will recognize you instantly. If war is not your goal at this moment, then discretion is necessary."
Anos groaned, rubbing his temples. "Tch. Hiding my identity? What an insult."
"A temporary inconvenience," Iris assured him. "With Eiravyn's skill, Reflection Rebirth, we can alter our appearances into those of the Dwarven Race. You and I will take the forms of Dwarves—those among their supreme class, known for their masterful understanding of smithing. It will grant us easy access to their forges without suspicion."
Anos's irritation was evident, but he could not deny the logic. "If I must." He turned his gaze to Eiravyn. "Do it. But make sure I do not look ridiculous."
Eiravyn bowed her head, a sly smirk tugging at her lips. She raised her hand, shadows weaving around her fingers before extending toward Anos and Iris like tendrils of liquid darkness.
The moment the spell wrapped around them, Anos felt his very being shift—his bones realigning, his height diminishing, his features transforming into something entirely new.
The sensation was strange but not unpleasant, like being molded into something different yet familiar.
As the illusion settled, a large, broad figure with thick braids of fiery red hair and a neatly trimmed beard stood where Anos had been. His ruby eyes were dulled into an earthy amber hue, his skin tone darkened to the deep bronze of dwarven heritage. His attire had shifted as well, now bearing the intricate designs of a revered dwarven smith.
Beside him, Iris had transformed as well. Her once-violet eyes were now a striking gold, her figure shorter but still elegant, her silver hair turned to the ash-blond hue common among dwarven women.
Anos examined his hands, flexing his fingers. "Hmph. It will do."
Eiravyn clapped her hands together. "Reflection Rebirth is absolute. No one in the Dwarven Realm will be able to see through it."
"Then let's move," Anos commanded.
With that, the group departed toward the Portal Chamber deep within the palace. The grand circular room was dimly lit, glowing runes covering the floor in a complex, interwoven pattern. At its center stood the portal—a swirling vortex of dark energy, pulsating with power.
Iris moved first, placing her palm against the rune-carved obelisk beside it. "Coordinates set. We will arrive near the capital of the Dwarven Realm."
Anos smirked, taking a final glance at the council. "Hold the palace in my absence. We will return soon—hopefully with a weapon worthy of my chaos."
With those parting words, Anos and Iris stepped into the portal, vanishing into the swirling abyss, their journey into the Dwarven Realm beginning.
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