The chambers into which Soren was led were unlike any part of the palace he had seen so far. They were spacious but austere, with high vaulted ceilings and walls paneled in dark wood. Flickering candlelight from an ornate candelabra cast long shadows across the room, giving it an almost oppressive atmosphere.

Soren glanced around, taking in the understated elegance of the space. There were no excessive displays of wealth here—no golden accents or elaborate tapestries. Instead, the room exuded authority through its simplicity. A massive desk stood near the far wall, its surface covered with maps, reports, and stacks of parchment. Above it hung the imperial crest, its sharp, angular design a stark reminder of who occupied these chambers.

And there he was.

Emperor Kairos stood near a tall window, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out at the darkened gardens below. The emperor’s posture was as rigid and imposing as his reputation, his broad shoulders framed by the severe lines of his black tunic. The faint glow of moonlight illuminated his profile, casting his features in sharp relief—high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and those ice-blue eyes that seemed to see everything and nothing all at once.

Soren swallowed hard, the sound seeming too loud in the oppressive silence of the room. He hesitated in the doorway, unsure whether to speak or wait to be addressed. The guard who had escorted him gave him a slight nudge forward before closing the door behind him.

For a moment, the only sound was the faint rustling of parchment as a breeze stirred the papers on the desk. Then Kairos spoke, his voice low and clipped.

“Sit.”

It was not a request.

Soren obeyed, his movements stiff as he lowered himself into the chair placed before the desk. His gaze flicked back to Kairos, who remained by the window, still and silent as a statue.

“You summoned me, Your Majesty,” Soren said, his voice steady despite the knot of tension in his chest.

Kairos turned, his eyes meeting Soren’s for the first time since the banquet. Those piercing blue eyes held no warmth, no curiosity—only cold calculation, as if he were appraising a tool rather than addressing a person. He strode toward the desk, his movements fluid and controlled, and took the seat opposite Soren.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and unyielding. Soren resisted the urge to fidget under the emperor’s gaze. Finally, Kairos broke the silence.

“I trust you understand the significance of your position,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion. “You are not here by chance. Your selection serves a purpose.”

Soren furrowed his brow, unsure how to respond. “A purpose?”

Kairos’s lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile, though it held no humor. “Your presence in this palace is a symbol. An illusion of goodwill to placate the masses who demand that I demonstrate... compassion.”

The words landed like a blow. Soren straightened in his seat, his hands curling into fists against his thighs. “So, that’s all I am to you? A symbol?”

Kairos’s expression remained unreadable. “That is all you need to be.”

Anger flared in Soren’s chest, but he forced himself to remain calm. He had known this was a possibility—that his selection had more to do with politics than anything else—but hearing it spoken so plainly was another matter entirely.

“I didn’t ask to be here,” Soren said, his voice firmer now. “I didn’t ask to be taken from my home, from my family. If I’m nothing more than a pawn in your games, you could have chosen anyone. Why me?”

Kairos leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving Soren’s. “You were chosen because you were unremarkable. A blank slate. Someone the court could not accuse of manipulation or ulterior motives.”

Soren felt the heat rise to his cheeks. “Unremarkable?”

“Yes,” Kairos said without hesitation. “And yet, here you are, questioning your role as though it matters. Your only duty is to remain obedient and silent. Do you understand?”

Soren’s anger boiled over. “No, I don’t understand,” he snapped. “I may be unremarkable to you, but I’m still a person. I’ve lost everything—my family, my freedom—and you want me to sit here and pretend that doesn’t matter?”

Kairos’s eyes narrowed, his posture stiffening. For a moment, Soren thought he had overstepped, that he had crossed some invisible line and was about to face the consequences. But instead of lashing out, Kairos regarded him with an intensity that made the air feel heavier.

“You speak boldly for someone in your position,” Kairos said, his voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “Do you think your words will change anything? Do you think I care about your losses?”

Soren met his gaze, refusing to back down. “No, I don’t think you care. But maybe you should.”

The room fell silent again, the tension crackling between them like a live wire. Kairos studied him, his expression unreadable, before finally leaning forward, his hands resting on the desk.

“Why?” he asked, his tone almost mocking. “Why should I care about the feelings of one insignificant person?”

“Because if you can’t care about one person,” Soren said, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside him, “how can you expect to rule an entire empire?”

Kairos’s eyes flickered, just for a moment. It was subtle, but Soren caught it—a crack in the emperor’s icy facade.

The silence that followed was deafening. Kairos leaned back in his chair, his expression neutral once more, though something had shifted in the air between them. He regarded Soren with a new kind of scrutiny, as though he were seeing him for the first time.

“You are bold,” Kairos said finally. “Boldness can be useful... or dangerous.”

Soren didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure he trusted himself to speak without letting his anger slip through again.

Kairos rose from his seat, his movements deliberate and precise. He walked back to the window, his gaze returning to the gardens below. “You may go,” he said, his tone dismissive.

Soren hesitated, his fists tightening at his sides. He wanted to say more, to force the emperor to acknowledge him as something more than a tool. But he knew it would be futile.

Rising from his chair, Soren inclined his head slightly—a gesture of respect, though it was stiff and begrudging. He turned and walked toward the door, his footsteps echoing in the silent chamber.

As he reached the doorway, Kairos’s voice stopped him.

“Soren.”

He turned, startled to hear his name spoken so plainly.

Kairos didn’t look at him, his gaze still fixed on the gardens. “You speak of fears and doubts. Learn to bury them. They will serve you no purpose here.”

Soren’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Without another word, he stepped out of the room, the door closing softly behind him.

The walk back to his quarters felt longer than usual. Soren’s mind churned with the conversation, replaying every word, every glance. He felt as though he had stepped onto a battlefield unarmed, and yet, somehow, he had held his ground.

Kairos was every bit as cold and distant as the rumors had suggested, but beneath that icy exterior, Soren had glimpsed something else. A crack, a moment of hesitation. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to plant a seed of hope—hope that perhaps, even in this oppressive palace, there was a chance to be seen.

As he reached his quarters, Soren let out a shaky breath, his anger and fear giving way to exhaustion. He sank onto the edge of the bed, staring out the small window at the distant stars.

He didn’t know what the future held, but one thing was certain: he would not allow himself to be forgotten.

And, for the first time, he wondered if Emperor Kairos would remember this conversation too.