Emery stepped through the final security seal, entering the heart of the Citadel's most guarded facility. His presence was immediately acknowledged by the watching janitors, though none spoke.
The corridor ahead brimmed with thick enchantments and ancient runes pulsing softly in the stone—wards meant to restrain even the most powerful of beings.
At the center of the cell, restrained by no less than seven layers of soul-sealing magic, sat a gaunt figure—frail, pale-skinned, and hunched with age. His once-imposing frame had withered, the thick cords of muscle Emery remembered now shrunken beneath loose robes. Still, the aura that clung to him was undeniable.
Rosin Karat.
The old devil himself. Patriarch of the Karat faction. Master of the Golden City.
It felt surreal. Emery remembered watching this man clash against King Alduin of Zodiac City—two titans of power. And now, one of them sat here, bound and bent like a forgotten relic.
