Caspian couldn't see what lay ahead.
Past the open doors was nothing. Not fog, not light, not darkness. Just... absence. His eyes told him it was there, but his mind refused to make sense of it.
What was nothing?
Powerful magic.
A magic so sure of itself it didn't need to be concealed. An open display of strength. A warning, maybe. A test.
By the corner of his eye, he saw Seti bow. Caspian rolled his eyes. These formalities were beginning to feel excessive. Pretentious, even.
And Seti? Seti shouldn't bow. It didn't fit him.
The thought came and went.
"Come."
Seti's voice was low, his hand gesturing vaguely.
Caspian stepped forward, following him past the threshold.
As they crossed, something touched him. A shift in the air, soft as a breeze against his skin. He felt it, recognized it magic. Familiar, like the energy running beneath his own skin. Like Seti's had been.
Caspian blinked.
When he opened his eyes, he was alone.
Seti was gone.
The world was gone.
He stood at the center of a circle of thrones, surrounded by nothing but magic. It pulsed through the space, through him, resonating in the deepest part of his body. The ground, the sky none of it existed.
In the corner of his vision, he caught flashes of red. Not real, but real enough. If he reached for it, would it come undone?
A voice cut through the hum of the magic.
Neither male nor female. Both, at the same time.
"Welcome back, my lord."
The words anchored him.
And suddenly, he was aware he was not alone.
The words anchored him.
And suddenly,
There were seven of them. He hadn't needed to count. He could feel them. Each presence burned like an individual flame, distinct but part of the same fire.
The one who had spoken sat directly before him.
Slender, androgynous, graceful.
Their throne cracked and shifted, never still, as though resisting its own form. Dark indigo robes draped over skin as rich and deep as black ivory. A golden collar encircled their neck, and bands of gold inlaid with turquoise adorned their hands where they rested on the throne's arms. A stark black headdress obscured their hair.
They were neither male nor female just like their voice.
"You have returned to us at the right time, my lord."
That word again.
Lord.
Caspian felt the weight of it settle around him, unwelcome.
He did not know what they expected of him. He knew nothing of them.
"I do not know you," he said slowly, "and I do not know what idea you have of me."
The androgynous figure did not waver.
"You may not remember us now, but you will," they said. "It was you who made us. You who granted us the gifts that allowed us to thrive. And for that, we remain your eternally faithful servants."
Silence followed.
The way they spoke so much devotion, so much fervor woven into every syllable.
Their eyes gleamed.
But Caspian felt it then.
They were not looking at him.
They were looking past him.
Like he was a placeholder, a temporary vessel for something other.
He bristled.
"There is no lie here."
This time, they all spoke at once. Seven voices folding together, twisting into something inhuman.
"We are here to serve you."
Caspian's magic stirred beneath his skin, unsettled.
"I do not know you," he said again, sharper this time. "I do not require servants. I am a man on his own journey."
He turned to face them all, as if to make it clear. Their eyes weighed heavy on his skin.
They looked at him like they knew something. Something about him that was not him.
He turned back to the first speaker.
They did not argue. They did not push back. But something in their eyes made Caspian's hands curl into fists.
Then,
"The sword you seek," they said.
Caspian inhaled sharply.
What do you know about the sword I seek?
"Is it not the sword wielded by the one who commands chaos and destruction?"
They did not wait for an answer.
"The god we worship."
Seven voices as one.
A name followed, whispered in utter reverence.
"Heka."
A chill swept over him.
His magic roiled in response. Wariness coiled tight in his chest.
Stay calm. Stay practical.
"Where is the sword?" he asked, steadying his voice. He could not afford to sound desperate.
"It resurfaced some time ago," a woman spoke from the left. "Many have tried to retrieve it. All have failed."
"It exudes power like only a god could," another voice added.
"It is waiting for you, it's true owner of course"
Caspian's stomach twisted. That was not a promising picture.
"Major houses keep their eyes on it like vultures, waiting," a male voice said. "But it destroys anything that gets too near."
"The Tahran guards the area under the guise of protecting people," a woman said. "But we know the truth. They are studying it."
"A pretentious, deceitful lot," another voice muttered.
At the mention of the Tahran, Caspian's pulse spiked.
That changed everything.
The Tahran was a force even the emperor dared not challenge. Their reach seemed infinite, their strength immeasurable. Thankfully, they kept to themselves whispered to be zealots, but quiet ones. Crouching tigers, waiting for the right moment to strike.
And they had their hands on the sword?
"With our assistance," the first figure said, "you shall retrieve it."
Their voice held no doubt. It was as if it had already happened.
Caspian clenched his jaw.
He saw the image clearly the Tahran.
What they were. What they could do.
"Our aid shall prove sufficient," the seven spoke together once more. "The Tahran is formidable, but we have prepared for this."
Their voices rang through the space, unwavering.
"They will not stop us."