The Throne Hall [Part-3]

It felt... ancient.

Like something meant to remind anyone who looked at it exactly where power sat.

For a moment— No one spoke.

Even the faint echoes of their footsteps seemed to fade inside the vast throne hall. The air carried a quiet weight, the kind that pressed gently against the chest.

The women stared.

Syra finally exhaled slowly.

"...Okay."

A slight tilt of her head, an eyebrow creeping up at the sight of that massive building.

"That’s... not subtle."

A quiet laugh slipped out as Rias gave a small nod.

"That is definitely a throne."

A flicker of laughter lit her red gaze while her fingers traced the carved snakes on the chair’s arms.

"Honestly, I was expecting something impressive," she added lightly. "But this... this is bordering on theatrical."

Aria folded her arms, eyes drifting - first lingering on the curved seat shaped like a blooming flower, then slipping lower where coiled snakes hugged the bottom edge.

After a pause, her voice broke the silence. The word hung heavy in the air.

A quiet nod followed, even so her face stayed still. Her words held just a trace of warmth.

"Whoever designed this wanted the message to be very clear. Power. Authority. Control."

Closer now, Cynthia shifted just enough to study the stone eyes of the serpent figures. Light danced suddenly across her skin as it moved through the glass panes.

She spoke a little more quietly now.

"It suits you."

A hush sat beneath the short phrases, steady without need for proof. Quiet strength lived in each plain word.

Out of the corner of her eye, Syra looked toward Leon, one side of her mouth tugging upward. A lopsided smile played across his face in reply.

"So," she began, gently bumping Rias’ arm, a sly look creeping in - did everyone else have the same thought too?

Rias smirked.

"That he’s going to look ridiculously good sitting on that?"

Aria let out a breath, quiet like wind through stone. Her arms folded without effort, one shoulder lifting as her gaze returned to the throne. The silence between thoughts stretched just long enough to notice.

That you’re right is something I really dislike, she whispered softly to herself.

Yet she never said it wasn’t true.

Cynthia stayed close by, calm like she always was, gaze locked and deep. Not once did her attention drift toward the throne.

Her eyes stayed on Leon. Still he moved, yet she did not look away.

Footsteps light on the floorboards. She moved like a shadow stretching at dusk. Each motion weighed by an invisible scale.

Leon said nothing.

Quietly, he just stared at it.

Frozen light ran through streaks of metal inside black rock where the chair waited. Not just tall - this thing loomed. Built for control instead of rest.

For just a beat too long, Leon’s pale gold stare stayed fixed there.

Not admiration.

Not hesitation.

Just quiet thought.

A small movement came from one of the women behind his back.

"Thinking about how heavy that crown’s going to feel?" someone teased softly.

A slight shift tugged at Leon’s lips, though he stayed facing forward.

"...The chair is heavier," he said dryly.

A soft laugh moved among them.

The moment passed.

A few others stood in the hall too.

A shape appeared by the middle of the room, motionless. Another one beside it, both still. Waiting was obvious from how they held themselves. Centered, close, not moving. The space around them felt paused.

Vice Commander Johny.

And Lord Ronan.

One of them shifted his weight, then stopped - Leon’s call had come hours ago. Stillness settled between them, a quiet built from long minutes on stone steps. Complaints never left their lips.

Footsteps echoed just as Leon appeared in the doorway. Without delay, figures moved toward him.

Each step snapped into place like a door clicking shut. Precision carved every motion they made. Not one gesture drifted loose or wandered off track.

They bowed deeply.

"Greeting my king."

Faint echoes of their voices drifted across the huge room.

Leon nodded calmly.

"Greeting you both."

Johny straightened first.

A figure stood there, broad-shouldered, clearly marked by routine instead of show. For just a moment his gaze moved sideways - landing on the cluster of women gathered near Leon.

A spark of knowing lit up his expression.

Respect followed.

"...My queens."

Down went his head once more, a quiet nod aimed their way.

A flicker of motion came from Aria, just a faint dip of her chin. Her eyebrow lifted a touch, curving like she found something quietly funny. The stiffness of it seemed to catch her off guard, almost tickling her thoughts.

Calm showed in Cynthia as she tilted her head slightly downward. Grace shaped the way it happened.

Folks nearby copied it, each doing so a bit differently.

Fashioning his words like a well-worn habit, Lord Ronan echoed the salutation just behind. He spoke it smooth, measured - not new to such moments.

"My queens."

Not like Johnny, Ronan spoke with a quiet kindness in his voice. For just a moment, his keen gaze moved across the people, as if checking they were all where they needed to be.

A few of them dipped their heads slightly when he passed by.

A hush moved through the room, slow and low. Silence took hold, just for a breath.

That sort of moment when people suddenly realize change is near. A feeling spreads before anyone speaks. You see it in how folks pause, glance around. Something shifts without warning. It sits in the air like a held breath.

Back toward Leon, Ronan’s eyes flicked.

"So... you finally decided to sit on it?" he asked, half curious, half amused.

Leon exhaled lightly.

"We’ll see."

A small smile touched Ronan’s mouth.

"Careful, Your Majesty," he said. "That throne has a habit of changing the people who sit on it."

His eyes met Leon’s at last.

A quiet look sat in his eyes. Stillness shaped the way he watched.

Unmoved.

"...Then it’s lucky I don’t intend to change."

Quietly, a small puff of air left Johny’s lips after hearing that reply.

Ronan simply smiled.

Then before anyone else spoke

A tiny shape moved ahead.

Chloe.

Across the smooth floor she went, fast, each step soft yet firm on the stone. Hushed now - the great hall that moments before hummed with voices of lords and soldiers. Words stopped mid-air, caught between lips. All gazes turned, fixed on her steady path through the crowd, unwavering.

Right there, facing Ronan, she came to a halt. She stood still, right in front of him.

A flicker of something like surprise crossed the minister’s face, just for an instant.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, uncommon for someone who’d long kept calm like a second skin. One slow blink broke the stillness - those piercing eyes, typically cold and precise, softened just slightly.

That moment, her face softened into a quiet grin.

"Hello, father."

A quiet hello moved past the stiff air of the room like something warm. It slipped in without warning, changing the weight of everything.

Laughter spilled across the room just like that.

Something shifted in Ronan’s face, subtle but real. Authority’s usual sharp edges blurred slightly, letting another version slip through - rare, quiet, almost hidden.

Quietly, his voice touched her like morning light - "Hello, daughter.".

A quiet shift softened his tone, where orders once lived. Out stretched his arm, then rested palm to shoulder - light, sure. Almost like he needed proof she hadn’t vanished again.

"You look well."

Her head tilted down just once, eyes locking on his without hurry. Stillness held her voice, yet everything showed in that look.

"So do you."

A moment passed before either moved. Not speaking felt natural, somehow. Like breathing. This quiet belonged to them, worn smooth from years of being together. Words often got in the way anyway.

A soft puff of air slipped from Ronan’s nostrils, barely there - a sound close to laughter, yet not quite. The moment hung without weight, just a whisper breaking silence.

Quietly, Leon stood watching the scene unfold behind their backs.

Silence filled the space around him. No words came from his mouth. Just watching, he stayed still. His presence went unnoticed.

Those pale gold eyes watched the quiet moment - tiny grins, comfortable rhythms, silent bonds passing between parent and child. A ruler buried in schemes, battles, and thrones found something steady here.

And for a brief instant—

The grand throne hall felt less like a court of power...

And more like a gathering of people who had survived long enough to build something new together.

Something stable.

Something worth protecting.

Leon exhaled slowly.

But the throne waited.

And the meeting had only just begun.