Damon had experienced a lot for someone so young. Sixteen—wait, no… actually, he was seventeen now.
Not that it mattered.
What mattered was that he'd already lived through more than most people ever would. Years of trauma stacked atop each other like corpses in a pit, festering, warping, and crushing what was once a clear mind. He had endured.
But slowly, surely… he had broken.
The only thing keeping his sanity intact was a single crown that rested upon his head.
And looking at his situation now—
That same crown felt like the reason his head would fly.
Damon sat stiffly beside arguably the most powerful man in the empire. Or at the very least, one of them.
The Grand Duke.
A being who had reached the Seventh Class—a realm of advancement where even kings walked lightly. That kind of power was no longer made for fighting battles. No. It existed as a threat—a deterrent. The sort of force that sat still and unbothered, because if it moved, entire nations would fall.
