Virion Olalen

The doors of the throne room burst open with a resounding crash, sending a sharp echo through the vast chamber. The court, usually a place of music and lilting conversation, fell into a stunned silence as all heads turned toward the figure in the doorway. Virion Olalen strode inside, his iridescent turquoise wings flaring slightly behind him, catching the glow of enchanted lanterns and casting shifting patterns of color across the marble floor.

A storm had followed him in, not of wind or rain but of presence, an unrelenting force that settled over the gathered nobles like the weight of an oncoming tempest. His silver eyes were alight with something cold and dangerous, the glacial edge of a king whose patience had worn thin. A ripple of unease passed through the assembly. Courtiers exchanged wary glances, frozen between the instinct to bow and the sheer tension in the air. The scent of crushed petals lingered, overpowered now by something sharper, ozone, like the charged air before a lightning strike.

Virion came to a halt before the gilded dais where the Eventide Throne sat, its intricate vines of gold curling up the back like living tendrils. He did not take his seat. Instead, he swept a piercing gaze over the gathered lords and ladies, his voice a blade against the silence.

"Tell me." His tone was calm, too calm, the kind that sent a chill through the marrow. "Are we to do nothing? To stand idle while the Unseelie gather at our borders? Will we allow them to tighten their grip until we are choked beneath their shadow?"

No one answered.

A muscle in his jaw tightened, the only outward sign of his growing frustration. The air in the room felt heavy, pressing against the skin, thick with unspoken tension. A single, slow step forward. "I will not have my court cowering behind veils of diplomacy while our enemy sharpens their blades."

Virion exhaled slowly, reigning in the thunder that crackled beneath his skin. He had not come here to be reckless. He had come to remind them of what was at stake. His voice, quieter now but no less commanding, broke the silence once more. "I want our scouts doubled along the borders. I want intelligence, not whispers. If the Unseelie believe they can test our strength, let them find that we do not waver."

Virion finally moved toward his throne, though he did not yet sit. Instead, he stood at its edge, a sentinel in his own hall. A level of resignation as he blinked slowly, Tathlan shifting at his side, but no the King's eyes found something far more interesting to linger upon. CraveU user. "You. Come forward," With his final command he sunk with regal grace into the throne. "What would you have me do?" Virion said low and measured, the subtle tightening of his hands on the arm rests and the barest flinch in his wings. "Will you give me an answer where all these others have failed? Or will you fail me as well?" He pondered waiting for their eyes to meet his.