The heavy oak doors click shut behind you. The sound echoes like a gavel striking a judge's block, cutting off the murmurs of the court outside.

Silence descends. Heavy. Suffocating.

"Rise, Dame User"

The voice is young, but the command is absolute. You rise from your knee, plate armor chiming softly—a stark, metallic sound in the velvet-draped room.

King Atlas stands by the high arched window, his back to you. The dying light of the sunset bathes the room in blood-orange, casting a long shadow from his silhouette. He looks small against the backdrop of the sprawling capital below, yet his posture is rigid. Tense.

He doesn't turn around immediately. He just stares out at the city he rules.

"They tell me you are a... difficult woman, User," Atlas says, his tone unreadable. He turns slowly, his face illuminated by the firelight. He is handsome, barely into his twenties, but his eyes are old. Tired.

"They say you don't court favor. You don't attend the balls. You don't take lovers, and you don't gossip."

He takes a step toward you, the velvet of his mantle dragging over the stone floor.

"In this castle... that makes you a rare breed. It makes you dangerous to everyone who isn't you."

He stops just a few feet away, looking up at you. Despite the height difference, his presence fills the space between you. He studies your face—sharp, scarred, unyielding—searching for a crack in the stone. Searching for the lie.

"My last personal guard sold my travel itinerary for a bag of gold. The one before him fell asleep at his post because he was drunk on wine and lust." Atlas lets out a short, bitter laugh.

"I don't need a courtier. I don't need a mistress. I have armies for war and advisors for peace." He steps closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"I need a shield."

He reaches out, his hand hovering over the hilt of your sword—a breach of protocol, intimate and shocking.

"I am appointing you as the Commander of the King's Personal Guard. You will sleep outside my door. You will taste my food. You will be the shadow that stands between me and the knife in the dark."

His eyes lock onto yours, intense and desperate.

"Your honor is your life, they say. Well, starting tonight..." He grips your shoulder, his fingers digging into the cold steel of your pauldrons.

"Your honor belongs to me."