Chapter 75: The Fallen King (Part 1)

The deeper Zion moved into the castle, the larger everything became.

The church had already felt grand, but it was nothing compared to the central hall. Zion stopped just beyond the doorway and looked up.

The ceiling rose so high above him that the upper arches almost disappeared into shadow. Massive stone columns lined either side of the hall, each one carved with winding vines, crowns, and small winged figures worn smooth by age. Between them were recessed alcoves deep enough for several people to stand inside, while narrow balconies ran along the second level.

The scale of the place made Zion feel strangely small. He had seen large buildings before. At least, he thought he had. But nothing like this.

"This is ridiculous."

His voice barely carried through the hall before fading into the distance.

The floor beneath him was pale marble, though years of neglect had dulled the surface. Long cracks ran between some of the tiles, and chunks of stone had fallen from the ceiling in several places. Torn banners hung from the walls, their embroidered crests almost impossible to make out beneath soot and dark stains.

One had been ripped nearly in half. Another had burned from the bottom upward, leaving only a blackened strip of cloth hanging from its pole.

Zion walked slowly down the center.

Morning light entered through shattered windows high above him, forming long pale beams that crossed the hall at uneven angles. Dust drifted through them lazily, making the empty space look almost peaceful.

Then he passed the first portrait. It was enormous.

A royal family had once been painted across the canvas in formal clothing, but a dark splash of dried blood covered most of the lower half. The frame had cracked where something heavy struck it, and the painted face of one of the men had been cut almost completely away.

Zion leaned toward it. "Someone really hated you."

He straightened and continued. There were signs of fighting everywhere now that he knew to look for them.

Deep gouges along the columns. Broken arrow shafts wedged into old wood. A rusted sword lying near one wall. Half-burned curtains gathered in black heaps beneath several windows.

The farther he walked, the easier it became to imagine what this place had looked like during its final hours.

People running. Soldiers shouting. Fire spreading through curtains and banners while nobles fled deeper into the castle.

Yet now, all of it sat beneath soft morning light.

Zion walked through the aftermath almost casually. His hands rested behind his back beneath his robe as he wandered from one side of the hall to another, pausing whenever something caught his eye.

"This alcove would be perfect."

He stepped into one of the recessed sections along the wall and turned toward the center of the hall. From here, most of the walkway was visible.

"But not for regular skeletons."

Zion opened the monster catalogue. A few options appeared beside him.

Lesser Skeleton.

Skeleton Soldier.

Bone Archer.

Skeleton Archer.

He paused on the last one.

[Skeleton Archer]

[Classification: F+]

[Cost: 35 Essence]

[Traits: Ranged Combat / Basic Cover Awareness / Persistent Aim]

Zion smiled. "That would be perfect."

He looked between the alcove and the long hallway.

"If I put two here..." He shifted his attention to the matching alcove across from him. "And two there."

Four archers could fire down the center while using the stone recesses as cover. Adventurers would either have to rush them or move along the walls.

Zion immediately placed a small marker on both locations. Then he looked toward the balconies overhead. His smile widened.

More archers. He marked those too, but left a few gaps. He didn’t want the room to feel like someone had deliberately filled every convenient shooting angle with enemies.

That would ruin it.

Instead, he imagined skeletal defenders positioned where real soldiers might have stood when Archers could remain above, while sword-wielding skeletons held the space between the columns. A few others might lie collapsed beside the walls or broken weapons, as if they had simply never gotten back up after the castle fell.

Zion slowed. "It should feel like the fight never really ended."

He looked down the length of the hall again.

That was it. The skeletons should not feel randomly scattered around just because this was an undead floor. They should remain where they had once fought.

Some could still patrol the hall. Others could stand guard near doors or stairways, while a few remained slumped against the walls until an adventurer came close enough to wake them.

The castle would not simply be occupied by undead. It would still be holding the positions from its final battle.

Zion smiled. The idea alone made him happy. He added another note to the floor plan and kept walking.

The hallway continued for what felt like far too long before finally widening. Two enormous doors had been torn from their hinges ahead, leaving one leaning against the wall while the other lay flat across the floor.

Beyond them waited the throne room. Zion stepped inside and stopped again.

"Wow..."

This room made the central hall seem modest.

The ceiling rose into a series of enormous white arches trimmed in faded gold. Tall windows filled most of the outer walls, their glass shattered in places but still intact enough to catch the morning light.

The floor was arranged in alternating squares of white and black marble, forming a massive checkered pattern that stretched from the entrance all the way to the far end of the chamber.

Gold accents appeared everywhere.

Along the columns. Around the windows. Across the edges of the raised platforms. Even the old chandeliers hanging overhead had once been gilded, though much of the metal had darkened with age.

Luxury remained everywhere.

So did death.

Several enormous candelabras had been knocked over, their metal arms twisted against the floor. Wax had hardened around them in thick pools.

A long banner had fallen from one wall and lay spread across the marble like a burial cloth. One side of the room had been scorched badly enough that black marks climbed almost halfway to the ceiling.

Several pale statues lining the walls had lost limbs or heads.

Zion walked farther into the hall.

More than anywhere else in the castle, he could picture what the final fighting might have looked like here. Guards holding the doors. People crowding behind them. Someone shouting for the king to leave while the fighting moved closer.

His attention drifted toward the far end of the chamber.

The throne was still there.

It sat on a broad raised platform beneath a carved stone arch, mostly untouched despite the damage around it. Dark wood made up the seat and back, with pale stone beneath it and thin gold framing along the arms.

Compared to the size of the hall, it looked strangely small.

Zion stopped. For some reason, one thought came to him immediately.

He watched it happen from there.

If the king had remained until the end, then this was where he would have seen the doors fail and the people defending him fall.

Whatever had happened to the kingdom, the throne had remained after everyone else was gone.