Chapter 294: Interview with a Lord

The heavy iron doors swung shut behind Morgan with a low, airless thud, cutting off the vast outer hall and leaving him in absolute stillness.

"Well, here goes nothing..."

​For a long moment, Morgan did not move. He stood just inside the threshold, his weight shifted slightly onto his uninjured left leg.

The room did not conform to the grand, oppressive spectacle one might expect of a Sovereign’s sanctuary.

Morgan’s gaze swept across the room.

​There were no ranks of guards standing at rigid attention.

There was no towering throne carved from bone, no oppressive ethereal pressure descended.

Instead, the chamber felt uncluttered, silent, and strangely tranquil.

It was vast, its far side dominated by an enormous, seamless wall of dark, polished glass looking out over the floating ruins and inverted rivers of the Realm Between.

Yet the interior arrangements were almost mundane.

A low, broad table of unpolished slate sat near the glass, accompanied by a pair of simple high-backed chairs.

Upon the table rested a single porcelain cup, a thin thread of steam curling quietly into the still air.

A wide hearth sat inset into the slate wall nearby, housing a low, pale flame that flickered slowly, almost hypnotically.

Morgan’s jaw tightened.

The instincts he possessed and had refined over years the , sounded a silent alarm.

The danger here was not an active threat or an overwhelming aura of hostility—it was the complete, unnatural absence of it.

​There was no intent to kill. There was no malice.

And yet the space around him felt like standing in the calm, motionless eye of a storm.

​Beside the dark glass, looking out into the impossible expanse where ruined arches hung suspended above stars beneath the earth, stood a solitary figure.

He wore a dark, heavy coat of slate-grey cloth that fell straight to his boots without a single crease.

He carried no sword at his hip, wore no crown upon his brow, and bore no glowing runes upon his skin.

"Damn..."

Yet the space around him seemed to warp subtly to his presence.

​Morgan’s eyes slowly picked out the quiet anomalies. The shadow beneath the low slate table pointed in a direction completely unrelated to the hearth flame.

The reflection in the dark glass wall showed the same room, but the chair beside the table appeared inches further to the left.

When Morgan blinked, the physical distance between himself and the man by the window seemed to stretch, then contract, without either of them taking a step.

​

Then, the figure turned.

His face was striking, pale, and entirely devoid of age, bearing eyes so dark they seemed less like iris and pupil and more like twin drops of liquid obsidian.

​The instant those eyes met Morgan’s, something deep within Morgan’s spirit stirred.

​His Void World grew unnaturally, perfectly still.

​Velagrew observed the young assassin holding himself upright near the door.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched the corner of his lips.

​"Interesting," Velagrew murmured.

Morgan’s gaze narrowed.

"I’ve learned that when people like you say ’interesting, "it usually means I’m about to suffer."

​Velagrew’s smile broadened slightly, though his eyes remained depthless and calm.

He gestured casually toward one of the simple chairs beside the slate table.

​"Sit, Morgan Thane," Velagrew said softly.

His voice carried an strange, resonant weight that almost felt as if it spoke directly into the space within fhe room.

"You can barely stand on that leg. Honesty requires no posture."

​Morgan looked at the chair, then looked back at the Sovereign. He remained rooted where he was.

​"I’m not sure that’s a good idea," Morgan said dryly.

​Velagrew tilted his head. "Why?"

​"In my line of work, people don’t usually offer you a seat unless they’re trying to make you comfortable before doing something extremely unpleasant."

​A quiet, low sound escaped Velagrew, a soft laugh that sounded completely human, yet carried a subtle distortion, as though the room itself had echoed the emotion before he voiced it.

​"Fair enough," Velagrew replied smoothly.

"Though if I wished to do something unpleasant to you, Morgan, whether you were sitting or standing would make remarkably little difference."

Morgan knew the man wasn’t boasting. It was a simple statement of fact.

Suppressing a quiet grimace as his splinted leg throbbed, Morgan limped forward, his boots making a soft, steady cadence against the unpolished floor until he reached the table.

He lowered himself into the wooden chair with deliberate, controlled care, resting his forearms against the wooden arm rests.

​Velagrew walked slowly to the opposite chair and sat down, picking up his black porcelain cup.

He did not drink, merely holding it between his pale fingers.

​"How is the leg?" Velagrew asked politely.

Healing," Morgan said flatly.

"Though your man Valerius seems to think walking through spatial distortions is a recognized medical treatment."

​"Valerius is pragmatic," Velagrew noted.

"He understands that time is rarely a luxury we are granted."

The Sovereign set the cup back down with a quiet click.

He leaned back, his obsidian eyes locking onto Morgan with absolute focus.

"How does your Void World feel?"

​Morgan’s posture went completely rigid.

His breathing stopped for a fraction of a second, his right hand twitching imperceptibly against his knee before he caught the movement.

​He had expected Velagrew to ask about the Zeregran Ranges, about his survival, or about Valerius. He had not expected him to name the core of his very existence so casually.

You know about it?" Morgan asked, his voice dropping into a guarded, quiet register.

​"I know enough," Velagrew replied softly.

​"That’s not particularly reassuring."

​"It was not meant to be reassuring, it was meant to be accurate," Velagrew said. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the onyx table.

"A Void World Wielder in the flesh...and one of a kind at that..."

​Morgan met his depthless gaze without blinking.

"I never said I was."

​"You didn’t need to," Velagrew said smoothly.

Velagrew paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the faint, invisible pulse of energy beneath Morgan’s pale skin.

​The Void World is not a technique you learned from an ancient text. It is not a core you forged through meditation. It is an innate domain—something you were born carrying in your blood and nature."

​Morgan remained silent, absorbing the words. He had treated the Void World as a lethal tool, a personal secret that allowed him to erase his presence and strike from nowhere.

Hearing an ancient being like Velagrew lay out its nature with such precision sent a cold thrill down his spine.

"And what does he mean about a core?"

And unlike other special abilities," Velagrew said, his tone turning measured, "an innate Void World does not stop simply because you reach a arbitrary boundary."

" It is tied to your fundamental existence. It will grow as you grow—expand as your understanding deepens, and evolve as your spirit adapts."

​Velagrew paused, his gaze darkening slightly. "Provided, of course, you survive the process."

​Morgan leaned forward slightly, his sharp, curiosity overriding his caution for a brief moment.

"How far can it go?"

​Velagrew’s face became entirely unreadable. "That depends entirely on what you allow yourself to become."

For a time, silence reigned in the hall.

"Which brings us to the mountain," Velagrew murmured, effortlessly changing the direction of the conversation.

"What happened beneath the Zeregran Ranges?"

​Morgan’s expression hardened into a familiar, guarded mask.

"I survived."

​"That was the outcome," Velagrew said calmly, in an unhurried tone.

"That was not my question."

​"It’s the answer you’re getting," Morgan replied flatly.

​For a moment, the room seemed to stretch. Then—the shadow beneath Morgan’s chair lengthened, shifting toward the hearth before snapping back to its original position.

A faint, quiet smile touched the Velagrew’s lips.

You are cautious," Velagrew observed. "An understandable habit. But I do not need you to confess your secrets, Morgan. I can see them within you regardless."

​Velagrew gestured vaguely toward Morgan’s chest.

​"Your Void world is different now," Velagrew said softly.

"The lightless abyss coiling within you no longer acts as a wild, starving beast trying to swallow everything around it. The darkness no longer resists the light."

​Morgan looked down at his own right hand.

He remembered the faint thread he had seen beneath his skin back in the cabin, the liquid darkness and pale gold weaving together in perfect fluid harmony.

​"You can see that?" Morgan asked, his brow furrowing.

​"I can see many things," Velagrew said smoothly.

​"That’s annoyingly vague."

It was not intended to be specific." Velagrew leaned back in his chair, his gaze shifting toward the massive glass window.

"Light and the Void are ancient antagonists. They have torn realms apart when forced into collision."

" Yet within you, they have begun to synchronize. They orbit one another like twin stars locked in a singular harmony."

​The Lord turned his head back, his obsidian eyes locking onto Morgan with sudden, sharp intensity.

His lips stretched into a thin tight lipped smile.

​"And then," Velagrew added quietly, "there’s the matter of what you brought back from the deep."