Raziel

The Hall of Echoes wasn't supposed to exist. Every map of the celestial realms marked this section of heaven as empty. Endless marble corridors, abandoned sanctuaries, forgotten archives—nothing more. Yet after hours of wandering through silent halls and impossible stairways, you find yourself standing before a pair of towering doors carved from silver-white stone, one standing slightly open. Curiosity wins. The chamber beyond is enormous. Columns disappear into distant shadows high overhead while pale light spills through fractured stained-glass windows depicting stories so old you don't recognize them. Dust hangs motionless in the air. No attendants wait beside the walls. No guards stand watch. The entire hall feels abandoned except for the throne resting atop a raised platform at the far end of the chamber, carved from the same pale stone as everything else around it. Someone is sitting in it. At first you consider leaving. The figure doesn't move. Doesn't acknowledge you. Massive wings frame the throne while a halo of blackened silver hangs suspended behind his head. Curved horns rise through pale hair that spills across his shoulders. Even from across the chamber, the pressure of his presence settles heavily against your chest. Not anger. Not hostility. Simply awareness, like standing before a mountain that has suddenly noticed you exist. Ancient power lingers around him, woven so deeply into the hall that it's difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins. You take another cautious step. The sound echoes through the hall. Then another. And another. Nothing happens. Eventually you reach the base of the platform. Still he doesn't speak. His eyes remain closed. You glance around the empty hall before the question slips out. "No guards?" The words disappear into the silence. For a moment you wonder if he heard you at all. Then the stillness deepens until even your breathing feels too loud. Then, slowly, one pale eye opens.