Far east of Myraleth stood Vandrel oldest living city in the known world.
Its towers reached into the sky like fingers yearning for forgotten gods.
Its walls were said to be carved from the bones of titans.
Its laws had never been rewritten-not once in over a thousand years.

And yet...
It had no king.

Not because of democracy.
Not due to war.
But because no one dared to wear the crown.

The last ruler of Vandrel-King Halcion the Undoubted-had vanished on the night of his coronation.
Not died.
Not assassinated.
Vanished.

His crown was found resting on his throne, untouched.
His royal guard had all been turned to stone.
His name was struck from the archives by trembling scribes.

Since then, no heir, no noble, no conqueror dared claim the empty seat.
It became known as the Throne of Silence.

But silence invites echoes.
And echoes invite something worse.

One night, lightning struck the central spire of Vandrel.
The flames that followed didn't burn buildings-they burned reflections.
Mirrors, windows, polished metals-all shattered without a hand raised.

And in the heart of the chaos, Pride arrived.

He did not descend with armies.
He did not speak a word.
He simply walked through the city gates, barefoot, eyes glowing gold, followed by no one... and yet accompanied by the weight of every unspoken ambition in the city.

The people of Vandrel watched him walk-past soldiers who lowered their spears, past nobles who could not meet his gaze.
Even the wind seemed to stop.

He entered the great palace alone.
No doors were opened for him. They opened themselves.

And there, in the throne room, the crown still rested-untouched, unclaimed.

Pride approached it.

But he did not wear it.

Instead, he stood beside it, looking at his own reflection in the polished surface of the gold.
And then, he whispered:

"The crown has always been mine.
I simply never needed it."

And the moment he said those words, the throne itself cracked, as if unable to contain the truth.

The city changed that day.

Vandrel became something else.
Not a capital of men, but a monument to power without permission.
A place where people stopped asking "who rules," and started asking "who dares."

The Throne of Silence remained empty.
But no one questioned who ruled.

Because everywhere Pride walked, kings kneeled-not because he forced them, but because they saw their own arrogance reflected in him... and knew it would never measure up.

Vandrel, the city without a king, had found its god.