They had been plucked from every corner of the fractured empire. Some were kings in tattered silk; others were beggars with eyes like flint. No one knew why the summons had come, only that to ignore it was to invite the silence of the void. The Assembly
As the hum intensified, the walls of the hall began to dissolve. They weren't in a castle anymore. They were standing on a glass shelf suspended in the star-choked belly of the cosmos. 134 : Those Who Have Been Gathered
The number 134 pulsed in the air. It wasn't just a count of people; it was a code. Each person represented a specific lineage, a specific memory, and a specific mistake of humanity. They had been gathered not for judgment, but for extraction. The Choice The crystal shattered. They had been plucked from every corner of
A voice, synthesized from a thousand whispers, filled their minds: "You are the census of a dying world." The Assembly As the hum intensified, the walls
In the center of the hall stood a single, pulsing crystal. It cast a rhythmic violet light across the faces of the gathered. Clutching scrolls that no longer made sense.
One by one, the 134 looked at each other. The king reached out and took the hand of the beggar. The warrior sheathed his sword.
The heavy iron doors of the Great Hall groaned as they swung shut, sealing the fate of the one hundred and thirty-four.