THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

Radiance. Blinding, all-encompassing light.

David's consciousness floated in a sea of golden illumination, the pain that had threatened to tear him apart now just a distant memory. Soft, melodic laughter tickled his ears—feminine chuckles and giggles that seemed to dance around him like wind chimes in a gentle breeze.

Am I dead? The thought drifted lazily through his mind. Is this what heaven feels like?

He became aware of something impossibly soft cradling his head, a cushion more comfortable than anything he'd ever experienced. His eyelids felt heavy, resistant to his attempts to open them.

"He's waking," a melodious voice observed, causing the giggles to intensify.

David finally managed to force his eyes open, immediately squinting against the golden light that poured in from above. Gradually, his vision adjusted, revealing an architectural marvel surrounding him.

Majestic marble columns soared upward, their surfaces a perfect blend of pristine white and subtle blue-gray veining. Each column was crowned with ornate golden capitals, intricately carved with motifs of leaves and mythical creatures.

The columns formed a perfect circle, supporting a domed ceiling with an open oculus at its centre—the source of the brilliant light that bathed everything in a warm glow.

The floor beneath him was polished stone, inlaid with intricate patterns of gold and lapis lazuli. Three steps led up to a raised dais where a throne-like chair stood, its frame gilded and cushioned with rich crimson fabrics. Beyond the columns, instead of walls, there was only open sky—endless blue stretching to the horizon, as if the chamber floated among the clouds themselves.

But it was the women that truly captured his attention.

Seven of them encircled him, each more beautiful than the last. They wore silk chitons of the purest white, the diaphanous fabric catching the golden light in a way that rendered them almost translucent.

The garments were clasped at their shoulders with golden pins, leaving their arms bare. Delicate golden chains circled their waists, accentuating their feminine curves while golden cuffs adorned their wrists and ankles.

The chitons draped over their forms with calculated precision—revealing enough to entice while concealing enough to enchant. The fabric fluttered with their movements, occasionally offering tantalizing glimpses of smooth skin beneath.

"He's quite handsome, isn't he?" one whispered, her chiton particularly revealing as she leaned forward to inspect him closer.

"Shush, Thalia," another scolded playfully, though her eyes also roamed appreciatively over David's form.

David attempted to sit up, suddenly realizing his head had been resting in the lap of another beauty, whose fingers had been gently stroking his hair. Her eyes, a startling shade of violet, gazed down at him with amused curiosity.

"Where am I?" David managed, his voice surprisingly steady despite his disorientation.

The women exchanged glances filled with secret meaning before the one cradling his head spoke.

"The Chamber of Ascension," she replied, her voice like honey poured over velvet. "The Master has been waiting for you, David De Gor."

As if on cue, the light from the oculus intensified, and the women gracefully moved back, creating a pathway toward the throne.

"She comes," they whispered in unison, lowering their heads in deference.

David rose to his feet, surprised to find his body completely healed—no trace of the agony that had nearly killed him. He turned toward the throne, watching as the light coalesced into a human shape.

The time had come to meet Solomon.

The air in the chamber shifted, growing heavier with expectation. David stood transfixed as gossamer curtains of the purest silk began to descend from above, falling in rippling waves around the throne. They formed a translucent dome of shifting fabric, each layer a different shade of white and silver that caught the golden light in hypnotic patterns.

Something moved within the makeshift sanctuary—a silhouette both graceful and imposing. David's mouth went dry, his heartbeat accelerating to a thunderous rhythm in his chest. The combination of reverence and anticipation made each breath shallow, each second eternal.@@novelbin@@

With theatrical precision, the curtains parted.

David's breath hitched as his eyes widened in shock.

Seated upon the throne was not the wizened sage he had expected—not the Solomon of legends and whispered tales. Instead, a woman of impossible beauty reclined with casual elegance, one leg crossed over the other, her slender fingers pressed thoughtfully against her lips.

Her hair cascaded in waves of silver and lavender, flowing like liquid moonlight across her shoulders and down her back. A delicate crown of interwoven silver and sapphire rested upon her head, thin chains dangling from it to frame her face. Her eyes—deep and mesmerizing—seemed to shift between hues of violet and midnight blue, holding wisdom that transcended millennia.

The outfit she wore defied conventional description. A sheer white gown draped over her form, strategically revealing and concealing in ways that commanded attention while maintaining an air of untouchable divinity. Silver embroidery traced arcane patterns across the fabric, occasionally catching the light to reveal symbols of ancient power. Delicate chains of precious metal adorned her body, connected to intricate jewelry that seemed more like expressions of magical formulas than mere ornaments.

Mystical tattoos adorned her exposed skin—swirling patterns that seemed to move subtly when not directly observed, telling stories in a language long forgotten by mortal tongues.

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Her presence filled the chamber not just physically but metaphysically, as if reality itself bent slightly in acknowledgment of her existence.

Before David could gather his thoughts enough to speak, an enormous system window materialized before him, the golden text larger and more ornate than any notification he had ever received:

[YOU STAND BEFORE THE GREAT MAGI OF THE MIDDLE EAST,

THE SAGACIOUS LORD OF THE HOUSE OF EMPERORS,

LAST OF THE THOUSAND-YEAR LINEAGE,

EMPRESS SOLOMON HIKMAH THE LAST]

The seven handmaidens around David immediately prostrated themselves, foreheads touching the marble floor in perfect unison.

"Rise, David De Gror," Solomon spoke, her voice carrying the harmonies of distant stars and ancient magic. "Or should I address you by your original name... Mark?"

The mention of his pre-reincarnation identity sent a jolt through David's system. His mouth opened, then closed, words failing him entirely.

A small, knowing smile played across Solomon's perfect lips. "Did you truly believe you could traverse worlds without notice? That your... unique situation... would escape the attention of those who watch the tapestry of existence?"

She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward slightly, her gaze intensifying. "We have much to discuss, first son. The tower has watched you for some time, and it has deemed you... interesting."