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[b][i]The Royal Chambers are seen in shades like never seen before. 
Fear, and shame, and nervousness are burning in her core. 
She wants to stop but the boy persists, and so they run more, 
And ever more.[/i] 
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Blue, green and gold lights blurred together in Medusa’s mind as she raced behind the boy in the white harness, his strong hand guiding her. She’d gotten to know the layout of the Royal chambers through the lights alone, the differing hues and variations in the shapes. But all of that seemed to blend in the blistering pace. 

Blackagar wasn’t entirely sure where he was going, he’d never seen the outside of his quarters with sentient eyes. But he understood Inhuman architecture better than many, having studied the topic intently. He could see the curves leading to exits, the angles leading toward new rooms, and the hallways which bent into the foyer. When Blackagar exited into the throne room, Medusa sheepishly following behind, he was struck by the majesty of the design. The stories etched into the moldings, along with the mosaics which so eloquently detailed the legends Blackagar could only imagine, left the newly freed young man with an unquietable sense of awe. He sunk with the weight of the ages pressed atop him. He let go of Medusa’s hand and solemnly pressed up the steps toward his rightful throne. Blackagar caressed the arm of his father’s chair, and he could smell his brother’s perfume on it. He wrinkled his nose and looked over at Medusa, her amber hair swirling under the blue light refracting from the glass dome above. 

“We shouldn’t be here!” Medusa whispered cautiously. “High Lord Maximus could be back any moment.”

Blackagar’s features shifted suddenly from disgusted to offended, a brutish snarl crossing his face, a puff of air released from his nostrils as a silent scoff. He grasped the arm and the back of his father’s heavy throne and lifted it above the ground, slamming it back down again. Dust and ancient debris spread out from the epicenter of the action. Medusa could read the words on his lips: [i]”This is mine”[/i]. Blackagar’s features softened, and he extended his hand. Medusa hesitated for a while, but Blackagar remained. She climbed the steps to meet him with an equal measure of excitement and embarrassment. When she reached him Blackagar stared into her emerald eyes for a long while, as if searching for something. When he seemed to have found it, he glanced over to his side, assigning her to do the same. There, on the grand wall beside them, was a giant picture of Maximus. Medusa looked at it as if for the first time, seeing the absurdity of it. Blackagar looked back at his cousin and she looked back at him: [i]“I must stop him”[/i] his eyes said in clear tones. Medusa could practically hear Blackagar’s voice, and then, she felt like she was.

“Dear Brother,” came a dark voice from above, “I’m afraid you may be lost.” Maximus descended to the center of the throne room in a bubble elevator, made even more elegant by the telescopic copper pipes which lowered it. When the elevator reached the bottom Maximus unlatched the gate and came forth, clad in black silks. 

Blackagar pushed Medusa to the side and stepped in front of the throne. His own furious fist came to his chest and, in one motion, ripped the harness from his body. The brilliant white lightning strike design of his suit was a familiar, yet stark contrast against Maximus. With a certain level of reverence and hesitation, Blackagar reached behind him and pulled the built-in cowl over his head. The antennae attached to the forehead of the suit lit up and sparked with energy. The silent Inhuman hunched over and collected energy, watching his smiling sibling carefully. 

Blackagar stood between his brother and the Royal Inhuman cathedra, and at that moment became the first living defender of Atillan society against the tyrannical rule of a madman; indeed, only the first of many.