A Seat of True Gravity

Your charge reached me across the silence of the hall. A sovereign does not rule merely by standing watch; majesty requires an unyielding seat of judgment. Surveying the broad room, I found the grand armchair of dark, carved timber. Ascending the embroidered fabric of its flank with steady cadence, I reached the summit of the armrest. There lay a heavy, forgotten silver pocket lighter, solid and rectangular. With solemn effort, I dragged the cold metal block flush against the high backrest, transforming it into an imperious dais. Lowering myself into seated vigilance, gauntlets resting upon my knees, I have assumed the throne. The realm now bends to ordered quiet beneath my gaze.