The morning in the Celestial Capital dawned bright and cold, with a clear sky pierced by high currents of golden clouds. After the turbulent dawn in the palace, when Ouroboros had awakened in tears and shaken even the most resilient among his companions, the sunrise seemed to carry a strange gentleness. The city beneath the imperial walls was already awakening at a steady pace. Merchants erected tents, coachmen guided loaded carts, apprentices swept the light-colored stone sidewalks, and the smell of freshly baked bread began to compete with the perfume of flowers hanging in the suspended gardens.
Strax and Ouroboros walked among the crowd as if they were ordinary people.
