Jolthar entered the imperial capital of Tyrival just after dawn, the city sprawling around him like a beast awakened. The morning light caught on the pale marble of the palace walls, on the gilded eaves of rooftops thick with frost, and on the banners of the Empire that fluttered in the cold air. He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders—not from the cold, though it was biting; from the weight of what awaited him.
He came to the imperial palace by carriage, the door opened, and he stepped onto the polished steps. Guards in gleaming blue and silver greeted him, rank and ceremony firm yet respectful. One clasped his gauntleted hand, bowed low. "Lord Jolthar of Tekkora, the capital welcomes you."
He inclined his head, lips flat. "Thank you." The words felt small. The world felt large around him now.
