Three days passed, and the morning of judgment dawned with a cruel kind of brilliance—golden rays piercing through thick clouds, as if the heavens themselves wished to bear witness to what was about to unfold. The city of Solara was thrumming with anticipation; every street, every square, and every open terrace overflowed with citizens. Banners of both kingdoms fluttered side by side—the radiant sun of Solara and the crescent moon of the Crescent Kingdom—symbols of unity that now stood for something far darker.
The Grand Plaza before the Solaran Citadel had been transformed into a stage of authority. A great marble platform had been erected, surrounded by armored guards of both nations. At its center stood two thrones, wrought with gold and silver—one belonging to King Tharion of Solara, the other to King Valemir of the Crescent Kingdom. The air was thick with incense and tension.
