In the serene, opulent heart of the Celestial Dragon Empire's pavilion, the air was still and fragrant with the scent of ancient sandalwood and rare, blooming moon orchids.
The ancient Dragon Emperor, Huang Long, sat before a low, polished table of dark, thousand-year-old wood. He was not on a throne. He was practicing calligraphy, his hand moving with a slow, deliberate grace, each stroke of his brush a perfect, unhurried movement. He was a being of immense, terrifying power, a Martial Emperor who had lived for several hundred years, yet his appearance was that of a man in his prime, his handsome, regal features unmarred by the passage of time, his long, black hair a silken cascade.
Before him stood his most trusted advisor, the High Minister Chen Bo, his aged face a mask of calm, respectful deference.
