The chamber they had chosen was not ceremonial but functional: a long conference table of dark stone, smooth screens embedded at intervals, and the faint pulse of ether conduits running like veins along the walls. Outside the tall windows, the Capital glowed in tiers of light, towers threaded with luminous currents that hummed like a city alive.
Cain Canmore entered with a measured step, his blond hair brushed to perfect order, violet eyes calm behind a diplomat's composure. He bowed once, formally, and deep enough to honor rank without debasing himself.
"Your Majesties," he greeted.
