The Rolls-Royce Phantom moved like a ghost through the restless veins of Baswil City, its engine no louder than a whisper though every line of its body spoke of dominance. Around it, the capital surged in noise — restless traffic, blaring horns, flashing lights — yet the Phantom carried an aura that bent the rhythm of the city around it. Other cars slowed without realizing, pedestrians turned their heads, and the ordinary rush of life seemed to step aside.
Inside, the world was sealed away behind tinted glass and soft leather. Rachel sat in the middle of the wide backseat, her pale hands folded loosely in her lap, her posture upright yet calm. On her left, Erica rested her head against the leather, eyes closed in exhaustion, her breathing slow and even. Jetlag had claimed her quickly, and she slept despite the motion of the car. On Rachel's right, Susan sat upright, lost in the shimmering glow of her sleek Shen Mobile Nova EXXT 10, a collector's device whose polished silver surface reflected light like a blade. The tablet itself, priced at nearly 1.8 million Norpondian Dollars, was more than technology; it was a jewel, a status that only the most privileged could hold in their hands.
Rachel turned her face slightly toward the window. Through the glass, the city rushed past — neon billboards flashing, skyscrapers stretching like dark towers of glass, the faceless crowd blurring into one long ribbon of humanity. She blinked once, her lashes fluttering, the light streaks making her vision swim. For a moment, it all seemed to fold into silence.
The chauffeur guided the Phantom smoothly through a wide roundabout. Thirty minutes had passed since they left the city's center, and now the car slipped onto the main highway with measured ease. The tires gripped the asphalt like velvet, the machine picking up speed until the city blocks melted away behind them.
The road stretched ahead like a black river of light, streetlamps glowing in endless rows. That highway was not just a road but a bridge between two worlds: from the capital's throbbing heart to Goldilla, the neighborhood whispered about in every corner of the Republic of Norpond. The jewel of the Goldsan District. The home of the one percent.
Every state across Norpond's sixty territories knew the weight of that name.
And they knew what it meant to see a Rolls-Royce Phantom wearing the mark it now bore.
The license plate gleamed like no other in the night. Forged in gold, crusted with diamonds so clear they shone like frozen fire, it dazzled against the light of every passing lamp. At its center sat the Golden Ducal Dragon Crest of the Shen Family — a coiled beast wrapped around a shield, claws extended, its eyes etched to glint like embers under even the faintest glow. Beneath the shield, the ancient family motto was carved in high Norpondian: Fortis et Sapiens et Wermextenarx — Stronger together, Wiser together, Wealthy together.
It was not simply a plate. It was a crown carried on four wheels.
The lettering itself told a story:
RNP · BW · Pulse of Progress · SHEN · EGS · RRP · CN-01.
RNP, the Republic itself. BW, Baswil City. SHEN, a name that was not written but proclaimed. EGS, the initials of Erica George Shen. RRP, the mark of Rolls-Royce Phantom. CN-01, the first of Erica's collection of Phantoms, the beginning of a lineage of machines bought in succession.
Every passing driver who caught sight of the plate froze. Pedestrians stilled mid-step. Some nudged their companions with wide eyes, some whispered "Shen…" as though afraid to speak louder, while others swallowed envy so sharp it hurt. The dragon crest was no symbol of vanity — it was a warning carved in gold.
The car sped onward.
The pulse of Baswil softened into wider roads, then into manicured boulevards, lined with sculpted trees and polished marble walls. The archway to the Goldsan District rose soon ahead, white marble shimmering under floodlights. The chauffeur pressed forward, and within twenty minutes, the Phantom slid through the golden gates of Goldilla.
It was another world.
Where Baswil was restless, Goldilla breathed silence. The streets were so clean they mirrored the lamps. Mansions rose not like houses but like palaces, with walls of marble and balconies lined in gold. Cafés glowed with chandeliers instead of bulbs, fountains splashed in slow arcs that caught the light like diamonds, and even the trees looked sculpted by invisible hands.
Here, ordinary cars did not dare linger. Even residents wealthy enough to live inside walked with lowered eyes when something greater passed. And tonight, something greater had arrived.
The Phantom moved like a shadow through Goldilla's heart. Conversations on sidewalks cut short, waiters froze with bottles mid-pour, a pair of lovers halted their stroll to watch as the golden dragon crest flashed once more beneath the lamps. Some lowered their eyes quickly, some stared despite themselves, their chests tight with awe.
A Shen car had entered Goldilla.
It was reverence, envy, and fear all at once. For if Goldilla was the jewel of Norpond, then the Shen Estate was a world within that jewel — a kingdom whose gates no ordinary man or woman could ever cross.
The chauffeur guided the car deeper, past boulevards and squares, until the neighborhood gave way to walls. High golden gates, one of ten that guarded the Shen Estate, loomed ahead. Upon its face, the single word SHEN gleamed in gold.
The gates swung wide as the Phantom approached. Security checkpoints lined the path beyond, each manned by bodyguards in immaculate uniforms. They saluted instantly, barriers lifting with practiced speed. Every scan of the plate confirmed what the dragon already declared: a Shen had come home.
Rachel's eyes lingered on the window as the last traces of Baswil faded from view. She blinked once more. The colors outside gave way to calmer light, to the glow of Goldilla, and then even that dissolved.
The Phantom rolled through the estate's vast grounds.
The landscape unfolded like a crafted paradise — sprawling villas, neat barracks for the guards, a car station gleaming with polished chrome, a shopping mall tucked into the grounds, post offices and courier stations, even a private airport with its runways stretching like ribbons. Fountains erupted in choreographed bursts, gardens brimmed with exotic flowers that filled the air with a sweetness sharper than perfume, the smell of freshly cut grass blending into it all. Birds darted between trees, their songs cutting through the quiet.
Helipads spread like silver discs across the grounds. To the left, an emerald golf course rolled into the distance, its greens clipped so perfectly they looked unreal.
This was no mere residence — it was a city within a city, spanning 400,000,000 square meters. Only one place in Norpond outstripped it in security: the Gold House, the presidential palace. Even then, the Gold House itself had been a Shen gift, built by Rhamsis Shen in Norpond's rebirth and offered to the nation as a symbol of power.
The Phantom pressed deeper still.
At last, the Shen Palace rose ahead — a modern castle sprawling across 400,000 square meters of floor space. Its facade was stone and gold, a thousand-year-old masterpiece blending Norpondian, neoclassical, and baroque designs. Carved details shimmered like lacework in the lamps, rooftops tipped with gold, windows glowing warmly. Towers and wings sprawled outward like arms, grand yet graceful.
Inside were more than two thousand rooms: bedrooms, studies, cinemas, music rooms, ballrooms, banquet halls, conference chambers, gyms, and guest lounges. Balconies like stages, staircases like rivers of gold, galleries filled with portraits and tapestries that told a dynasty's story.
The famous Ceasar Balcony overlooked the grounds, where history itself had unfolded. The Moonlight Garden shimmered with quiet fountains, a courtyard designed to glow under the full moon. Every inch spoke of a thousand years of wealth and power, every stone humming with legacy.
At the gates of the palace, staff stood waiting — lines of men and women in crisp uniforms, the Shen Crest emblazoned on banners above them. As the Phantom rolled near, they bowed in one perfect motion, not a single head rising until the car had passed.
Rachel blinked again. The gates closed behind them, sealing Baswil away. Goldilla vanished. Ahead stretched only fortress and throne.
The Phantom stopped at last before the main entrance. Its engine fell silent. The air filled with softer sounds: the rustle of trees, the faint call of birds, the whisper of a breeze that carried the scent of gardens. Shadows from the palace columns stretched across the lawn like giant fingers, as if the palace itself reached to claim the earth beneath it.
The chauffeur stepped down quickly, bowing deeply before pulling open the rear door. He moved with care, unloading two black suitcases from the trunk.
Rachel, Erica, and Susan stepped out gracefully. Their heels clicked lightly on the pavement, the sound sharp in the quiet.
The bodyguards at the doors stood like statues, their salutes rising in unison. The domestic staff bowed as the three women neared, their movements rehearsed yet filled with awe.
Inside, the palace dazzled. Marble floors gleamed like mirrors. Chandeliers rained crystal light across golden walls carved with intricate details that whispered of family history. Tapestries stretched high, painted with stories of the Shen lineage. Fresh flowers perfumed the air, blending with the faint scent of polished wood and waxed stone.
The butler stood waiting, surrounded by servants. As soon as Rachel, Erica, and Susan stepped inside, the entire assembly bowed low, their voices rising in one unified greeting.
Rachel's gaze swept over them. A faint smile touched her lips.
"Home sweet home," she said softly.
Her voice carried through the vast hall, echoed off marble and crystal.
She inhaled deeply, her posture poised as ever, then turned and began to walk toward the east wing.
Behind her, Erica and Susan lingered a moment, speaking quietly of plans — of Rachel's birthday, of the banquet that would welcome her home with a celebration only the Shen Estate could host.
And around them, the palace pulsed with light, alive with the weight of a dynasty that ruled not from crowns or thrones, but from wealth, power, and a golden dragon that never slept.