The last embers of the crimson sunset bled into deep indigo, giving way to a vast, star-dusted canopy over the mountain peak. High above the central courtyard, the golden digital sky-screens dimmed, leaving only the soft blue luminescence of array lanterns whispering across the shattered jade floorboards.
King Tian Long rose from the golden Dragon Throne, the heavy gold-embroidered silk of his imperial sleeves falling in crisp, heavy folds over his wrists. He turned toward the elevated platform where Shaurya rested on the Peacock Feather Throne, casually swirling the crushed ice in his glass.
Tian Long paused at the edge of the dais, bringing his left palm over his right fist. He lowered his head in a slow, unhurried bow—a gesture reserved strictly for sovereign monarchs.
