Ah, the coronation day.
It dawned cold and crystalline as the winter sun rose over the capital like a blade of pale gold unsheathed against the grey sky.
The streets had been swept clean of snow and ash alike, the last remnants of the Emperor's funeral pyre, the last traces of the mourning period that had held the empire in suspense for seven days.
Banners of deep imperial violet hung from every window, their golden trim catching the thin morning light. The bells of the Grand Temple tolled in slow, sonorous waves, each peal rolling across the capital… more like a heartbeat.
The Coronation Hall of the Imperial Palace had not been opened in decades. Not since Zircon Iondora himself had knelt on its ancient marble and risen as an emperor.
