Inside the emperor's private chamber, the only sound that could be heard was the soft scratch of a brush gliding across parchment.
Emperor Alexander stood before a broad sandalwood table, his spine straight as a spear and his sleeves hanging motionless, while black ink flowed from the tip of his brush in measured strokes.
Across from him, Prince Gerrad sat in respectful silence, his hands resting upon his knees, his eyes lowered, and his heart carrying a weight heavier than the armor of any soldier.
For a few moments, the emperor said nothing.
He completed the final stroke of a character, lifted the brush, and allowed the excess ink to drip back into the stone basin.
Only then did he begin to speak.
