The capital of Valtherion stretched like a jewel between the banks of the Silaris River and the golden hills of the Empire's central region. The white marble walls towered as mountains, adorned with golden towers that glittered in the sun. The gates were protected by heavy iron doors, decorated with symbols of the ancient emperors, and the bastions were patrolled day and night by elite soldiers. Statues of emperors and heroes carved from stone watched over the main squares, while fountains and canals reflected the sunlight among the markets crowded with merchants from every corner of the continent.
The imperial palace stood on the central hill, dominating the city. Its halls were immense, with frescoed ceilings that narrated the deeds of the Valtheris, the family that had ruled the continent for over a thousand years. There, every decision was made, every law passed, and every alliance forged. In that labyrinth of marble and gold, the corridors echoed with the footsteps of dignitaries, ministers, and knights, each intent on discussing plans and strategies.
Prince Lyoren Valtheris, nineteen, stood on the palace's main terrace, observing the city. His ash-blond hair fell messily over his shoulders, and his amber eyes followed the comings and goings of the citizens: children playing among the fountains, merchants bargaining for spices and fabrics, soldiers patrolling the streets in gleaming armor. Lyoren felt the weight of the crown on his young shoulders, a weight no one could see from the outside.
"Your Highness," said Lord Seradell, master strategist, a lean, stern man with piercing eyes, behind him, "observing is not enough. You must learn to read the city like a battlefield, to foresee what might happen before it happens."
"I am not here to fight with my hands, Seradell," Lyoren replied, gazing out at the city's golden rooftops and canals. "I want to understand what it means to rule."
"To rule is not to command. It is to protect what the people do not know is in danger," said Seradell. "And remember... danger does not always come with a visible sword."
Lyoren watched a caravan of Eastern merchants crossing the central square. Among their packages, some boxes contained rare scrolls and books, objects the Valtheris considered treasures of knowledge. He could not imagine that, before the year was out, those books would be burned by the soldiers of the Spider Kingdom.
As the sun set behind the palace towers, Lyoren felt a shiver run down his spine. No one could yet know that the peace of the capital was about to be torn away.