The gates of the capital had been opened before sunrise.
Not forced.
Not broken.
Opened.
Two colossal doors of black ironwood stood parted, their surfaces carved with ancient dragons coiling through clouds, their scales etched so finely that the early light caught on them like ripples across water.
Runes glowed faintly along the edges of the gateframe—old formations meant for defense, now dimmed, resting.
Above them, banners unfurled.
Azure silk.
Each one bearing the coiling dragon crest of the kingdom, its golden threads shimmering as the wind moved through the high walls.
The flags did not hang still—they breathed with the morning air, snapping softly as if the city itself had awakened early to witness what was coming.
Beyond the gates—
The capital stretched endlessly.
Layered stone streets.
Tiered rooftops.
