Kyrian remained seated in the comfortable red velvet armchair.
The room was silent, broken only by the faint hum of the formations engraved into the walls. The light emanating from them was soft and diffuse, creating a calm and refined atmosphere worthy of an institution that had existed for thousands of years.
Outside the enormous crystal window, stretching from floor to ceiling and framed by carved dark wood, the city remained bustling.
Cultivators walked through the streets below, some hurried, others relaxed, all wrapped within their own bubbles of existence.
Merchants advertised their goods with shouts that Kyrian could not hear, but could see through their exaggerated gestures, open mouths, and waving hands.
Spirit carriages crossed the suspended avenues, pulled by beasts of different shapes and sizes, some covered in silk, others in gleaming metal.
Mount beasts advanced slowly through the crowd, winged horses, ice wolves, and domesticated birds of prey.
