The Sovereign Dragon stood amidst the courtyard, his presence so heavy it felt like the air itself had turned into liquid ice. Behind us, the rhythm of the royal knights thumping their polearms against the stone echoed like a titan's heartbeat. Above, the sky crackled with the magical lightning of the royal mages, painting the morning in flashes of violet and silver.
The Emperor and Empress stepped forward, their regal bearing holding firm even against the crushing weight of a Sovereign's aura. The Emperor's nod was a masterclass in diplomacy—respectful enough to avoid war, but firm enough to protect his crown.
"Sovereign Glacirion," the Emperor said, his voice carrying over the wind. "Your presence honors the throne of Eryndor."
The Empress stood at his side, her gaze sharp and unflinching. "Sovereign Glacirion. It seems even the oldest powers still choose when to be seen."
