Night had settled fully over the Imperial City, not as a blanket of darkness but as a quiet transformation. The capital did not dim when the sun disappeared; instead, it changed its rhythm, its pulse softening yet never ceasing. From the elevated floors of the Celestial Crown Pavilion, the city stretched outward in endless layers of glowing life—lanterns swaying gently in the night breeze, golden-lit streets weaving like rivers through stone and marble, and towering structures rising like silent sentinels beneath a sky scattered with distant stars.
From afar, it looked peaceful.
From within, it was anything but.
Because power did not sleep in this city.
It simply waited.
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