While Eleanor was busy with her training at the academy, the Kingdom was alive with the frenzy of the upcoming election.
The cavernous interior of Bishopsgate Goods Yard pulsed with energy… half anticipation, half excitement. Once a Victorian rail depot, its vast iron skeleton now glittered beneath rows of suspended lighting rigs that cast a cool, blue-tinged glow across a sea of thousands. The air was thick with a peculiar blend… the chill of a night draft mingling with the heat of gathered bodies, the sharp tang of perfume, and the faint, nostalgic scent of pipe smoke.
