The words rolled over seas, mountains, deserts, and endless ruins. And everywhere, the powerful and the hidden felt their hearts tighten.
In the snow-white Palace of Pendragon, high atop marble steps and beneath dragon-carved arches, Emperor Caelan Pendragon stood at the balcony, gazing out across his realm.
His armor gleamed in deep cerulean blue, edged with silver and etched with runes older than the dynasty itself.
The iron crown sat heavy on his brow, dark against the pale sky. One black-steel gauntlet rested on the dragon-hilted sword at his side, the other clenched tight as the wind gathered strength around him.
Below, banners bearing the white dragon writhed in the rising wind.
In the great courtyard, legions of knights in scaled plate turned their eyes upward with their faces hard and silent. Even the capital itself seemed to hold its breath.
Far above, the sky still echoed with the divine words that had shaken the world.
