The next day, the capital of the Empire rises in the morning haze, its golden spires gleaming above the layered walls. Merchants and soldiers throng the avenues, but all noise falters as shadows fall across the city.
Eight figures descend together from the clouds, their peak Tier 6 auras spilling out like an ocean tide. The air buckles under the pressure. Windows crack, beasts howl, and ordinary citizens collapse to their knees gasping for breath.
And yet, the eight restrain themselves. Their power lingers like a storm on the horizon, enough to remind all who see that these are no common petitioners.
Hovering above the imperial plaza, Vask cups his hands to his mouth, voice rolling like thunder.
"Emperor Varnen! Please grant us an audience! We come only to discuss matters of survival!"
The plea carries across the city. Silence answers. The gates of the palace remain shut, the banners unmoving. The leaders exchange tense glances.
