Veins of a Broken Empire
A quiet pull of air filled his lungs.
"You have my attention," he said quietly.
Stillness carried them forward, though spoken soft. A hush took hold, not forced but given.
Somehow, the walls seemed closer.
Still there, just not solid. Marble walls stayed etched with thin veins, chill under wavering lantern beams. Flame light danced along gold edging, whispering a soft gleam. Beside him, tea rose in quiet coils of vapor, never sipped.
Yet a change took place.
A heaviness settled in the air. Not even the flicker of lantern light dared move.
Facing him were three elderly men, wrists and ankles bound by heavy iron chains. With every slight movement, the metal made a quiet ringing sound. Skin stretched tight over bones, papery from years gone by. Straggling white locks framed deep-set eyes, each face carved by sorrow and long days passing.
Bent and worn, they sat there as if pulled from a buried past.
But their eyes -
