{HERON, CAPITAL CITY OF ARADEL}
The bells of Heron tolled as the morning sun spilled across the capital, gilding its streets in a glow that seemed almost divine. White stone towers shimmered in the light, their gold-tipped spires reaching toward the heavens. The heart of the city pulsed with life—merchants calling out their wares, children darting between stalls, guards marching in polished breastplates that glinted like silver.
But above the noise and bustle of the capital rose the Sanctum of Astoria, a grand temple that dwarfed all other buildings. Its marble steps stretched high, each one carved with prayers etched in flowing script. Incense smoke curled upward in spirals, carrying with it the sharp, sweet scent of lavender and myrrh. Pilgrims flocked in droves, kneeling upon the smooth stone floor, their voices blending into a low hum of reverence.
Inside, the air felt hushed, heavy, holy.
