The sky above Zenith did not just glow. It ignited.
Less than three hours after the Eastern sea-beasts had moored, a second sun broke through the cloud cover. The Solstice, the flagship of the House of Sol, descended with a blinding radiance that turned the white marble of the sky-piers into molten gold. It was a gilded dreadnought of impossible proportions, its hull engraved with solar runes that hummed with the power of a captured star.
On the docks, Professor Aris and Professor Thorne stood in stunned silence. They had barely finished escorting the Razar delegation to their embassy when the horizon caught fire.
"They are five hours ahead of schedule," Thorne muttered, his hand tightening on the hilt of his practice blade. "The Imperial protocol dictates the West arrives last to signify their status as the host of the continent. Alistair Sol is spitting on the Emperor's timetable."
