"We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are."
***
The Aurum training hall gleamed like a cathedral to martial perfection. Sunlight cast geometric patterns across polished marble floors that had never known common boots. Every surface reflected light—mirrored walls, pristine weapon racks, ceremonial armor that had never seen battle.
Leo von Valerius knelt before a velvet-lined case, reverently withdrawing Lumen. The ancestral blade sang as it emerged, catching light in gentle, holy radiance. The sword had been blessed by three generations of archbishops, its edge honed by master smiths who charged more for one sharpening than most families saw yearly.
"Beautiful as always," Elena Morgenthorne said from behind him, her voice carrying that particular cadence of privilege. She leaned against the doorframe, frost-blue eyes watching Leo's ritual.
