The Korthane High Court did not rely on maps of parchment or ink. Such things were static, prone to decay, and incapable of capturing the true weight of a civilization. Instead, the Arbiter observed the world through a vast, three-dimensional lattice of woven Law-domain energy, suspended in the center of his primary sanctum.
Every thread of gold represented an established decree, a bound oath, or a measured truth. Where the threads clustered thickest, order was absolute. Where they frayed into the gray mists of the unmeasured, chaos reigned.
For the past thirty years, the Arbiter had stood before this lattice, watching the Sovereign Imperium.
He was Rank 9. He had lived for two thousand, two hundred years. He did not experience time as a series of rushing moments, but as a slow, deliberate accumulation of facts. And the facts emerging from the eastern continent were contradictory.
