The imperial office was built to intimidate.
High ceilings that made even confident men feel smaller, tall windows that let in cold light, shelves lined with documents capable of overthrowing governments, and a desk carved from old dark wood that appeared to have survived fires on principle.
Modernity existed here, of course. It had simply been forced to behave.
A thin etherline ran along the baseboard like a vein of pale glass, feeding the room's wards and the faint humming panels set behind carved molding.
A console sat discreetly to the side of the desk, linked to the palace grid that kept communications stable, kept intrusion spells from biting, and kept the Emperor's private wing sealed even when the rest of the building breathed with visitors.
And still, despite the ether that powered the palace like blood, paper ruled the desk.
