[Temple of Lord Urzan—The Next Day—Morning]
The Imperial Carriage rolled to a measured halt before the temple gates.
Its wheels slowed not by command, but by reverence—stone seemed to demand it. The great doors of the Temple of Lord Urzan loomed ahead, pale stone veined with gold, carvings of serpents and sun-discs catching the early light like watchful eyes.
Behind the carriage, Captain Varesh reined in his mount, posture rigid, gaze alert. This was not a place for lax vigilance—here, even silence carried weight.
Two priests waited at the steps, robes falling in heavy folds, heads already bowed.
The carriage door opened.
Zeramet stepped down first.
The morning sun caught the silver of his presence, and the air shifted—subtly, unmistakably—as if the temple itself recognized its chosen ruler. He turned and extended his hand, palm open, fingers steady.
Levin accepted it.
