As the five stepped through the golden gate, leaving the arena behind, the shift was immediate—visceral.
Gone was the stone and ash of the battlefield.
In its place: opulence.
The capital's inner ward unfolded before them like a dream sculpted by precision and wealth. White-gold pillars stretched into the sky, each engraved with runes older than empire. Crystalline walkways shimmered underfoot, refracting the sunlight into iridescent patterns across the polished courtyard. And above them—no longer arena ceilings or sky-choked dust—but a dome of floating gardens, suspended by pure aether, blooming in midair with impossible flora that pulsed faintly with life-force.
The very air tasted expensive.
Toven froze mid-step, jaw half-dropped. "...Wow….This is…."
