The gates of the Emerald Palace loomed ahead, tall enough to blot out the sun. They shimmered under the noonday light—an opulent blend of green marble and sunlit bronze, inscribed with a thousand names of ancient bloodlines now long forgotten. Atlas stood just beyond the threshold, the wind teasing strands of his golden-blond illusion hair, the glamour spell Claire's assistant had cast settling like a second skin. He could feel its weight—not physical, but psychological—like a lie worn over his real self.
His hand curled tighter around the Council Membership Card. The gold-inlaid sigil of the Emerald Council glinted in the sunlight, catching in the corner of his vision like a challenge. A green lion with broken chains around its neck—Isabella's crest.
The irony wasn't lost on him.
'This isn't about politics,' he thought . 'This is about survival. About control.'
