The sun rose slowly over Esgard, shrouded behind thin gray clouds like a reluctant god watching a ritual it had long grown tired of.
Across the great marble bridges and through the heavy boulevards, the city rustled not with celebration, but with grim anticipation.
The bells that had been tolling since dawn did not call for prayer or festival today.
They called for a tribunal's verdict.
---
The Tower of Stone sat in the heart of the old city, a spire built from the first quarried stones of Esgard.
It had been the place of countless noble trials, where bloodlines ended and dynasties were born under the eyes of the Council and the gathered Houses.
Here, legacy was not protected by right or birth.
Only by survival.
Inside the Tower, preparations unfolded with a brutal precise.
Clerics of the old rites moved between great carved pillars, spreading powders of blessed salt and iron dust.
