The gates of Virencia stood exactly as Luke remembered them—vast, immovable, and unapologetically imposing.
Twin walls of pale stone rose high into the sky, their surfaces etched with sigils of protection and reliefs depicting saints, mages, and phoenixes frozen in eternal ascent. Banners fluttered overhead, crimson and gold catching the morning light, the emblem of the phoenix beneath its crown of stars impossible to miss. Even now, even after everything, the Empire knew how to announce itself.
Vartha padded forward without hesitation.
Her presence alone was enough to draw eyes. Conversations died mid-sentence. Guards stiffened. Merchants paused with crates half-lifted. A tiger of her size and bearing was not something one simply ignored—especially one known.
The knights at the gate moved as protocol demanded, stepping forward with halberds crossed. But the moment their eyes truly focused—not on the beast, but on the man atop her—their movement faltered.
