Asher stepped down from the obsidian-carved carriage that rolled to a smooth halt before the palace square. The air was cool, carrying the scent of spiced oil and blooming marleia flowers from the palace gardens. At the center of Nineveh, the capital gleamed like a jewel, and at its heart stood the palace, majestic, ancient, and alive with power.
Lining the pathway were two flanks of maids and servants, garbed in immaculate grey-blue robes trimmed with silver. They stood in perfectly symmetrical rows, heads bowed low, not daring to meet the eyes of the man stepping forth. Their stillness was reverent, yet behind it buzzed a trembling awe, as if a warlord had returned to walk among mortals.
Asher walked with steady, deliberate strides, each step measured yet effortless.
