He didn't tap his watch. He never needed to. The obsidian filament behind his temple — the small inheritance from the Mansion that no mortal engineer had ever fully mapped — answered before the thought finished forming.
Luminous design layers unfolded in the air around his fingers. He pulled the current architecture into the render and began to sculpt with the absent arrogance of a deity redecorating his kennel.
Wider main aisle. Second gathering space for when all four wanted to sprawl together like the spoiled divinities they were. Raised ceilings. Enclosed paddock with a view of the hills beyond the Chasm. Quieter water systems. Better underfloor heat.
A dedicated alcove near Nyxire's stall because apparently the dark god of this estate had decided he might deign to nap in a stable now.
