GALESREACH — SKYREACH
The morning winds curled through the open arches of Skyreach, carrying with them the scent of citrus blossoms and salt from the distant sea.
It's morning light streamed through the high arched windows of Skyreach, refracted through panes of pale crystal that caught the sun and fractured it into soft bands of gold.
The wind stirred constantly here—never violent, never still—threading through open corridors and carrying with it the distant cry of gulls and the scent of high altitude frost.
The palace breathed with the sky itself—ever-moving, never still—just like the man seated at the head of the long marble table.
Sylas Skyborne sat at the long breakfast table as though he belonged to the air itself.
He ate unhurriedly, one long leg crossed over the other, posture loose, almost lazy.
Sunlight caught in his platinum-white hair, short and perpetually tousled as though the wind itself claimed ownership of it.
