Damian did not even know when he fell asleep.
But he instantly knew when he was dreaming.
The heaviness of his body faded away as he felt light, weightless, as if the stone beneath him had dissolved into mist. The aches and exhaustion that had pressed upon him vanished, replaced by something else entirely.
He instantly knew he was dreaming because he found himself in a room shining silver and gold and wood.
Not just any room.
His room!
The chamber of a Young Lugal in the Vakochev Empire.
The walls were formed from massive stone blocks fitted together so precisely that no seam was visible, their surfaces polished to a sheen that reflected the light of oil lamps burning in carved alcoves.
Those lamps were held by fixtures of hammered copper shaped like serpents coiling upward, their open mouths cradling flames that never seemed to flicker.
