Far beyond the mortal sky of Ouro, beyond the celestial spheres and the silent oceans of interstellar dust, existed the High Chamber.
It was an endless, clinical expanse of flawless alabaster marble, suspended within a dimensionless void of harsh mathematical radiance.
No dust motes drifted through the sterile, climate-locked air, and no mortal shadows marred the glassy perfection of the mirrored floor.
In this realm, time did not flow with the gentle rhythm of mortal sunrises, but was calculated in the unfeeling ticks of universal entropy.
In the center of the vast rotunda rotated the Grand Loom, a titanic cylindrical array of crystallized starlight spanning three leagues in diameter.
The celestial apparatus spun in silent rings of woven light, processing sextillions of soul trajectories, planar leylines, and harvest metrics across thirty-six subjugated mortal realms.
