Da Peng folded his massive golden wings. He dropped through the swirling vortex of purple foul fog like a falling meteor of pure sunlight.
The acid-burning rotting vapors hissed as they made contact with the golden roc’s radiant plumage, instantly crumbling into harmless wisps of gray ash. With a gentle flare of his flight feathers, Da Peng shed his hypersonic driving force and touched down upon the clean white jade courtyard of the inner royal palace. The broad flat stone slabs, usually polished to a mirror-like perfection that reflected the golden roofs of Solaris, were coated in a thin crust of black, oily frost that crackled under the bird’s talons.
An eerie, choking silence blanketed the soaring pavilions. No court eunuchs scuttled along the covered walkways. No royal concubines strolled through the carved rose gardens. And no incense burned in the bronze tripod fire bowls lining the grand staircases. The only sound was the wet, rhythmic dripping of foul purple water drops falling from the roof edges. It splashed into stale pools that ate into the ancient white jade. Along the base of the painted columns, ugly sigils had been drawn in blackened, congealed blood, depicting thousand-legged vermin coiling around the royal sun crest.
