The First Pill-Moon Tax Warden stared at the fresh charcoal marks on Sera’s ledger, his jaw twitching until a muscle popped near his temple.
“Late fees?” the Warden hissed, his voice dropping into a dangerous, jagged rasp. “You unwashed ascenders dare invoice a magistrate of the Hall of Edicts?”
His crimson cape billowed as his Saint Vessel Peak aura erupted in full fury. Blazing heat scorched the marble floor, turning morning dew into bursts of acrid steam.
“Subdue them!” the Warden roared, waving his armored gauntlet toward the palanquin. “Shatter their barrier, seize their spatial rings, and drag them to the lower chutes! Let the platform’s drain array drink their marrow dry!”
The fifty bailiffs did not hesitate. Their war-shouts shook the clouds as they advanced in tight, disciplined ranks, heavy iron boots stamping in unison.
Their hooked halberds flared with crimson suppression runes. Curved steel blades glinted under the harsh light of the nine orbiting moons, forming a lethal wall of iron meant to butcher lower-world upstarts.
Inside the wicker palanquin, Kaelen leaned back against his wool bolster and sighed.
Every official in the Upper Firmament sounds exactly like Garrick when someone forgets to file a warehouse voucher.
