Two hundred miles above Moon Six, inside the vaulted dome of the Hall of Edicts, a jade armrest shattered into glittering emerald dust.
Sovereign Vael’s golden gauntlet dug into the fractured stone of his throne, solar sparks dancing across his knuckles.
“Speak it again,” Vael growled, his voice vibrating the black obsidian pillars of the grand hall. “And choose your words with care.”
On the marble floor forty paces below the dais, an imperial herald lay pressed flat against the stone, his robes drenched in cold sweat.
Beside the herald lay a shattered silver lantern.
Its spirit flame, which had burned with the fiery soul of the Flame Envoy for four hundred years, was stone cold and empty.
“The... the Flame Envoy has fallen, Your Majesty,” the herald stammered, trembling so violently his forehead rattled against the floor. “He crossed the Moon Four bridge with ten thousand legionnaires. A blue hand descended from the clouds.”
“A blue hand,” echoed a voice from the northern throne.
