The grand royal raised stone road leading to Central Dragon Pylon 00 was paved with huge slabs of polished white marble, each eight paces wide and three feet thick.
For thirty thousand years, this road had known only the soft tread of royal silk slippers, the golden wheels of archon chariots, and the kneeling foreheads of tributary kings. Now, the marble groaned beneath the disciplined march of five thousand heavy vanguard spearmen. Their star-iron shin guards struck the stone with rhythmic, iron-clad certainty. Behind them, forty-five thousand liberated mortals stood arrayed in battle columns across the plain, their banners of raw, unwhitened southern hemp fluttering in the cold northern wind.
Lin Tao walked at the head of the column, flanked by Tie Shan and Captain Wu.
Ahead of them, Central Pylon 00 rose five hundred arm-lengths into the night sky. A titanic monolith of white sky green jade bound by eight upright ribs of forged Precursor star-iron. At its summit, the spectral projection of the central dragon remained frozen in place. Its huge golden jaws were locked agape. Its glassy scales reflected the dim moonlight like amber ice. The low deep hum that had shook through the continent for thirty thousand years was dead.
