The eleven surviving Archons filed onto the lower marble terrace like unsafe prisoners approaching a judge’s bench.
Without the sky spiritual deep ring to sustain their illusions of eternal youth, their true living states were laid bare in the flickering lantern light. Hair that had appeared as lustrous silver only hours before was now dull, brittle, and patchy. Robes woven from golden sun-silk dragged through the soot and oil pools on the floor, their gold-leaf embroidery torn and scorched.
Archon Xuan Ming stepped forward, his knees trembling wildly under the weight of his own mortal body.
In his frail, quivering hands, he carried a heavy bronze tray. Arranged upon the dark metal were the eleven leftover Directorate Tallies. Slender, box-shaped plates forged from a dense copper-tin alloy, each engraved with the sacred seal of sky office and notched along the side with fine, detailed clockwork splines.
Tie Shan took two heavy steps forward, planting his boots firmly between the surrendering ministers and Lin Tao.
The giant leaned his weight onto his fourteen-pound star-iron pry-bar. The cold chisel wedge was resting against the marble flat stone slabs with a dull, heavy thud. His dark eyes bore down upon Xuan Ming with the calm, unmoving vigilance of a quarry foreman watching an unstable rock face.
