The streets changed when he crossed into the Imperial Borough.
No noise. No clutter. Just clean lines and cleaner silence. Even the air tasted different—tinged with mana-filtered purity, as if the wind itself had been scrubbed of its imperfections. There were no shouting vendors here, no scent of steel or smoke. Only serenity, enforced by money and old blood.
He moved with ease past the first security gate. The guards glanced up—and didn't speak. One flick of the sigil on his coat and they bowed, sharp and shallow. Protocols were observed. Not a single wasted word.
The outer walkways of the estate were paved with lunar marble, veined faintly with violet—a material rare enough that even most highborn never walked it barefoot. Twin statues of archons flanked the entrance, their gaze forever cast downward as if even they deferred to those inside.
