In the Fourteenth Firmament, Celestial Palace, Lucian lifted his eyes.
The Celestial Palace floated a sheer ten thousand fathoms high, held aloft by 9,999 white-jade pillars, each etched with a beast so lively it seemed mid-roar.
Golden clouds curled around the eaves. Cranes glided through the mist, while gold-armored celestial generals patrolled the perimeter, their presence sharp enough to cut the breeze.
Inside the grand hail, every heartbeat felt loud, the air dense with unspoken judgment.
Lucian and Lyria knelt at the fore. Though their wounds had closed, pallor clung stubbornly to their faces.
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