***
Crimson landed at the very peak of the Holy Palace, where gold kissed the sky.
The enormous golden dome of the palace glowed beneath him, and the world just... stretched all around him. Wide. Endless.
The view wasn't just pretty—it was ancient.
Every stone here had a story, and none of them were short.
Not so far away from him, the palace's minarets reached into the heavens, casting long shadows over the city way below.
Here, there was no desert stretching out, no rolling ocean of copper; this was the heart of Markaz, the Holy Kingdom, the Holy City itself, the capital of capitals, the center of modern civilization, where kings were made, where Sultans sat on the Golden Throne. It was loud even in silence, bursting with history, holy wars, and even architecture that didn't give a damn about subtlety.
