The skies above were a brooding canvas, streaked with charcoal clouds that swirled like ink in water. From the high balcony flanked by twin braziers, their flames swaying gently in the rising wind, a lone figure stood.
Sapphira.
Her silken robe fluttered in the breeze, the hem brushing the ornate stone beneath her feet. The silver streak in her otherwise oily-black hair gleamed under the firelight, like moonlight caught in a raven's wing. Her eyes, sharp and sorrowful, gazed over the sprawling cityscape of Nineveh, the capital of Ashbourne Dukedom.
It was a city forged from ambition, protected by the paladins and it's great height, far above the ground. The most secure stronghold in the land, yet paradoxically, the least populated. After its miraculous transformation into a city of wonder, an urban haven beneath Asher's vision, it had drawn the interest of every noble house and merchant prince within a thousand leagues.
And yet... none were allowed permanent residence.
