Elayne

The morning air was clean in a way that felt almost unnatural.

Lucavion stepped onto the open balcony just as the dome above began its slow dissolution, the night illusion peeling back like silk drawn from glass. Pale streaks of dawn bled into the horizon, painting the upper eaves of the city in soft rose-gold.

No crowds yet. No echoing steps from the others. Just stillness—and the quiet hum of the capital beginning to stir.

He leaned against the smooth marble railing, eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the sight below.

Arcania City—the Arcania City—spread out beneath him in grand layers of arcane ingenuity and impossibly planned symmetry. From this height, he could see it all: the spiraling towers of the High Mage Quarter to the east, the glimmering waterways of the Artisan's Loop cutting through the city like silver veins, and the soft trails of magical lifts rising between platforms as the city awakened with purpose.