"Zantia is dead."
Deep within the vast Palace, in a windowless chamber, a messenger in a crimson robe knelt before a low stone table.
Dozens of psychic energy candles stood before him. They were made from a faintly luminous wax, and their flames gave off a strange golden light that flowed like liquid gold.
Each candle represented the life of a Divine Emissary, the strength of its flame reflecting their condition.
At that moment, one candle had gone out completely, leaving only a thread of bluish smoke that slowly rose through the silent air before dissipating.
The messenger stared at the extinguished candle and fell silent for a moment.
His face was hidden in the shadow of his hood, his expression unreadable, but his fingers tightened slightly around his Staff, his knuckles turning white.
Then he slowly spoke, his voice low and steady, as though reciting a passage of scripture written long ago. "A Divine Emissary has fallen."
His voice echoed through the chamber, passing through thick stone walls, through corridors carpeted in crimson, past guards standing watch and servants busy at work, until it finally reached the magnificent great hall.
At the center of the hall, a Throne cast from pure gold stood high above everything else.
Its back was carved with an intricate totem depicting a coiling creature composed of countless different animals. Two fist-sized rubies were set into its eyes, gleaming darkly in the candlelight.
The Throne's armrests were carved into gaping maws, as though they might swallow whoever sat upon it at any moment.
A man sat upon the Throne. He wore a robe woven from golden thread and deep purple silk, with a brooch polished from a single piece of obsidian pinned at his collar. The same totem carved into the Throne's back was engraved