The Coronation Hall was designed to make people feel small. Naturally. Empires loved doing that.
The ceiling rose high enough to make voices climb before falling back as echoes. Long banners hung from the upper galleries, embroidered with the imperial sun, the founding oath, and enough gold thread to fund several villages if anyone in the Capital had developed taste alongside conscience. Marble pillars lined the hall in solemn intervals, the central aisle leading toward the imperial dais, where three rings were carved into the polished floor. One beneath the Emperor's chair. One beneath the Crown Prince's place. One in front of them both, empty and waiting.
I disliked the third ring immediately. It sat too quietly. Some objects were silent because they were harmless. Others were silent because they knew patience. The soundless bell waited in the marble like an eye pretending to be closed.
