LYRA POINT OF VIEW

Morning in Moonfang’s royal dining hall was never simply a meal.

It was a theater.

Every sunrise, power dressed itself in elegance and sat at the table pretending to be civility. Golden light poured through the towering arched windows, washing over polished black stone floors and illuminating the long obsidian dining table that stretched nearly the length of the chamber. Silver goblets gleamed like captured sunlight, and servants moved in synchronized silence, placing ...