The passage of time is a fickle thing; to the idle, it is a slow decay, but to those with a kingdom to build, it is a fleeting currency. Two years had bled into the tapestry of history since I first stood upon the broken gates of the Secluded City. Now, as I sat perched upon a thick, gnarled branch of an ancient oak tree that guarded the perimeter of my estate, I looked out over a landscape that had been utterly transformed. The air no longer carried the stagnant scent of fear and poverty that the Lamonia family had cultivated like a toxic crop. Instead, it was filled with the vibrant, chaotic hum of a burgeoning metropolis.
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the sensory data wash over me. I could hear the rhythmic clanging of hammers from the newly established industrial district, th
