The Red Rose stood in the heart of the capital’s entertainment district, a three-story structure of dark cedar and stained glass that glowed like a ruby under the hazy moonlight. While the rest of Astraia struggled under the weight of political shifts and grain redistributions, this establishment remained an island of decadent sensory overload. The air within was a thick, intoxicating fog of expensive perfume, burning lotus incense, and the sweet, cloying aroma of fermented plum wine. Red silk lanterns hung from the gilded rafters, casting long, swaying shadows that blurred the faces of the noblemen who frequented the private alcoves. Beneath the surface of laughter and the pluck of silver-stringed lutes, the building held a different kind of tension tonight. A quiet transition of power ha
