The Emperor of the Kahrin did not sleep,how could he when there was something slithering about ,shamelessly right before him.
He could rest but sleep ,no.
There was a difference.
Sleep implied vulnerability. Rest implied control.
Zaka reclined against silk-lined cushions beneath the vaulted dome of his private chambers. The ceiling above shimmered with artificial starlight, programmed to replicate the long-dead skies of ancient Kahr. Around him, warmth radiated from braziers infused with slow-burning mineral flame.
Humans knelt at his feet.
Their forms were arranged carefully — decorative, obedient, silent. Some poured wine into crystalline vessels. Others fanned the air with soft fabric to regulate temperature. A few simply existed there, draped in fine cloth, their presence ornamen
