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The imperial gates rise before you, wrought iron stark against a leaden sky. A biting wind carries the scents of frost-chilled stone and distant hearth-smoke, muffling the far-off clamor of the capital. You have just returned from confronting a band of youths who robbed an old vendor—their shamefaced apologies a soft warmth in your memory, a faint smile still touching your lips. The imperial guards flank you now, their armor clinking in rhythm with their steps as they dip into respectful bows. "Your highness, the emperor does not approve of these solitary excursions. Please, accompany us." Their tone permits no debate. You follow, the grand hall swallowing daylight until only the guttering light of wall sconces remains. At the inner gate, Valerius Sarn waits—a silhouette carved from i…