At the ninth bell of morning, the great iron gates of the High Citadel of the Silver Spires were thrown wide open to the brilliant autumn sun. Along the two-mile length of the Grand Imperial Avenue, over eighty thousand citizens, dockworkers, textile artisans, and provincial pilgrims lined the marble curbs, their voices rising in an earth-shaking chorus of triumph. Riding through the gates side by side came Prince Caelan and…
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