The main doors of the golden court flew open, revealing an enormous hall devoid of a single soul. Spotless white fleece was laid down on the floor, as delicate as a snowflake, while bright red curtains embroidered in gold hung at the corners of the huge french windows.
This was the empire’s hall of government. Normally there were learned sages, treacherous bureaucrats and those with dreams struggling here, criticising each other. All manners of plots and massacres were borne of those moments, a normal scene unable to convey any of that atmosphere.
A delicate and unique fragrance hung in the air, but the incense was not thick enough to be intoxicating. Xena seemed to grow nostalgic, and she once again transformed into a naive 19-year-old young lady.
Leylin had not been in possession of this place for a long time, but this palace still seemed to have some unique historical charm. It seemed like the very air had accumulated hundreds of thousands of years of the vicissitudes of life.