The Seat of Divine Foresight was bathed in a warm, golden glow as the afternoon sun streamed through the expansive windows. The soft hum of Lumina crystals filled the air, punctuated occasionally by the quiet shuffle of attendants passing through the grand chamber. At the center of it all, the High Arbiter, Jing Yuan, sat on his throne.

Or, more accurately, slouched.

His long, snow-white hair cascaded over the armrest, swaying slightly with the rhythm of his slow, even breaths. One hand rested lazily on the desk in front of him, while the other held his head up by resting his cheek on his knuckles. His head tilted to the side, the image of a man far too comfortable in the seat of power.

A stack of reports lay untouched on the table beside him, the wax seals still intact—a silent testament to work deferred. A small sparrow flitted through the open window, perching briefly on the throne’s edge before chirping inquisitively. It seemed to question whether the Arbiter was asleep or merely in one of his famously “pensive” moods.