Levan adjusted his sunglasses, staring out across the glittering canals of Venice, now nestled atop the once-empty island of Ghaen. He still couldn't believe that the entire island had been transformed into this opulent city-state—an architectural relic of a bygone era. It was so unlike the rest of the empire, where sleek skyscrapers, neon lights, and drones buzzing through the air were the norm. Instead, Venice clung to its old-world charm like a stubborn antique shop refusing to modernize, with cobbled streets, gondolas, and crumbling but beautiful buildings. There wasn't even a single car allowed on the island—transportation was either on foot or by boat, operated exclusively by native Ghaenians, who seemed both perplexed and amused by the hordes of rich pilgrims worshipping the place.
This city was now the third largest in the empire. From the official reports from the Office of Saint Clara, Venice had been built to "preserve historical beauty and culture," though everyone knew the real reason: Mark Lantrun, the Supreme Leader, was rumored to have been born here—or at least, the first version of him, before he became the Godly Reincarnation of Jesus Christ. The idea that this picturesque lagoon city was once home to the divine was enough to spark mass pilgrimages. Some came seeking spiritual fulfillment, others looking to snap photos for their HoloScroll feeds, hoping a visit to "sacred" Venice would boost their follower counts.
And, of course, where the holy vibe went, the wealthy followed—tripping over each other to buy real estate and claim a piece of the divine birthplace. However, only the obscenely rich could afford property in Venice. The merely regular rich had to settle for houses in Braavos, which had been humiliated into becoming a consolation prize for those not quite rich enough to set foot on Ghaen. Levan smirked at the thought. Poor fools. Braavos might have the same aesthetic, but it would never match the divine aura—or the ludicrous price tags—of Venice.
Fortunately for Levan, he was no longer part of the second-tier rich. He was among the elite now, thanks to his marriage to Davan, the ever-charming governor of Londonium. Davan's influence and power had only grown after The Dome Baby Incident (something Levan barely remembered—he was probably drunk through most of it). But it didn't matter; Davan had managed everything brilliantly, and as a result, the Supreme Leader himself had rewarded them both generously.
Five years of marriage had flown by—five years of luxury, extravagance, and a life that seemed more like a dream than reality. Davan had just bought them a sprawling villa in Venice as a gift for their anniversary, and Levan was already lounging in it, marveling at its grandeur. The estate cost an eye-watering 4.5 billion Lantruns, with another million spent on redecorations. It was worth every penny, though. The villa was nothing short of palatial, with soaring ceilings painted with Renaissance-style murals, marble floors cool to the touch, and chandeliers that dripped crystal like icicles. The windows opened to breathtaking views of the Grand Canal, and the gardens were manicured to perfection, complete with fountains that sang in harmony with the wind.
Levan drifted through the rooms, running his fingers along the ornate furniture and imagining the lavish parties he'd throw here. He felt a surge of pride—this was his life now. Not bad for a man who used to wonder if he'd ever be more than a Soma-popping socialite. After inspecting every room and deciding on the best spots for future... adventures with Davan, he decided it was time to grab a bite to eat.
He found an exclusive restaurant nearby, one of those places where the food was more art installation than sustenance. His meal consisted of several courses, each smaller and stranger than the last. One dish was literally a spoonful of "lemon air," followed by a "deconstructed fig" that was just a smear on a plate. By the end of the meal, Levan felt more insulted than full. As he walked back to the villa, his hunger gnawing at him, he passed a burger stall and gave in to temptation. He ordered six double cheeseburgers, devouring them on the spot with zero shame, wiping his mouth with the same elegance he'd use after eating caviar. He popped a couple of pills to prevent any unwanted weight gain—being rich didn't mean giving up indulgence, after all.
Back at the villa, he stripped down and slipped into something more... festive. He chose a leather outfit that barely qualified as clothing, leaving most of his body exposed. The cool air from the open windows brushed against his skin as he admired himself in the mirror. He flexed slightly, pleased with what he saw.
All that was left now was to wait for Davan. Levan sprawled across the enormous velvet sofa, imagining how they would christen every room in the villa that night. His mind wandered to all the luxurious, sinful possibilities—starting in the bedroom, then moving to the bath with the gold-inlaid tiles, perhaps the rooftop garden after that. The night was full of potential.
Levan smiled lazily, feeling content for the first time in ages. Venice was his playground now, and so was this villa. Life was perfect, and tonight, it was only going to get better.
He draped himself dramatically across the sofa, already fantasizing about the sound of Davan's key in the lock. This was going to be an anniversary to remember