On the northern avenue, a carriage clattered along. Though luxurious in appearance, it had been worn down over the years and seemed halfway to becoming a relic. Inside, a faint murmur seeped from the old coachman's lead.
"I just can't understand," muttered Viscount Thorburn, staring vacantly at the letter in his hands. He had read it numerous times, yet questions still lingered.
"The Platinum Council, of all things. Who would have thought they'd revive that lost tradition now?"
"Has the Marquis gone senile? Maybe he's just playing around, trying to confirm his authority before he dies," came a brash voice from the front. It was Kenneth, Thorburn's only son and heir.
"Watch your mouth. What if someone hears you?" the Viscount scolded.
"Oh, who cares? When the emperor's not around, people still mock him," Kenneth shot back, unfazed.
