They reached the Golden Palace. The massive doors, fifty feet high and made of solid amber, swung open on silent hinges.
Inside, the banquet hall was a nightmare of excess. Long tables groaned under the weight of golden fruit, crystalline wines, and roasted beasts that still breathed steam. At the far end of the hall, sitting on a throne that seemed to be made of frozen light, was the Emperor.
He was a man of indeterminate age, dressed in robes so complex and intricate they seemed to shift and change color every time a climber blinked. He held a scepter that pulsed with the power of a dying star.
And around him stood a hundred Royal Guards. They were visible now because the climbers were "unfit" to see their invisibility. They were lean, terrifying warriors with blank, porcelain masks and rapiers made of thin air.
"Welcome," the Emperor said, his voice a melodic chime. "You have arrived... underdressed. My guards tell me you have discarded the gifts of the Stars. Why?"
