The Chambers of the First

The windows of Ysrindil glittered like flickering diamonds as he looked out over the city. The thin rift-crafted rail of the balcony was solid, glassy to the touch beneath his hands, though it looked as a brisk breeze might snap its spindly filaments. The moon cast a dull glow from its silver crescent, playing lightly off of rooftops and the shorter towers. The light wood smoke of cookfires from the many inns carried up even this high, though the air was still. Steven sighed, turning to return to his quarters. They honored him, but he would not be the First.