Songborne does not float by wind but by song, an ancient, voiceless chant that thrums beneath the skin of the yellow sky. It is kept aloft by the Order of Silent Chanters, a cloistered order whose voices have been silenced, offered to the palace itself. Few have ever seen one with their own eyes. They dwell in the catacombs hollowed into the underbelly of the floating rock, far beneath the gilt splendour of the throne above. There, in the endless dark, they breathe the chant that keeps the fortress of Songborne, the imperial palace from falling to the earth below.
The chant is not heard. It is felt in the bones, in the walls, in the air itself. And some say that over centuries of ceaseless invocation, it has changed Songborne. That the fortress listens now. That it has awakened.
The Emperor, they say, speaks to the fortress. And it answers. Songborne shifts for him, walls bend, halls reshape, shadows move with malice or mercy. In times of danger, it is said the palace has defended him, or devoured his enemies whole.
But power, once awakened, does not always stay loyal.
There are those brave heretics who say Songborne has a will of its own. That it chooses its allies. That a skilled Whisperer, one who has studied the resonance of the chant and fed their soul to its rhythm, may court the palace’s favour. They may command it just like the emperor. But in secret. In defiance. For their High Born families honour or pure personal ambition.
Songborne is not merely a palace. It is a power.