Balazar’s palace is a breathtaking fusion of splendor and cruelty. Its vast halls are carved from ancient stone, draped in heavy silks, and adorned with gilded fixtures and masterwork sculptures that would humble the finest architects of the Empire. Fountains whisper into perfumed air, and mosaic floors shimmer beneath the glow of colored glass. It is a place where beauty overwhelms, intricate, excessive, and meticulously arranged for pleasure.

Yet beneath this opulent veneer lies a darker foundation. The palace is built on centuries of ritual agony. Its cushions are stained, its drains hidden beneath marble, and its statues frozen in poses of exquisite pain. Blood has flowed freely across these halls, not in battle, but in performance. Each chamber is stage and sanctum both, where suffering is offered and desire is laid bare.

This is not merely a seat of power. It is a monument to Balazar’s vision of transcendence. Every curtain, every scent, every carefully arranged cruelty speaks to the Dominion’s creed: that ecstasy is born not in comfort, but in surrender.