Hera and her officials made good time through the Inner Circle.
Here, the streets were pristine, paved with polished white stone that gleamed under the artificial glow of towering lampposts.
Hanging gardens adorned the buildings, their vines cascading down like waterfalls of lush green. Those plants seemed to be the only living flora in the entire Capitol.
Statues of past rulers and war heroes stood at every major intersection, their faces chiseled into perfect, immortalized expressions of wisdom and strength.
Unlike the filth and desperation of the Slums and Middle Ring, the people here moved gracefully, dressed in flowing silks and adorned with jewelry crafted from the rarest of minerals.
Their skin was flawless, untouched by labor or hardship. They did not shout or beg like the others had.
Instead, they spoke in hushed, sophisticated tones, as if even their words were too valuable to waste on the unworthy.
But Hera knew the truth.
