The building housed a massive tunnel. Immaculate gold pillars wrapped around the tunnel walls, with gorgeous coloured glass between each pillar. Large crystals hung from the roof, lighting the tunnel. Hundreds of smaller tunnels led out of the junction. Ethaniol walked with purpose through the busy crowd. He was Grand Chancellor of the council, a man of class, a man so well presented that every hair on his head was in its place. His son, Julius, walked three steps behind him. Julius was terrified of his father. Ethaniol walked past a line of people. A glass dome with a mirror-like surface sat upon a pair of crystal tracks. Two guards in full armour, with large staffs, stood next to the dome. “Get in,” said Ethaniol. One of the guards tapped the glass of the dome. It started to ripple like a drop of rain in water. Then, from nothing, a small hole appeared in the side of the dome. It rippled outwards until the hole was big enough for a person. Julius got into the dome. Inside was a plush, burgundy leather couch that wrapped around the sides.
