They say the Godrin built their cathedral in a single night, not with stone but with oaths. Every pillar is a promise. Every window, a vow. To stand inside is to feel the weight of every believer who ever knelt.

But the throne sits empty. Has sat empty for three hundred years. Not because no one has tried to claim it—because the seat itself refuses the unworthy.

The Gold Cards are not given. They are survived.