Steam rose from the smooth stone floor in a misty, grey-white cloud.
Of all the grand structures within the Sun Palace, the bathhouse was perhaps the greatest marvel yet. Nine massive marble pillars held the towering vaulted ceiling up, their pale stone veins glowing in the heat, likely the only thing preventing the heavy architecture from collapsing in on itself. Once, the Sultan, his family, and his inner circle of viziers would take refuge in the humid warmth dripping from the earth, bathing themselves in the deep, tiled pools at the far end of the hall.
Still, the building was already betraying a distinct lack of care. From the cracks in the ancient masonry, thick mats of moss and wild ivy were sprouting, eagerly laying claim to what men were now ignoring. It had certainly seen far happier times, built long before every bastard with a sword was trying to cut his neighbor's throat across Azania.
