Aether stepped out of the inn and stopped.
The air hit him first. Cold, damp, heavy with mist. It carried the smell of wet stone and salt, sharp enough to cling to the back of his throat. The sky above was pale and washed out, light bleeding through layers of fog that refused to lift. Nothing here felt clear. Nothing ever fully showed itself.
Veyr unfolded beneath him.
The island was not whole. It was many pieces stacked together, stone platforms rising at different heights, some wide, some barely large enough to hold a building. Bridges connected them all, wooden and iron alike, curving instead of running straight, bending around structures as if built after the city already existed. Some dipped low, others climbed high, crossing above rooftops and courtyards before descending again.
