The wasteland finally gave way to rising stone, towers of gray-blue rock that pierced the clouds. As the armored transport rumbled closer, the shift in atmosphere was impossible to ignore. The air grew denser, wilder.
More charged.
And then… the mountains revealed themselves in full detail now that they were getting very close.
It quickly became clear that these were no mere mountains. Or, to be more accurate, they were now sporting unnatural additions.
Colossal structures, mansions, fortresses, and multi-story halls were carved directly into the cliff faces. Huge terraces hung over sheer drops. Balconies jutted out over thousand-meter drops as if gravity were optional. Runic channels glowed along the edges of stone battlements, all of it forged with a precision no earthly construction company could ever dream of.
They were guild halls.
Forged by a smith-class awakened.
Hammered into existence by artisans whose craft not just bordered on sorcery but was defined by it.
