The sun did not set on Zenith so much as it was consumed.
The light faded into a bruised purple, devoured by the shifting horizon of the surrounding floating islands. The silver wards of Villa 1 shimmered. They cast a soft, ethereal glow across the white stone of the Peak.
Vane walked up the winding path.
His stride was measured. Rhythmic.
His muscles were tight. It was the byproduct of the high-intensity conduction drills Instructor Thorne had pushed them through in the Somatic Synthesis lab. The silver mana of his [Silver Fang] authority hummed beneath his skin. It cooled his nervous system. It repaired the microscopic tears in his mana channels.
He reached the heavy iron-bound doors. He paused.
Heat radiated from the building. The central hearth had been lit.
