The old metal of the Ether Capsule groaned, its voice hoarse like a throat forced to scream. When the thick door slid open, the air rushing inside was not merely oxygen; it carried the scent of cheap incense forced into false elegance—a futile attempt to mask the stale odor of thousands of years of hypocrisy.Zephyros stepped out. His ragged robe shifted softly across marble floors polished so perfectly they felt like an insult to anyone who had ever crawled through the mud of the lower world. His eyes did not blink. To him, this marble was not a symbol of luxury, but a layer of white paint covering festering wounds beneath.“This floor... did they polish it with blood or something?” Lyra muttered. Her voice trembled, her feet accustomed to rocky dirt now feeling alien upon such unnatural smoothness. She clenched the rough edge of her clothing, a painful contrast to the rows of glowing golden crystals lining the walls as though the lamps themselves were mocking her.“Worse,” Zephyros

The portal did not simply fade; it spat them into a reality far more brutal. Lyra slammed against jagged stone, her lungs feeling crushed as foreign oxygen forced its way inside. Nausea struck her chest as though all her internal organs had been left behind in another dimension. Beside her, Zephyros stood tall and unmoving, like a stone monument mocking gravity itself. His robe did not even touch the dust.“Do not resist it. Let this atmosphere destroy the remnants of Elara’s Light within your blood,” Zephyros’s voice was cold, devoid of sympathy, yet carried unquestionable authority.Lyra coughed violently, spitting clear liquid before finally managing to look up. Before her, the Aethelgard she knew—the arrogant white cities and blinding eternal light—had vanished. Above them was no longer the sky, but the belly of the world itself. Gray clouds swirled low like liquid concrete ready to collapse, while in the distance the Ether Ocean boiled with restless violet radiance. Floating ston

The ancient stone veins along the walls of the Primordial Sanctuary were no longer dead. For thousands of years this place had been nothing more than a sarcophagus of dust, yet now its walls pulsed with deep blue radiance, swallowing the poisonous air from outside and exhaling life so pure it felt unnatural to the lungs of the exiles. At the center of the circular chamber, Zephyros stood motionless. His molten-gold eyes stared coldly at the ragged humans seated cross-legged upon the floor. In the front row, Kaelen’s body trembled violently. Sweat the size of corn kernels soaked his temples while the veins in his neck bulged like tangled threads ready to snap. “You were taught that the darkness in your blood is a curse,” Zephyros’s voice was not loud, yet it shook the air within every chest in the room. “That doctrine is garbage. Elara forced the world to swallow her light, and your bodies rejected that violation. Stop damming it. Let it break loose.” Kaelen groaned, his teeth grind

The obsidian corridor stretched endlessly, slicing through the void beyond Aethelgard’s reality. There was no true ground beneath them, only primordial resonance condensing each time the tip of Zephyros’ boots touched it. In his right hand, the remains of the Essence Blade pulsed weakly. Its broken edge emitted a dim gray glow, like an open wound refusing to heal.Lyra half-ran behind him, struggling to match his pace. Her eyes swept over the blue specks of light drifting around them, absorbing the silence that pressed against her eardrums. For years spent surviving on scraps in the Roots of Aethelgard, magic had been nothing more than the oppressor’s whip. But here, beneath the guidance of the Primordial Devil, magic felt like the heartbeat of the world itself.“This isn’t just a tunnel,” Lyra murmured, her voice nearly swallowed by the vacuum. “It’s a blood vessel.”Zephyros’ steps paused briefly. He looked back over his shoulder, staring at Lyra with eyes that had witnessed the fal

The First Anchor Point screamed in a discordant rhythm that scraped against bone. The inverted steel tower was embedded like a gigantic parasite into Aethelgard’s underbelly, draining the world’s essence through whirlpools of gears and crystal pipes swollen with glowing blue liquid. At the heart of that accursed machine, bound by hundreds of chains forged from pure light, a crystal pulsed in agony.The core of the Essence Blade.Behind Zephyros, Lyra held her breath. The air beneath Silver City was thick with rust and ozone, suffocating the lungs of the outcast girl. Yet the true horror was not the god-killing machine before them, but the absolute calm of the man now stepping forward.Dozens of Elite Tracker soldiers lay rigid across the chilled metal floor. Captain Varon stared wildly from behind his silver helmet. They were not bleeding; they had simply been reduced to useless ornaments after the veins of their magic were silenced in an instant.“You have no idea what you’re touchin