The airship The Iron Wing glided low across a pale grey ocean of clouds, threading through gaps between roiling snowstorms that still raged atop the northern peaks. Gusts buffeted the hull now and then, yet the cabin remained warm, steady, and still. Inside the specially prepared medical bay, Ratna lay motionless beneath thick blankets. Her right hand rested in a nutrient infusion that dripped slowly into her veins, while a ring of faint pale-green healing sigils glowed softly all around her. Her breathing grew deeper, more even, and the deathly pallor began to fade from her cheeks — yet her eyes stayed closed, and her consciousness had not yet returned. Lin Ye sat in a wooden chair beside the bed, his posture unchanged since they had left the ice valley behind. He watched her without blinking, as though looking away for even a moment might cause her to vanish entirely. His hand gently enclosed hers, which felt cool, as he tried to channel what little warmth remained

Dawn unfolded slowly over the horizon of Fengshui, tinting the still-clear sky with streaks of golden-orange that melted into soft violet along the eastern edge. At the secret landing ground hidden behind thick walls on the city’s outskirts, The Iron Wing stood tall and ready. The airship looked a little worn, its metal hull scored and scarred from the journey north, but its engines hummed smoothly, and its wind-catching sails were neatly rigged and secured. The team worked calmly and methodically, stowing supplies in the cargo hold: tightly sealed water sacks, long-lasting dried provisions, healing salves and antidotes, and spare weapons that had been sharpened and tested. No one spoke unnecessarily — all understood how heavy the road ahead would be. At the forward deck, Ratna stood alone, watching the city slowly wake. The cool morning wind tangled her hair, and she let it blow free, making no move to smooth it back. Her gaze rested steadily on Lin Ye, who was check

The Iron Wing touched down upon a dune a thousand paces from the main gate of Ziggurat City. They concealed the vessel beneath an optical cloaking shroud woven by Old Rat—layer upon layer of distortion magic that bent light around the hull until it seemed no more than a shifting mirage—then set forth on foot. The sand here was pitch black, fine as crushed obsidian, and so fiercely hot it seeped through the thick leather of their boots to sear at the skin beneath. Every step left a sharp, clear impression, yet within moments the wind swept in to erase it entirely, as if the desert itself sought to wipe away all trace of their coming. The air reeked of sulfur and sharp, crackling ozone—the unmistakable tang of high-tier magic, fresh and potent, lingering like a bruise upon the land. The squad advanced in tight battle formation, senses stretched to their limit. Krog and Goran led the van, their broad frames and heavy shields forming an unyielding wall of m

The Main Altar was a vast, soaring dome, its curved walls swallowing sound and light alike—all focus drawn to the thing hovering dead-center above the dais: the Black Sun. It was no ball of fire, no star of burning gas. It was a singularity, small and perfectly round, a sphere of absolute, light-eating blackness ringed by a band of brilliant white that spun with blinding, dizzying speed. It devoured every ray that touched it, creating a stark, searing contrast that made the eyes water and the skull throb. Arranged in a circle around it stood six robed figures of the Dawn Order, their faces rapt, hands raised in unison. They poured streams of luminous qi upward, feeding the singularity, anchoring its wild rotation, weaving their wills into a single stabilizing net. Cassian stood at the edge of the platform, apart from the others, watching the ritual unfold with a look of serene, absolute satisfaction. When the great stone door groaned open and Lin Ye ste