As we stepped out from the hushed, crystalline tranquillity of the Glass-Tide Conservatory, the ambient environment of the city underwent a massive, city-wide systemic shift. The colossal golden dome acting as our sky—the singular, violent ward holding back billions of gallons of crushing ocean water—began to slowly power down its thermal and light-emitting arrays.
The brilliant, artificial sunset glow that had bathed the stone architecture in constant warmth bled away. It was replaced by a deep, heavy, oppressive twilight blue. The localised heating vents carved into the streets sealed themselves with heavy metallic clanks, allowing the freezing, natural temperature of the deep ocean to seep through the magical membrane.
Down in the lower terraces, thousands of colourful lanterns and redirected magma-torches flared to life in response, painting the twisting streets below us in chaotic splashes of neon green and violent crimson.
