The Grayling ship broke through the clouds like a jagged shard of night, its metallic hide glistening under the fractured light of the setting sun. People scattered below as its shadow engulfed the city, the air trembling with the deep thrum of its engines. Panels along its belly split open, not with cannons—but with writhing masses of slick tentacles, ready to descend and tear the city apart.
High above, Jian stood balanced on the skeletal frame of a half-collapsed tower, eyes calm, breath steady. His perception extended outward—threads of reality tugging, folding, rippling around the Grayling hull. He could see the stress points in the ship's plating, the flicker of its conduits beneath the surface, the distortions of space around its stealth shielding.
