The New Continent
Beyond the seas and skies lay a land untouched by crowns or thrones — a continent whispered of in broken maps and half-remembered tales. Kingdoms older than the empire, tribes unbroken by centuries of war, temples devoted to nameless gods. They had watched the empire burn from across the horizon, their emissaries too fearful to sail, their priests too cautious to pray.
But when the last sky-island fell and the heavens themselves turned to ash, the whispers changed. No longer "The empire has burned". Instead: "The fire comes for us."
And they were right.
Hei Long did not pause. Fire does not rest. Inevitability does not delay. His gaze turned across the ocean, cloak rippling, the cord at his wrist swaying like a pendulum marking the world's end.
"The gods are gone," he murmured. "Now the unknown burns."
The Watchtower's Heat
The tower was no longer a fortress. It was a crucible.
