The black ironwood carriage drifted downward, its flight path stabilizing as the three Tempest Rocs slowed their descent. Below them, the mist of the southern border gave way to a massive staging ground carved out of the forest.
Through the cabin window, Su Ming watched the landscape rise to meet them. The southern border was a desolate expanse of jagged, ash-stained canyons and dry, barren earth. A persistent wind blew from the wild mountains, carrying the dry smell of the earth. The rocks below resembled broken, blackened teeth, jutting out from the dry soil. It was a harsh, unforgiving territory, a stark contrast to the verdant, mist-shrouded peaks of the Heavenly Cloud Sect.
"We are here, Master," Lin Yao whispered, her fingers resting lightly on the frame of the window.
