Viewed from the dizzying edge of the sky's ceiling, the world below did not merely defy the laws of geography; it seemed to have strangled them entirely. As Toram looked down from the chariot, she realized once again that the laws of nature held absolutely no weight here in Rama.
The heavy, dense clusters of clouds that usually served as a canopy for the mortal world were spread out beneath the chariot like a carpeted floor. Pushed aside by the immense pressure of the chariot descending at breakneck speed, the clouds parted into two, revealing a sight that struck Toram's eyes—and it was anything but ordinary.
This was not simply a palace; it was a colossal ocean of civilization built from ancient stone and ethereal magic, stretching endlessly from horizon to horizon.
As the sky-splitting chariot plummeted downward at terrifying speed, Toram tightly gripped its edge to control her fear. She gripped it so fiercely that her knuckles turned as white as old bones.
The violent wind lashed at her short hair like a whip, making it flutter wildly like a flag. Even though her eyes desperately wanted to blink, she refused to do so, unwilling to miss even a fraction of the breathtaking miracle unfolding before her.
The sheer scale of the city spread out beneath them was far beyond the measurements of her home world and the limits of human imagination. Towering skyscrapers pierced through the atmosphere like needles of pure light. Bridges proudly mocked the laws of gravity, weaving like spider webs between floating islands suspended in the air, a sight that shook the soul with awe.
Against this mammoth nation, she felt not merely small, but utterly insignificant—a mere speck of dust. Stretching from edge to edge, Rama was an independent, colossal universe of its own.
The chariot, a masterpiece of otherworldly engineering, glided effortlessly on the roaring heavenly winds like a tamed hurricane. The magnificent horses, with coats as white as spilled milk and manes woven from starlight, were not galloping.
Instead, they were rowing through the air with supreme majesty. Every time their hooves struck the invisible currents of the air, they created distorted spatial ripples in the atmosphere. Trailing pearl-like radiance, they pointed their noses toward the earth, plunging downward like falling stars aimed directly at the heart of the world.
As the chariot tore through the lower sky, the sudden shift in atmospheric pressure made Toram's ears pop. They grazed past massive walls of black stone that scraped the bellies of the clouds, damp with the moisture of the atmosphere.
Behind these walls, the true magnitude and majesty of the populace was revealed. This was not just a crowd of people; it was a terrifying, living landscape forged from flesh, blood, and iron.
The millions of warriors covering the city floor looked like iron filings drawn to a magnet when viewed from this towering height. It was a forest of spears, an endless ocean of metallic armor reflecting the sun so brilliantly that the ground itself seemed to be made of molten fire.
As the chariot banked sharply around the central spire, Toram's stomach did a flip. Then, with a grace that completely belied their massive size, the hooves of the horses kissed the ground. The response was instantaneous and absolute.
*Thump! Thump! Thump!*
This was not just a sound; it was a physical vibration. Hundreds of thousands of iron-clad knees struck the palace stone in perfect unison. The earth trembled.
The tremor traveled through the chromium wheels of the chariot, up through the soles of Toram's shoes, and violently shook her entire body. Borne from the sheer weight of their devotion, the dust on the grand plaza was blown outward, forming a perfect circle as it rose into the air.
At the front of the army stood Commander Qaduel, resolute and unmoving. With his wings tightly folded against his back, he took a step forward with a presence that seemed to silence even the wind. He drew a deep breath, looking as though he were sucking all the air out of the plaza.
"Bow to the invincible!" Qaduel's shout, amplified by a magical force, ripped through the silence. "Submit to the God of the Lightning Tribe, King Saruel!"
His command echoed like a clap of thunder from the heavens, crashing against the palace walls and rebounding. The army did not respond with scattered shouts, but with a highly disciplined, sky-shattering, collective roar.
"To the Mighty! To the Thunder! We submit to the God of Lightning!"
The sound hit Toram like a physical slap; it felt as though a wave of compressed air had forcefully pushed her backward. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs. With a dry throat, she slowly turned her head to look at the recipient of this terrifying adoration.
Amidst this deafening uproar, Saruel stood perfectly still. He did not flinch, nor did he wave his hand in acknowledgment. He paid no mind to the trembling earth or the crushing weight of glory resting upon his shoulders.
With his pitch-black eyes that seemed to swallow light, he stared at a distant point far beyond the kneeling masses. He was looking into a void that only he could see. Like a force of nature, a mountain, or a storm, he stood indifferent to the roars of his warriors. The adoration washed over him, but it found no place to settle.
Then, suddenly, the scene completely flipped.
Toram gasped in shock. The throne of the chariot was transforming. Like rust spreading in a fraction of a second, a golden hue swept over it, turning the seat into solid gold. At the exact same moment, the chests of the horses stopped heaving. The sweat on their flanks evaporated, turning into thin wisps of vapor.
*Crack! Cra-cra-crack!*
The distinct sound of matter freezing instantly. In a matter of seconds, warm flesh hardened. The wild eyes of the beasts transformed into cold, unblinking gemstones.
The breathing beasts, whose muscles had once been perpetually tensed as symbols of raw power, now stood frozen as lifeless statues.
Toram swallowed hard in shock. Her identity as a scientist—once tightly bound to physics, logic, and the immutable laws of thermodynamics—had long since drowned after witnessing the baffling nature of this world. In this realm, miracles were everyday occurrences. Even if it was impossible to comprehend, seeing was believing.
Saruel stepped down from the golden throne.
*Clang! Clang! Clang!*
The army struck their weapons against their shields. A single, unified metallic clash that pierced the air and continued to ring in the ears long after the sound had faded. With trembling legs, Toram hurried to follow him, taking her place on Saruel's right side. Standing in her ordinary clothes beside a god cloaked in lightning and iron, she felt completely naked and out of place.
Saruel placed his hand over his chest. Gravity surrendered. Thousands of winged warriors in the front rows floated about a meter into the air.
In perfect harmony, they flapped their massive wings—some white, some gray, and some as dark as a tempest. The air churned. It was a silent hymn of praise written in the wind; a breeze that cooled the sweat trickling down Toram's forehead.
Flapping his own wings, Qaduel landed smoothly on the ground before his king. The loyal soldier and the exhausted god locked eyes. Saruel reached out and placed his hand gently on Qaduel's shoulder.
For a fleeting second, the god vanished, and a man touching his brother appeared. A tiny spark of humanity flashing amidst overwhelming divine majesty.
Lowering his eyes, Qaduel's massive frame trembled slightly. He hesitated. "My Lord! All ten tribes..." Qaduel's voice cracked, breaking under the weight of an emotion that had no place on a battlefield. "...have fallen by the hand of Daruel. Both were found on their thrones, resurrected from death."
The silence that followed was heavier than the roar of the entire army. It pressed down upon the plaza, suffocating the joy of victory.
"I know. He needs them!"
Saruel's voice was not the booming thunder one would expect. It wasn't a triumphant roar, either. It was a dry, brittle whisper, like a dead leaf being crushed against a stone.
"Qaduel... take Dr. Toram. Show her to her resting quarters."
The mask of the invincible god cracked. Toram saw it. She was close enough to notice the minute trembling in his jaw. She watched as the light drained from his eyes, replaced by a dull, lifeless gray. Beneath the shining armor, the king was bleeding. Not blood, but his very spirit was bleeding out.
Concealing his face, Qaduel bowed low in respect. Saruel did not look back; he turned toward the inner sanctum of his palace, his sanctuary of solitude. But that agile, predator-like majesty was gone.
His steps dragged. The sound of his boot heels scraping against the stone was the sound of sheer exhaustion. His broad shoulders, which looked capable of carrying the sky itself, were slumped forward under an invisible weight.
Toram watched him until he was swallowed by the shadows of the grand archway and disappeared. The truth settled into her stomach like a cold stone. He was not a god reveling in glory; he was a king who had swallowed the bitter bile of defeat, forced to live while guarding a loss that was eating him alive from the inside out.
"Excuse me, Dr. Toram! Shall we go?"
Qaduel's gentle voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She looked up at the commander. She wanted to ask about the disaster she had caused, to express her deep remorse for everything. But the air was so thick with tension that it felt incredibly fragile.
As they walked toward her quarters, passing by images of victory that now felt like cruel mockeries, Toram's body moved forward, but her mind spun backward.
The choices she had made, the actions she took while blinded by her scientific arrogance, the fatal step she boldly took into matters she should never have dared to touch... The pieces of this puzzle came together to form a horrifying picture.
"This is all my fault. I shouldn't have worn the armor," she muttered.
Though her words could have easily been carried away by the wind and lost in the vastness of the palace, to her own ears, they were a thunderclap louder than the army's roar. Seeking comfort, she glanced at Qaduel. She desperately wished to hear him say, "No, Doctor, it is destiny"—any word that could absolve her of this crushing guilt.
But Qaduel said nothing. With his jaw clenched tight and his wings folded, he stared straight ahead. His silence was heavier than any accusation. It pressed against her chest, suffocating her. Her confessed repentance received no answer, hanging suspended in the air without forgiveness. In this magical realm of Rama, accompanied solely by her own guilt, she continued her journey in absolute silence.
To be continued…❤❤❤