The ship descended through Kaelos's smog-choked atmosphere.
The lower districts sprawled below; a maze of rusted spires, flickering neon lights, and shadowed alleys. No orbital control, No immigration questions. Gorvax piloted manually, weaving between the spires, avoiding patrol routes. His silence was heavier than usual.
Owen's CE core pulsed at 480. The ambient energy here was thick, almost oppressive. It pressed against his skin, seeped into his lungs. Different from Veridian Crossing. Denser and colder. He could feel the weight in every breath.
They landed on a decrepit pad, rusted metal groaned under the ship's weight. The ramp lowered. Then the smell hit immediately: industrial runoff, decay, and something faintly sweet, like rotting flowers.
