Zephyr floated in the boundless architecture of the divine space. Below him, the Sovereign Imperium expanded in a massive, sprawling network of brilliant gold and stark geometric lines.
The grid was no longer simple. It had evolved far beyond the glowing lattice of the early years into a complex, three-dimensional topography of faith, industry, and population density. Rail lines pulsed like silver veins. They grew thick at the central hubs before thinning toward the frozen north. Meanwhile, the telegraph wires formed a constant, frantic hum of raw data—a relentless sub-layer of white noise that Zephyr had long ago learned to tune out.
Twenty-five million believers. A hundred and twenty active grids. Over three million Faith Points generated daily.
He had built an empire.
And right now, that empire was bleeding to death.
