The transition from the incandescent, pressurized furnace of the Earth's core to
the surface world was a violent decompression of both metal and soul. The Iron
Sovereign, its Living Silver hull now scarred by the white-fire magma of Ignis's
sanctum, breached the waters of the Western Sea with the force of a rising
leviathan. Geysers of superheated steam hissed into the cooling evening air,
creating a fog so dense it blotted out the stars.
I stood on the bridge, gripping the guardrail with hands that still hummed with
the vibration of the planet's heartbeat. My skin, once ivory, then bronze, had
settled into a shimmering, pearlescent ivory, but the red-gold tattoos of the
runes remained active, swirling beneath my flesh like liquid ink. I looked down
at my left palm. The mark of the Broken Hourglass was no longer a faint etching;
it was a rhythmic, golden wound. Every pulse of the mark sent a shudder through
the ship's silver-iron core.
Time was leaking.
