The sky above the Frozen Barrens did not possess the grace of a horizon. It was
a jagged, unfinished edge of white-hot static and charcoal clouds, looking as
though the Great Architect had grown weary of the design and simply left the
canvas exposed to the elements of the Void. As the Pearl-Sovereign descended
through the final layer of the Aether, the transition was not a smooth glide but
a violent, rattling descent into a realm that predated the concept of "home."
The air here was thin, biting, and tasted of ancient lead and unrefined
starlight. Below us, the Barrens stretched out in an infinite, undulating desert
of white salt and black bone. There were no trees, no rivers, no Dawn-Lilies.
This was the "Old World," the prototype that the Moon Goddess had abandoned when
she fled Erebos's embrace. Massive, skeletal structures—ribcages the size of
mountains and skulls that could house cities—rose from the salt, the remains of
