The violet glass ramparts of the Obsidian Peak were no longer solid ground; they
were a crystalline sea of frozen mirrors, reflecting a sky that had forgotten
the meaning of the sun. The air was a razor-edged mist of pulverized diamonds
and ancient regret, catching in the lungs like needles. Every step I took toward
the highest parapet sent a rhythmic, harmonic vibration through the soles of my
boots, a chime that signaled the world was being rewritten to accommodate a King
who did not believe in the "Unwanted."
High above, the mechanical heart made of bone and violet glass continued its
rhythmic, industrial thumping. Thrum-clack. Thrum-clack. It was the heartbeat of
the Inversion, fueled by my son's life-force, and with every beat, a wave of
"Order" swept across the tundra, turning the chaotic beauty of our freedom into
the rigid, grey perfection of the Old Law.
I stood at the base of the Great Staircase, my starlight wings shimmering but
