The sky of Veltraza was gold.
Not sunlight—gas. A thick auric mist blanketing the upper layers of the atmosphere, making everything beneath shimmer like it was dipped in honey. But beneath that beauty, the ground cracked. Trees twisted with obsidian bark reached for a sky that never rained, and the people—those who still lived—walked in silence, eyes hollow, their gods long dead.
A sudden ripple cut through the air.
No portal. No light.
Just pressure.
A single point in the sky darkened, and then—
Jordan descended.
Just him, falling like a judgment written in flesh.
His feet touched the scorched stone in the center of Veltraza's capital—Ar'Suin—and the ground splintered. A shockwave rolled out across the empty city, toppling weakened spires and setting off dormant alarms. Somewhere, a monk watching from a high temple dropped his incense and ran.
Jordan looked up.
Three suns loomed overhead. He blinked once, and all three dimmed slightly.
He raised his hand.
