The wind howled low across the Black Desert, dragging waves of black sand like ink seeping through the veins of a dying world.
The Sundered Spire loomed ahead.
Suspended in midair like a monument defying gravity, it hung slanted—tilted slightly forward—half-ruined, half-intact, casting a monstrous shadow on the dunes below. Thick metallic ribs wrapped its jagged stone foundation, remnants of ancient reinforcement now corroded and gleaming faintly under the darkened sky. Several loose chains dangled beneath it, swaying with a slow, mocking rhythm, as though the structure had once been tethered—and someone had severed it mid-ascension.
Auren stared, unmoving. Then he muttered:
"It's not floating."
Jasper blinked.
"Huh?"
"It's being held. Look—there."
Auren pointed at a network of barely visible threads glimmering like starlight against the dark clouds. They weren't natural.
"No Temple just floats on a whim."
