The sun did not grace the morning of the descent. A heavy, iron-grey mist smothered the spires of Zenith, making the floating island feel smaller and more isolated from the world below. It was a thick, suffocating blanket that smelled of ozone and wet slate. It clung to the polished marble of the assembly plaza like a funeral shroud.
Vane stood at the edge of the square. The silence of his squad was a sharp contrast to the frantic whispering of the other students. The transition from the warmth and spice of Villa 3 to this cold, mechanical reality was jarring. He could still feel the phantom heat of the spiced egg curry on his tongue. It was a final reminder of the luxury he was about to leave behind for the dark.
