The sky didn't look like it was going to make things easy.
I stood on the marble steps of the Council Hall, my neck craned back so far it was starting to ache. Above the morning haze of Silver-Port, the clouds weren't just clouds. One particular mass, thick and grey, gave a distinct, rhythmic flicker, like a dying lightbulb. Every time the "haze" glitched, the jagged, obsidian underside of a massive fortress peeked through. It was upside down, clinging to the underside of a floating island as if gravity were merely a suggestion it had chosen to ignore.
"Ren, you're staring. It's creepy," Red said, wiping a smear of Wyvern soot off her cheek with the back of her hand. She followed my gaze, her eyes narrowing. "So, the Weaver thinks we're just going to hop up there? It's at least three thousand feet up. I don't do heights. I barely do ladders."
