"Zerathion" was not merely a city; it was a colossal corpse that breathed.
A city built upon the bones of previous civilizations, where gothic skyscrapers rose like accusing fingers toward a sky that never ceased bleeding.
On this night, the rain was not water, but a black mixture of soot from magical factories, ashes of burned spells, and the tears of a working class crushed daily beneath the feet of nobles.
The rain battered the giant glass windows of the seventy-seventh floor of "Edge Tower," an impregnable fortress literally floating above the city's black clouds, isolated from the filth of the streets.
This floor was not meant for offices or parties.
It was one massive vault, designed with magical engineering that defied reason.
The walls were not stone, but compressed slabs of "Aetherial Quartz," a material capable of absorbing the impact of a meteor.
The very air in this room was sterile and stripped of moisture, calibrated precisely to preserve the artifacts.
