The iron hull groaned as fourteen Star-Iron warships glided into the narrow sea canyon.
On both sides of the channel, sheer limestone cliffs soared two thousand feet into the purple sky. The stone was not bare rock. Every square yard of the towering gorge was carved with ancient, glowing inscriptions.
Ten thousand ancient murals swirled with blinding spiritual light. There were sword-strokes that cleaved clouds, cauldron diagrams swirling with celestial fire, and palm prints that rippled with gravitational law.
For thousands of years, founders and sovereign elders of the Sanctuaries had journeyed here to carve their ultimate enlightenment into the stone. Any ordinary cultivator who entered the canyon fell into an immediate, involuntary trance.
Their dantians would hum, their spiritual sea would expand, and they would spend days contemplating the Dao.
To any ambitious disciple, the canyon was a sacred paradise.
To Kaelen Vance, it was a lethal biological hazard.
“Seal the cabin shutters,” Kaelen said from the center of the array room. “Do not leave a single crack. If a stray ray of Dao intent hits my forehead, I will have someone’s head on a pike.”
