A gentle golden radiance began bleeding through the turquoise waters of Void Lotus harbor on the morning of the fortieth day.
It was not sunlight reflecting off the swells. It was a dense bloom of spiritual light rising from the undersea roots of the dual Spirit Vein.
Across three square leagues of open water, phantom golden lotuses the size of carriage wheels unfolded their petals against the tide. Each flower radiated a pure fragrance of chilled mountain water and toasted tea, neutralizing the salty tang of the ocean breeze.
Down in the harbor basin, the sea began to churn with enormous swells.
Elder Sterling leaned over the harbor watchtower rail, his hand resting on the hilt of his broadsword. Beside him, Princess Valeria lowered her brass spyglass, her dark eyes wide with shock behind her visor.
Twelve colossal shapes were rising from the ocean abyss.
They were Saint-Grade Spirit-Whales, ancient leviathans whose barnacled backs measured three hundred paces from snout to fluke. Their smooth, slate-blue hides were etched with luminescent jade constellations dating back to the primordial era of the archipelago.
Normally, a single Spirit-Whale was wild and fiercely dangerous. A rogue bull could drag an armored war galleon down into the trenches with one flick of its fluke.
