The clouds parted around Crater Island’s newly armored cliffs as the massive island rose through the second atmospheric layer.
Supported by ten miles of Star-Iron cable and towed by two hundred and twenty-two warships, the island climbed steadily toward the shadow of the Blood-Star Citadel. The ocean below had receded into a vast, curved expanse of indigo blue, dotted with the white specks of one million allied cultivators maintaining their defensive holding patterns.
The air at this altitude was thin, freezing, and charged with static electricity.
Frost coated the rigging of the vanguard dreadnoughts, and the sky above was no longer azure, but a deep, dark violet that revealed the cold glitter of distant stars. The celestial Star-Array loomed directly overhead, its three-hundred-mile white jade ring humming with terrifying, apocalyptic power.
Across the floating pontoon bridges, allied cultivators manned rows of heavy ballistas, looking up at the colossal fortress suspended in the void. They had climbed beyond the realm of mortal men, carried ten miles into the clouds by the sheer audacity of an old general and a boy who refused to spill his tea.
Down in the subterranean grotto of Crater Island, the silence was heavy, dense, and electric.
