Kaelen took another slow sip from his porcelain cup.
The steam curled gently over his collarbones, carrying the sweet scent of dried honey-peaches.
Across the silver surface of the Heaven-Step Gate mirror, the imperial capital was drowning in noise. Sirens shrieked from the bronze watchtowers. War drums pounded with frantic, uneven rhythms. Through the shimmering glass, Princess Valeria looked like a ghost wrapped in gold armor.
“Kaelen, speak to me,” Valeria pleaded, leaning closer to the viewing lens. “The skies are splitting. Every sect elder in the city is trying to channel their supreme arts. If we do not counter the vortices now, the lower districts will collapse before sundown.”
Kaelen set his teacup down on a flat iron crate.
He tightened the sash of his loose hemp robe. It was comfortably soft, frayed at the elbows, and completely unsuited for cosmic warfare.
“Hand me the primary broadcast rune, Linnea,” Kaelen said.
Linnea blinked, her silver-ringed fingers hovering over the portable transmission altar. “The universal link? Lord Vance, that will beam your voice directly into every temple, war camp, and municipal square across all six stages.”
