In the great circular bowl of the Tiered hall of Ten Thousand Souls, sixty arm-lengths above the Great Silt Plaza, the young fighters of the refugee sects had gathered in confusion and despair.
For two ages, these young men and women had been trained in the classical star-arts of the pre-flood heavens. They had learned by heart the twenty-eight lunar mansions, the seasonal transits of the Azure Dragon. The retrograde loops of the Five Wandering Sovereigns, believing that the stars were eternal sky anchors that governed destiny, training breakthrough, and the flow of spirit-qi. In their sects, to lose sight of the pole-star was considered the ultimate spiritual curse. An affliction that caused spirit veins to invert and spiritual cores to shatter. But when the universal deluge had dissolved the high sky, the sky had turned to pitch-black salt water. Their spiritual compasses had spun wildly, their astrological magic charms had cracked in their palms, and many had fallen into spiritual dizziness, believing that the universe had lost its mind.
Now, as the amber soft glow of the ten thousand statues lit up the tiered arena’s stepped tiers, a tall, slender spirit in dark blue robes stepped onto the central orchestra floor.
