The Grand Central Colosseum of the Seven Sects didn’t rest upon terrestrial earth.
It hung suspended over the Abyssal Rift of Mount Taiyi, held aloft in the freezing mountain gales by seven titanic star-iron chains. Each link of those ancient chains was thicker than the trunk of an ancient thousand-year cedar, forged during the mythological Precursor era from black star-fallen iron and inlaid with silver steadying runes. Below the arena floor, a bottomless drop plunged three thousand leagues into unending purple mist, where howling updrafts whistled through the jagged teeth of the deep gap.
Lin Tao stood at the edge of the northern mooring terrace, his charcoal traveling cloak snapping wildly in the alpine wind.
Beside him, Tie Shan stood like an unbending castle wall of dark bronze. The twelve-pound cold-drawn iron pry-bar slung across his muscular back caught the cold glare of the dawn sun. His triple-soled iron-shod boots were planted firmly into the diamond-faced paving stones of the terrace, fully calm by the swaying of the mid-air bridges.
Behind them, the traveling contingent of the Azure Cloud Sect huddled together in worry. Disciplinary Elder Song was pale. His manicured hands grabbed a stack of registration scrolls to his chest as his eyes darted nervously over the yawning deep gap below.
