The lip of the Continental Rift didn’t end in a cliff edge. It ended in an explosion of green.
Lin Tao hauled himself over the final limestone ledge, placed his boots firmly on level soil, and stood upright.
The morning sun struck his eyes like a golden hammer. After weeks spent in the underground gloom of the Precursor core—where the only light came from the cold, sapphire glow of green jade register columns and the angry crimson of corrupted bus traces—the raw sunlight was blinding, warm, and astonishingly intense. Lin Tao closed his eyes, raised his linen-wrapped hands to shield his face. Then he let the surrounding heat soak into his skin. The air up here had an electric freshness. It carried the damp, sweet perfume of crushed grasses, blooming mountain plums, and wild mountain sage.
A heavy hand gripped his forearm.
Tie Shan pulled himself over the rim with a single grunt of hard effort, his iron-toed boots digging into rich, damp black loam. The giant stood beside Lin Tao, blinking against the bright glare of the morning sky, his chest heaving with deep, slow breaths as he let the warmth of the sun bake the cold mountain mist from his broad shoulders.
