The indigo sky of New Astora was quiet, but the air felt thin, like a lung struggling to draw breath. Kaelen stood at the edge of the Spire's precipice, the [Debtor's Key] resting in his palm. It was cold—not the chill of ice, but the cold of a grave. Every time he gripped the rusted iron, he heard whispers: a billion voices digitized, compressed, and filed away into the "Loss" column of the Aethelgard Corporation.
[STATUS: NULL-SOVEREIGN]
[LEVEL: 48]
[HP: 450/450]
[MP: 750/750]
[ITEM: THE DEBTOR'S KEY (ACTIVE)]
"The Board isn't attacking," Kyra said, her silhouette leaning against a jagged obsidian pillar behind him. She was cleaning a fresh notch in her khukuri. "They've pulled the golden eyes back. It's too quiet, Kaelen. It feels like they're holding their breath."
