Kyle and Mongrel descended gradually down the cliffside, flanked by a massive, brass-toned metal construct that utilized a complex arrangement of interlocking gears and pulsing azure runes to ferry them safely. The sheer engineering was a marvel of the age; it hummed with a resonant frequency that Kyle felt in his very marrow, a stark contrast to the primitive, clunky lift-mechanisms he had seen in the capital.
They touched down on a circular platform etched directly into the cliff's base. Rows of soldiers in gleaming silver armor stood in perfect formation, their discipline as cold and sharp as their blades. Those bearing swords bowed in unison, while the spearmen snapped to a rigid, rhythmic salute as the pair passed, a display of martial elegance that seemed born of a lost era.
At the head of the line stood a woman whose armor was a masterpiece of lethal artistry—a three-piece interlocking suit of articulated silver plates. Twin blades, balanced to a hair's breadth, rested at her waist. She removed her helmet, handing it to a subordinate with a fluid, practiced motion. Her ebony skin was striking against the pristine ivory floor of the platform, and as she tucked a stray lock of black hair behind her ear, her gaze shifted to Kyle, who remained rooted to the spot, his mind reeling from the architectural impossibility of the city before him.
"Welcome, Honoured One. It is a privilege to meet you in person," she said.
Kyle felt a wave of internal turbulence. He stared at her, struck by the dissonance of her appearance—she shared his youth, yet her eyes possessed the weary, tempered hardness of a veteran who had seen too many battlefields. He felt painfully out of his depth, a sense of alienation gnawing at him as he realized just how sheltered his life in the capital had truly been.
"Do not trouble our guest, Azula," Mongrel said, waving her off with a flick of his wrist.
"Yes, my Lord," Azula responded. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping onto a nearby metal construct. It hovered effortlessly above the ground, supported by two humming, counter-rotating circular disks.
Kyle watched her glide away, his eyes wide with genuine shock. Unlike the capital, which relied on brute force and stagnant traditions, this city was a breathtaking synthesis of raw mana and advanced metallurgy. It was a place where mechanisms were not merely tools, but extensions of reality itself, capable of feats that challenged everything Kyle thought he understood about the world. He felt small, untethered, and more anxious than he had ever been—a boy standing on the edge of a future that he wasn't yet prepared to grasp.
As they moved deeper into the city, however, his awe evaporated, replaced by a cold, searing rage that threatened to boil his very blood. He realized these were demi-humans. Of all the abominations to inhabit such a marvel of engineering, why was it these vile creatures?
To Kyle, they were nothing more than a stain on the world—the living extensions of the same filth that had tried to tear his existence apart. Seeing them cheer as they passed only fueled the fire in his gut. Mongrel better have a damned good explanation for why he was harboring the very plague that had once tried to destroy everything Kyle held dear.
As the streets grew increasingly congested, their progress slowed to a suffocating crawl. Kyle's patience fractured. With a sharp inhale, he recalled Vaygar back into his core, his body erupting into motion as he took to the skies, leaving Mongrel to navigate the press of bodies alone.
He flew straight toward the tower, his mind screaming for clarity, only for his composure to shatter upon landing on the obsidian stairs.
Standing at the very top of the steps, looking down at him with an expression of pure, unfiltered disdain, was Mongrel.
*How?* Kyle's heart hammered against his ribs. *He was just down there...*
"You lack patience just like him," Mongrel said, his voice dripping with a mix of disgust and cold recognition as he watched Kyle struggle to process the impossible sight before him.