Chapter 119 - The Capital’s Rust

The world outside the Ley-Line Skiff was a vertical smear of gray and emerald, but inside the hull, the atmosphere was as rigid as a military funeral. We were moving at a velocity that defied the physical limitations of wind and friction, propelled by the raw, surging current of the Kingdom's primary mana-veins. To a passenger, it felt like being trapped inside a giant, humming tuning fork. Every few minutes, a high-frequency shudder would ripple through the floorboards, the kind of vibration that could shake the teeth right out of a man's skull if he wasn't braced for it. I stayed on my knees in the cargo bay, my hands resting on the lead-shielded Siphon box, acting as the living bridge between the skiff's erratic engine and the Centurion's restless heart.