Shadow Over the Heavenly Throne

Morning in Letharis heralded a day full of light and harmony. The city awakened slowly, yet with dignity—as if every stone and every gate held its own place and rhythm. Sylphia walked alongside her mother, captivated by the shimmering alleys that seemed to lead them not merely through space, but through a living story.

The white tiles paving the streets shimmered with a gentle glow. Every few steps, they shifted hue, reacting subtly to the presence of passersby. Above the rooftops, intricate protective formations pulsed like living structures. Children laughed as they ran between fountains, splashing water that glowed briefly with each touch—as if responding to their joy.

Sylphia tilted her head upward to observe the trade ships gliding through the air. They were sleek and elegant, their sails woven from transparent silk. They moved silently among the towers of the city, docking at aerial piers suspended on green jade frameworks.

Statues stood at street corners—some of spiritual beasts, others of cultivator women in ceremonial poses. Their eyes seemed to follow passersby, though not in an unsettling way. Sylphia felt watched, but with a sense of gentle care.

"This city feels alive," she whispered.

Veynessa glanced sideways at her and gave a faint nod. This time, no words were needed.

Stalls lined the main square. There was no shouting, no chaos—vendors stood in silence, their wares speaking for themselves. Spiritual stones, miniature formations, enchanted fans, and herbs radiating lightness were all arranged with pedantic precision.

Między alejkami przemykali kultywatorzy o różnych poziomach – niektórzy ubrani w ceremonialne szaty, inni w proste tuniki, ale każdy z nich miał w sobie pewien spokój i skupienie, jakby Letharis narzucało im swój rytm.

Sylphia paused at one stand where tiny, glowing seeds lay on a low tray. Her eyes widened with curiosity.

"Are these... cultivation tools?" she asked with childlike wonder.

Veynessa nodded.

"Yes. Letharis is a city of cultivators. Each of these items has its purpose. Once we finish our goal here, I'll explain cultivation and how it works in this world. For now..." Veynessa smiled gently. "Just let yourself enjoy the beauty."

Sylphia looked back up at the floating trade ships.

"They really fly...?" she murmured, still in disbelief.

Veynessa chuckled softly, realizing her daughter hadn't fully grasped where they were. She took Sylphia's hand and led her to a small viewing platform at the courtyard's edge. There, beyond the protective barrier, stretched not a horizon—but clouds.

The city floated in the sky. All of Letharis drifted above valleys, supported by vast formations and spiritual circles embedded deep within the stone core of its foundations.

Sylphia froze. Her eyes widened, her lips parting slightly.

"We... we're in the air?" she asked in awe.

Veynessa leaned closer and smiled.

"Yes. This place... this entire city... floats," she said softly, watching her daughter's expression. Sylphia stood still, scanning the clouds below her feet, the towers behind her, and then back to the clouds.

Sylphia cofnęła się o krok, jakby nie ufała już samej ziemi pod stopami. Wpatrywała się w przestrzeń pod sobą z mieszaniną lęku i fascynacji. Serce biło jej szybciej, a dłoń matki zdawała się jedyną rzeczą, która trzymała ją jeszcze w tej rzeczywistości. — Ale... czy to nie spadnie? — zapytała cicho, jakby wypowiedzenie tych słów mogło zakłócić harmonię, która utrzymywała miasto w powietrzu. Veynessa pokręciła głową. — Te formacje są starsze niż większość królestw. To magia stabilniejsza niż fundamenty niejednego pałacu. Możesz im zaufać.

"A floating city..." she whispered. "Is that really possible?"

Veynessa observed her for a moment, then smiled warmly.

"I know a great viewing spot," she said gently. "Come. Let me show you more. Maybe then, you'll truly feel how extraordinary this world is."

They reached a hill overlooking the entire city. Letharis appeared like a spiral of light and stone, its central tower immersed in a web of spiritual energy lines. Overhead, spirit birds formed from pure Qi glided peacefully above.

Sylphia sat on a marble bench, eyes wide as she took in the view. She didn't need to speak. Her silence carried all the awe words could not.

Veynessa glanced at her.

"Do you like it?" she asked softly.

Sylphia only nodded, smiling faintly as if afraid even a grin could shatter the moment.

"Now, remember Kiran City," her mother said, looking ahead. "It's a poor city. Do you recall how it looked?"

Sylphia nodded.

"Which one seems better to live in?"

The girl looked at her in surprise, as if the question was rhetorical.

"Well... this one," she replied, gesturing toward Letharis with her chin.

Veynessa smiled gently, but there was a seriousness in her eyes.

"That's an important lesson," she said. "Never judge something only by its appearance. Just because something is beautiful... doesn't mean it's better."

Sylphia remained quiet, gazing at the golden domes and spirit birds.

"We'll stay here a few more hours," Veynessa added. "During that time, watch the people. Observe this beautiful city. Maybe... you'll find something valuable when you compare it to what you saw in Kiran."

***

At the same time, in the royal castle, Kaelron stared at a letter spread open on the table. Aldrich's seal was intact, the ink fresh, the handwriting so familiar it didn't need a signature.

The report was precise: "Veynessa encountered an advanced ritual executed by a minor cult. Highest recorded enemy level: Stage 5. Despite that, they possessed complex teleportation formations and a self-detonation system capable of harming a Stage 7 cultivator. During intervention, Veynessa witnessed ritual scenes: children nailed to crosses, hearts removed, and their eyes placed on their foreheads, forming symbols of unknown origin."

Kaelron narrowed his eyes.

"Third time in the last few months... and still no real leads," he muttered, scoffing with frustration and pushing the report aside.

"They're getting bolder," he growled. "They used to kill adults. Now they take children..."

He paced slowly along a map. Several red markers pulsed across different points of the continent.

"If they're using children in rituals now, it means they're in a hurry. These minor sects are just pawns, and then... boom. Detonation."

He stopped and stared at the map.

"Why do they need such bloody rituals?" he muttered. "What are they trying to achieve?"

He leaned on the table, eyes flicking between locations. The spread was wide, the sites seemingly random: mountain villages, ruined temples, uninhabited ruins.

"Random... or perfectly masked," he added through gritted teeth.

Grabbing his hair, he ran a hand over his face.

"Unknown ritual. They use cults as tools. Then everything explodes. No corpses, no signs, no trails."

He looked back at the report.

"I don't know exactly what it means... but I have a very bad feeling about it."

He sighed heavily.

"Time to speak to Aldrich directly," he muttered. "It's time to take this seriously. We can't afford to keep ignoring the threat that's emerging."

***

Snow had fallen for two weeks straight, yet the cobblestone courtyard of the Frozen Empress Sect remained flawlessly clean. Not because anyone swept it—but because the ice itself acknowledged the Sect's authority. There are places built upon power. And then there are those that power builds itself. The Palace of the Frostbound Soul was one of the latter.

Yet those expecting coldness and aloof pride were often surprised. Beneath its frosty exterior lived a community—sisterly, vibrant, full of warmth. Masters paused to fix a novice's braid. Elder alchemists told stories to young acolytes during late-night brews. Even the most powerful Snow Priestesses smiled at the gardeners tending to frozen lotuses in morning silence.

In the quiet novice wing, where each chamber smelled faintly of white juniper incense, a girl slept—curled in a blanket, head resting on folded hands. Yareen. Nineteen years old, a mid-level disciple specializing in Qi harmonization rituals. She wasn't the strongest. Nor the fastest. But she had endurance. And a wound she'd carried since the day her older sister never returned from the Entry Ritual.

When the spiritual bell rang gently, she didn't stir in fright. Her eyes opened as if she'd been waiting for it all night. She sighed softly, a misty breath escaping her lips, and sat up. Her gaze held no coldness—only kindness, mingled with quiet fatigue.

The door slid open without a sound.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," came a melodic voice. Sael, a senior disciple, entered with a smile. "Mistress Kaelis is calling for you."

"Now?" Yareen frowned. "Did I do something wrong?"

Sael shrugged, hands spread in helpless amusement.

"No idea. I'm just the messenger."

Yareen didn't ask further. She knew that questions were like frost—best released only when ready for the answer.

She dressed quickly. Her robe, in muted blue, was soft and light, embroidered with delicate silver patterns—the symbol of the Frozen Empress Sect.

The halls they walked through were alive with morning bustle. Disciples chatted over tea, two alchemists laughed beside a vat of Qi-mushrooms, and from a distance, a melody rang out—a priestess practicing spiritual prayers to the rhythm of the Ice Gong.

Only the Ritual Hall remained silent.

As its doors opened without a word, Sael bowed slightly, gave Yareen a quick wink and turned back, leaving her alone.

Yareen took a deep breath and stepped across the threshold of the Ritual Hall.