Chapter 6: The mountain of Thrones
The city of Izerra rose like a crown carved into the spine of the world
Built into the jagged cliffs of the Tyrant’s Teeth mountain range, its obsidian walls shimmered under sunlight, and its gates forged from aura-infused steel only opened once a year, during the High Convergence.
But today, they opened for one.
Thalen stood at the threshold, cloaked against the snow, sword on his back, aura buried deep in his bones.
He had no escort, only a letter bearing the seal of the Tyrant Throne.
At his side, a raven perched silent, black as shadow. It had met him two days ago in the forest pass and had followed without a sound.
He suspected it was no ordinary bird.
A City Without Equals
The moment he entered Izerra, he felt it.
Pressure.
Not from the guards lining the walls or the distant buzz of market life, but from the land itself. Every stone was woven with aura, every lantern thrummed faintly with stored energy. The people walked with reverence. They bowed not to nobles or priests but to the palace carved into the mountain’s heart.