Vlad could not help but reflect on the journey through the stronghold of the Faerathia Empire within the Dark Land. The fortress was, undeniably, magnificent, grand spires carved from glowing crystal, streams of light flowing through intricate runic veins, and shimmering domes that painted the air in colors unseen in any other world.
It was impressive, yes— impressive and utterly wasteful.
There was enough divine energy and precious material in those walls to build a hundred fortifications or forge ten thousand weapons. This was, after all, a Doomsday World—a place where existence itself trembled under the weight of eternal war. Yet the Faelaras had filled it with glittering fountains and celestial murals, as though trying to make a dying world forget its own decay.
