The Silver-Wing was no longer a ship of the sky; it was becoming a submarine of the mist.
To reach the Sunken Cathedral of Oryn, they had to cross the "Event Horizon" of the world—the point where the breathable air ended and the Miasma began. Jax and Elian had spent the last forty-eight hours in the hull's belly, sealing every seam with a mixture of lead-paste and liquid Aether.
"One leak," Jax warned, his voice muffled by a heavy breather. "Just one pinprick of that purple rot gets inside, and we don't just die. We melt. The Miasma doesn't just poison you; it uncomfortably reminds your molecules that they don't have to stay together."
Kaelen stood at the center of the deck, his hand resting on the new Null-Iron railing. He felt brittle. The "Void-Scar" on his chest—a jagged, sunken mark where the star-shard sat—burned with a cold, white light.
"Lyra," Kaelen called out. "Status?"
"We're at the edge," Lyra replied. She was strapped into the pilot's chair with leather harnesses. She wasn't using the wheel anymore; she was holding two copper "Leaden-Wires" that went straight into the ship's sensory array. "The wind is dying. The density is shifting from gas to liquid. Kaelen... I can't 'hear' the horizon anymore. It's all just... thrumming."
"Nova," Kaelen looked at the girl. She was standing at the very tip of the bowsprit, her silver skin glowing with a protective aura. "Are we ready?"
"The Cathedral is waiting," Nova said. "It has been beneath the weight for three hundred years. It is lonely."
"Take us down," Kaelen ordered.
The Silver-Wing tilted its nose. As they crossed the threshold, the world turned purple.
The transition was violent. The ship groaned under the sudden, massive increase in external pressure. The light of the sun vanished, replaced by the bioluminescent glow of the Miasma—clouds of neon-violet bacteria that pulsed like a heartbeat.
"Hull integrity at 80%!" Elian shouted from the voice-pipe. "The lead-paste is bubbling!"
"Hold it together, boy!" Jax's voice echoed back.
Suddenly, a massive shape loomed out of the fog. It wasn't a ship. It was a spire, made of white marble and gold, but encrusted with jagged, black salt. Then another appeared. And another.
They were flying through the tops of a drowned city.
"Oryn," Nova whispered. "The City of the First Breath."
In the center of the ruins sat the Sunken Cathedral. It was a colossal structure, a dome of stained glass that should have shattered under the pressure centuries ago. Instead, it was held together by a shimmering field of ancient Aether.
"There's a landing bay at the base of the main bell tower," Lyra directed, her voice strained as she fought the thick, syrupy currents of the Miasma. "But Kaelen... something is moving down there. Something big."
A massive shadow detached itself from the side of the Cathedral. It looked like a serpent, but it was made of rusted iron and glowing purple veins. A Miasma-Wraith—a guardian-construct left behind by the Old World, corrupted by centuries of toxic exposure.
"Jax! Get to the harpoons!" Kaelen commanded. "Nova, keep the hull sealed! I'm going out."
"Out?!" Lyra screamed. "You'll dissolve!"
"Not if I don't let the Miasma touch me," Kaelen said.
He activated his Void-Core. Instead of erasing friction, he pushed his power outward, creating a skin-tight vacuum around his body—a "Void-Suit."
He leapt from the deck.
In the thick Miasma, he didn't fall; he swam. He moved through the violet soup like a shadow, his glass hilt igniting into a blade of pure, terrifying silence.
The iron serpent lunged, its maw opening to reveal a furnace of purple fire. Kaelen spun in the liquid air, his blade trailing a wake of "nothingness."
"Void-Style: Deep-Sea Slash!"
He didn't cut the metal; he erased the pressure holding the serpent together. In the high-pressure environment of the Deep Miasma, the vacuum Kaelen created acted like an explosive decompression. The serpent's head didn't just break; it detonated outward as its internal structures expanded into Kaelen's void-wake.
Kaelen landed on the Cathedral's balcony, gasping for air inside his thin vacuum-bubble.
"The door!" he signaled to the Silver-Wing.
The ship banked hard, its harpoons firing into the stone to anchor itself. The air-lock hissed open, and the crew scrambled onto the balcony. Nova stepped forward and touched the ancient bronze doors of the Cathedral.
The gold runes on the door flared to life, recognizing her touch.
"Welcome home, Heart of the Engine," a voice boomed from within the stone.
The doors swung open, revealing a sight that took their breath away. Inside the Cathedral, there was no Miasma. The air was clear, sweet, and smelled of mountain pine. In the center of the hall stood the First Valve—a golden machine the size of a house, covered in ticking gears and glowing lenses.
But standing in front of the Valve was someone they didn't expect.
It was a man in a tattered Consensus uniform, his hair white, his eyes glowing with a familiar mercury light.
"I knew you'd come eventually," the man said, a sad smile on his face. "But I'm afraid the Valve is stuck. And it requires a sacrifice to turn."
Kaelen stepped forward, his sword still humming. "Who are you?"
The man looked at Nova, then at Kaelen. "I was the Captain of the Silver-Wing before Lyra. And I'm the reason this world is still standing. My name is Silas Vane. Your father, Kaelen."