The Under-City of the Citadel was a subterranean nightmare—a sprawling, industrial gut of grinding gears, hissing pistons, and glowing mana-pipelines that fed the Archmage's insatiable ambitions. It was the dark, oily mirror to the elegant white spires above, a place where the air was thick with the scent of ozone, pressurized steam, and the heavy, metallic tang of raw, unrefined magic.
Kaelen stood on a narrow, suspended metal catwalk overlooking the Solaris Heart, the massive, crystalline reactor that served as the primary power source for the fortress's legendary defensive shields. His silver eyes were narrowed, reflecting the frantic, pulsing orange light of the massive machinery below. Beside him, Gwen's presence was a steady, radiating warmth, though she looked dangerously pale in the flickering, erratic shadows of the engine room.
