Chapter 18 · The Anchor Hunt

The black city rose beneath the storm like a dead thing remembering how to breathe.

Kellan felt it before he saw it. A pressure gathered behind his eyes, deep and cold, as if invisible fingers were searching through the rooms of his skull. The bridge lights flickered. Every loose tool on the deck trembled against the metal floor.

Then the city broke the surface.

Black towers emerged through the boiling clouds, their sides slick with gas and rain. Concentric walls unfolded around a central structure shaped like a crown turned upside down. Lightning crawled across its points without striking them. The entire city rotated beneath the storm, impossibly slow, dragging rivers of vapor into a spiral.

Across every open channel, the same voice spoke.

“Commander Vey. Return to the throne.”

Kellan’s hand tightened around the edge of the tactical console. His knuckles went pale.

“Shut it out,” Sable said.

“I’m trying.”

The bridge windows filled with symbols. Not Crown glyphs. Not any language Kellan recognized. They moved like nerves beneath translucent skin, linking the city to the Gray Ring lattice surrounding the six settlements.

Brom’s voice burst through the comm. “Kellan, tell me you’re seeing that nightmare.”

“Seeing it.”

“Good.