"The gravity constantly redirects itself across these structures." Torix anchored his bladed legs into the stone to stabilize his massive frame.
"The magical output required to sustain this dimension is completely beyond a mortal king," Syra muttered.
Iron-Scale drew his star-iron daggers to inspect the closest drifting corpse. The lifeless face bore the sunken features of a drained battery. "Aethelgard harvests their own people to fuel these engines."
Syra crouched near a fragmented staircase leading sideways into a floating library. She pointed her shadow blade at a massive concentration of violet crystals pulsing in the far distance. The chaotic geometry spiraled inward toward that central point.
"The core operates from that junction." Syra traced the shifting architecture with her free hand. "The structural layout converges around it."
"We swing across the debris." Iron-Scale fired his clockwork grappling spools into a passing upside-down corridor.
