Aegir trudged along the paved circulatory highway leading into Bastion while clutching a coral tribute chest against his torso.
The Lord of the Abyssal Trenches sneered at the smog billowing from the towering thermal chimneys. Ignis-Vael and Skysu walked beside him carrying their own ornate offerings. The Weaver of Tides guided the procession through the industrial labyrinth of the capital.
They passed mechanized foundries where Ash-Kin engineers poured molten slag into automated conveyors. The pristine natural domains of the ancient deities felt leagues away from this mechanized nightmare.
"This city reeks of burnt fuel and soot," Ignis-Vael muttered while brushing a flake of ash from his magma-draped shoulders. "The Sovereign treats his capital like a factory floor."
"Keep your complaints quiet," the Weaver of Tides whispered nervously. "The walls possess ears, and the Sovereign punishes disrespect without hesitation."
