The penthouse suite of the Sovereign National Bank was a safe zone suspended in the middle of a dying world.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the wasteland of Sovereign City was locked in a constant state of ruin. Ash fell like snow, coating the broken skyscrapers.
But inside the ten-block radius of the White City, the world was perfectly fine. The hexagonal dome projected by the Chronos Hourglass released a quiet energy that kept the horrors of the Galactic Arena at bay.
Inside the luxurious living room, the atmosphere was surprisingly relaxed.
Hana Ryker sat cross-legged on a velvet sofa. Her dark brown hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders and the Sun-Silk Aegis draped over her back released a faint warmth.
She was happily tapping away at a holographic datapad, managing the network of the five thousand refugees sheltering in the lower levels of the bank.
