The Hanging Gardens of Elysium were beautiful, but entirely sterile.
The silver flora did not smell of dirt or rain. It smelled of polished marble. The air was comfortably warm, but it lacked the chaotic, vibrant energy of the mortal plane.
Everything here was designed for absolute, unchanging perfection.
A massive, pristine white marble statue of an Archangel stood near the center of the garden. It was currently missing its head, having been clipped by a stray sniper round during the brief skirmish.
Lyra sat on a smooth stone bench beneath the ruined statue.
The Dawn Saintess had removed her silver helmet. Her blonde hair fell loosely over her shoulders. She stared at the decapitated statue, her dual-toned eyes, blinding white fading into pitch black completely unreadable.
Her six massive wings of holy fire and dark matter were folded tightly, resting heavily on the immaculate grass.
