Fang Hong walked to the bow and looked down. The fish-shaped hull of the airship was slowly parting the clouds. Flying clouds streamed away, and beneath the gaps in the cloud layer a stretch of charred land was revealed, the city's broken walls and ruined remnants like silent embers, scattered in fragments across the vast desolation.
At the edge of his vision, to the north he could still vaguely make out the outline of city walls, sketching the shape of this town that had once held nearly two hundred thousand people, and the lost prosperity now buried beneath the ruins.
The sky in the north hung dark and oppressive, foretelling an oncoming storm that might bring the whole of a bitter winter and blizzards, covering all unrest beneath endless deep snow.
There were faint black dots moving on the ground, probably people. Silver Forest Spear had a garrison somewhere nearby; Fang Hong didn't know if it was them.
