The first light of dawn seeped through the upper panels of the Horizon Spire, painting the vast skyline in shifting shades of gold and amber. Lin Feng stood silently at the apex of the tower, where polished glass met open air. The world below still slumbered, its sectors flickering to life in staggered rhythms—each burst of light marking the revival of another grid, another cell in the massive organism that was the South Arcology.
He preferred these hours. They were quiet but not dead. They were full of the potential that came with silence—the kind of stillness that precedes decisive motion. In this elevated chamber, the noise of governance, negotiation, and pressure seemed momentarily distant. He was neither operator nor strategist here—just a man suspended between yesterday's choices and tomorrow's consequences.
