The Dark Pearl slowed.
Not abruptly.
Not with the thunderous dominance of a warship announcing conquest.
It decelerated with the grace of something that understood where it was arriving.
High above the land, its vast black hull glided through thinning clouds, ancient runes along its surface pulsing faintly as if adjusting their breath. The sky parted gently, layers of white and pale gray drifting aside without resistance, revealing the world below in gradual fragments.
Sound rose first.
Faint, distant, indistinct.
A murmur.
Thousands of voices blended together—vendors calling, footsteps echoing, laughter, conversation, recitation—soft enough that it felt like background music rather than noise.
Shaurya stood at the front deck.
Hands in his pockets.
No aura flaring. No posture stiffening. No command issued.
He simply watched.
