"You did it," Yanis murmured, his voice carrying both awe and disbelief.
Before them stood the mirror-like door, its surface rippling as if moonlight had been poured into liquid glass. It was more than a portal. It was a wonder, something that went far beyond invention.
People moved through it in steady streams, their forms dissolving into the glow, then emerging on the other side. This wasn't simple travel. It was something that could change history itself, a feat unseen for centuries.
"I'm glad you know your place, brat, but why are you even here?" Yvette asked, her words sharp and cool.
"Can't I be?" Yanis smirked. "We worked on this together, remember?"
"Shameless," she replied, though her tone softened with amusement. "Your part wasn't even worth noting."
Then her focus shifted. "Besides, Sadi finished twenty-five airships waiting on your approval."
She stood at the center of the observation platform, arms crossed behind her back. The thin veil that framed her face gave her an air of quiet mystery.
Below, the city moved like a living thing—mortals and cultivators flowing around each other through streets of steel and glass.
The wind pulled at her velvet cloak, its deep color setting her apart from the world beneath.
Yanis kept watching her, caught by a mix of respect and wariness. People called her a monster, and they weren't wrong. Whether on the battlefield or carving runes, she was relentless.
"Your petition to keep cultivating was accepted," Yanis said after a pause. "But you still can't leave or speak to outsiders."
The words hung between them, heavy with things left unsaid.
A quick, dangerous light sparked in Yvette's eyes before fading just as fast. Her lips curved into a faint smile. Ten years is never too late for revenge, she thought. Eight more to go.
For the past two years, she had played her part well—obedient and respectful, especially around Oga.
By staying in his good graces, she gained freedoms most could only dream of. She no longer lived under constant guard. With this freedom came the chance to learn, and what she discovered changed everything.
Oga had a problem no one else could solve.
Nepha floated high above the lands below, and moving between them took time and risk. Only a handful of merchant guilds owned airships, and trade suffered for it. Growth slowed to a crawl.
Oga had only one option left: to make a deal with her.
For a year and a half, she studied the portal system. Its flaws were obvious: its range was short, and it needed too much Aetrium to run. Still, she saw a way forward.
Breakthroughs came slowly, but they came all the same. And though she hated to admit it, Yanis had helped bring her vision to life.
At last, Yvette created the first Starveil Gate. A work so bold it could change the way the world traveled.
"Why Starveil?" people had asked.
It was simple. That was the name she and Oga agreed on, and it was also her surname.
Although Yvette was, in truth, still a prisoner, Oga never forced her hand. He wanted her to stay because she chose to, not because he chained her down. He knew forced loyalty was fragile.
Thanks to his foresight, these gates—soft and glowing like captured starlight—now linked Nepha to the Savage Paradise. A journey that once took days of danger and wind-whipped flight now took only a step.
The gates stood as proof of what magic, skill, and wealth could build.
Yet they demanded that rare materials exist. Essence of the Leylines and Voidroots.
Voidroots grew only on ancient trees hidden within subspace, trees that had vanished from the Central Continent since the Era of Enlightenment. They grew so slowly that they belonged more to legend than reality.
Still, the real power of the Starveil Gate wasn't just that it worked. It was how it served House Thornbrick.
The gates weren't limited to Thornbrick Territory alone. There were also gates connecting House Maverik, the Savage Paradise, and the border town of Quien.
These places, each different, were tied together by subtle threads that all led back to Thornbrick.
Zamira helped build the gate in Quien, yet Oga stayed as careful as ever. He never allowed a direct portal into Nepha itself.
Almost every transmission instead passed through an outpost in the Savage Paradise about half an hour away.
By doing so, they kept Nepha safe from sudden threats while still opening its gates to a wealth of trade and promise.
And behind it all stood Yvette's quiet triumph, born of patience, cunning, and a vision sharp enough to cut through the impossible.
Starfield. From there, travelers had to pay an extra fee to enter the Outer Circle of Nepha.
But even then, access was limited.
Nepha was divided into three regions: the Outer Circle, the Inner Hub, and the Core Ancestral Home.
All unauthorized gates led only to the Outer Circle, a place where danger and pleasure mixed freely.
Yet, unlike the Outer Circle, the Inner Hub felt different.
To build this city, Oga had sworn that no one under his rule would trespass into the lands of the other Great Clans.
To keep that promise and maintain order, he set up an identification card system. Anyone without an ID card could only stay in the outer city for a week before being expelled.
And for those wishing to enter the Inner District, a strict screening process awaited them.
As for the Core Region of Thornbrick land, it remained untouched and guarded.
For anyone unwilling to follow the rules, their fate turned out worse than death itself.
The constant hum of the gates filled the air, reminding everyone of the city's new life. What Nylah thought would take four years was finished in just two.
Below, life unfolded like a living painting. Merchants called out orders, their voices blending into the busy rhythm of work. Workers moved with purpose, each step falling into place as if guided by an unseen force.
Travelers paused to take in the sight of the floating city, their wonder reflected in the eyes of the locals. Everywhere, Nepha pulsed with aether, its streets alive with ambition.
Yanis felt pride well up inside him. Nepha had come alive over the past year, a tribute to Lord Oga's vision.
"Before I depart, I must once more sincerely thank you," Yanis said, his tone formal yet calm. Without waiting for a reply, he vanished into a swirl of bloodmist.
"Such a prude," Yvette muttered, shaking her head. "A whole year working together, and not even a meal?" Still, she admired Yanis. He was respectful in a way few men were—unlike that other man.
"Such a shame," she thought, staring in the direction he had gone. "Just like his master… he wasted himself on those damn Mertaru." She could hardly believe it. A man like that, spending his nights with a whore.
"And where is that damn Nuu?" she whispered to herself.
___________________________________
The Inner District of House Thornbrick stood as a quiet display of wealth and intention. Nothing here felt random.
Every stone was set with care, and every polished surface was chosen thoughtfully. Stately houses lined the cobbled streets in neat rows, their walls glowing softly under the midday sun in shades of cream, ivory, and pale gold.
Narrow streets curved gently between them, like veins running through a living body. Along these streets, fine shops rested under carved archways. Their wooden signs, painted in muted colors, swayed in the breeze.
From inside came scents of rare perfumes, fine silks, and candied citrus. Above, balconies spilled jasmine into the air, its sweetness mixing with the dry smell of incense rising from an old apothecary's brazier.
At the center of it all lay a marble fountain park. Water arched and fell in perfect rhythm, catching the sunlight in silver ribbons. Children played there, their laughter like a lullaby meant only for the rich and untroubled.
Guards walked the district with quiet discipline, their armor shining like molten glass. Their eyes moved slowly but never idly. Each careful step reinforced the quiet power of this place. They weren't just guards but part of the city itself, like keystones that kept an arch from falling.
This was a sanctuary, closed to the rest of the world. Only the elite could enter, those born into names heavy with history. Power here spoke softly, wrapped in silk gloves and polished shoes. Even silence felt important, and the air itself seemed clean beyond reason.
Yet today, something changed.
It started as a quiet shift at the edge of perfection. People noticed, though not with fear. Shopkeepers paused at their doors, nobles stopped mid-step, and even the guards allowed their eyes to flicker sideways.
She was the reason.
Madame Zamira.
The air seemed to hold still, buildings leaned inward, and the streets felt as if they straightened under her shadow. Her aura wasn't something she put on like armor. It lived with her, moved with her, and breathed through her. It was part of who she was, responding to every thought and breath.
When she walked, her aura followed, sharp and fluid, terrifying in its calm. It warned anyone who dared to stare too long. At first, it felt like a chill creeping up the back of the neck, then it became a spike of pain behind the eyes until it grew too heavy to bear.
Some rogue cultivators had tested their luck, driven by arrogance or desire. Their gazes betrayed them, and her aura answered. Without a single word, it struck.
They fell to their knees, shaking and groaning in silent pain. No wound marred their flesh, yet their faces twisted in agony until they were forced to look away.
Zamira allowed only Oga to look at her with open hunger.
She didn't simply pass through a place; she changed it. The curve of her hips, the softness of her lips, and the subtle tilt of her chin spoke a quiet truth.
Her body was bold, impossible to hide, even if she had tried. It was honest and shameless, the kind of beauty that stirred worship in some hearts and resentment in others who knew they could never possess it.
Behind her came a solemn procession. Rank 3 Alocytes followed with their heads bowed. Among them walked blindfolded Magus and Divine Knights, their wrists and ankles bound in heavy chains. Cold erium collars pressed against their skin, leaving no room to fight back.
They were rogue cultivators and known criminals, each one blamed for stirring trouble in Thornbrick.
Once, people might have responded with fear or outrage. Now, nobody cared enough to look twice. The sight had become as common as spring rain, unwelcome but expected.
Watching these prisoners being led toward the back mountain had turned into part of everyday life in Thornbrick, so familiar that not a single passerby bothered to stop and watch.
Just a few meters ahead, laughter danced like silver bells. Near the fountain's cascading waterslide, three radiant children played under the quiet watch of a striking woman.
Her violet hair fell across her shoulders like silk spun from dusk, catching the breeze with an otherworldly shimmer.
This was Lady Berta, the Madam of Lord Nuu.
"It's Mama, Aunty!" cried the little boy, his long, wavy, dirty blonde hair a perfect blend of both parents.
His small black wings flared with excitement, and behind him, a white flame flickered, revealing his father's bloodline.
Even so, Elah bore a striking resemblance to his mother. At his birth, Oga had wept and laughed at once, caught between the pain and the joy. The boy's delicate, radiant features were so lovely that at first glance, some mistook him for a girl.
Elah tried to run toward Zamira, arms stretched out in longing, but Berta moved before he could take a single step. Her hand rested gently yet firmly on his head, stopping him without force.
"Elah," she said, her voice calm and softened by the kind of authority that grows from love, "you mustn't interrupt your mother while she's working. Do you remember what you promised? You said you wouldn't transform in public."
"Okay, Aunty," he whispered, his excitement folding into quiet obedience.
Berta let out a slow breath, her sigh carrying the weight of hard-won wisdom. She understood his longing, and she always had. But understanding didn't mean she could allow it. Not here.
Though this wasn't the first time she had brought them to the Inner Circle, Berta never forgot what this world could do to a child like Elah. The fewer who truly knew who he was, the longer he would remain safe.
With a subtle flick of her fingers, the air shifted. A soft breeze swept through the street, delicate as silk. Those who caught a glimpse of Elah's brief transformation felt nothing at all, yet the dust carried on that wind had already marked them.
It was Berta's quiet way. Those who needed to be forgotten would be forgotten, one way or another.
Zamira held the order, and her raw display of control was the only thing keeping danger at bay. But Berta had her role to play, as she always did.
Before she could speak again, another voice called out, light as summer rain.
"Elah, let's go get ice cream."
The words drifted through the quiet like a bell, soft and clear. A girl with raven-black hair stepped beside them, slipping her hand into his as though it had always belonged there. Above her brow, two small horns curled gently, delicate and proud, like ornaments carved by nature itself.
This was Liv, daughter of Lord Nuu and Consort Priscilla.