The Skybreaker doesn’t fly into Drakaira.
It cuts into it.
One minute we’re still above a world that makes sense—clean air, stable gravity, familiar Vein hums threading under the ship like a heartbeat you’ve listened to your whole life. The next, the windows frost at the edges and the light outside turns wrong. Violet twilight bleeds into the glass like ink in water, and the horizon fractures into layers that don’t agree on distance.
Drakaira always looks like it’s remembering you.
Or deciding if it wants to.
The cabin lights drop to low-red. Harnesses tight. Gear locked. The ship’s dampeners climb a notch, countering the subtle shiver that runs through the hull when Underveil’s atmospheric resonance presses against Aetherion metal.
The Veins out here don’t hum. They whisper.
Not li
