The Western Continent was a land of teeth.
Jagged mountains pierced the sky like the broken ribs of the earth. Their peaks were shrouded in perpetual thunderheads, grey and bruised, flashing with silent lightning. The valleys between them were choked with rivers of cooling lava and choking ash.
It was not a land built for life.
It was a land built for war.
The Leviathan did not dock. There were no ports here, only sheer cliffs that dropped thousands of feet into a boiling sea. The waves crashed against the obsidian rock, sending sprays of steam high into the air.
The ship hovered two miles offshore, its stealth systems engaged, a black ghost against a black sky.
"This is as close as we get," Elara said from the helm, her hands moving deftly over the holographic controls. "Titus
