The journey toward the Atlantic Ridge was a frantic, terrifying blur of high-altitude manoeuvres and the constant, rhythmic humming of the advanced airship engines. Inside the medical bay, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of sterile ozone and the ancient, earthy musk of the Lunar Alliance’s herbal concoctions. Dr. Aris Thorne, who had been picked up by a secondary ship in the chaos of the tower’s collapse, sat in the far corner of the bay. Her human eyes were wide with a mixture of professional fascination and raw, primal wonder as she watched the Alliance’s "Techno-Mystics" work. They weren’t using the stainless-steel scalpels or the high-tech, cold-blue lasers of the Aegis Initiative; instead, they were using resonance bowls made of pure, translucent quartz and silver filaments t
