The journey to the heart of the Northern Lycan Empire was not merely a physical relocation; it was a descent into a world where the sun was a distant memory and the air itself felt like a heavy, crystalline weight. From the observation deck of High King Malakai’s flagship, I watched as the lush greenery of the Eastern Region faded into the jagged, snow-draped peaks of the North.
The Imperial City, Crystalia, was a marvel of architectural terror. It wasn’t built; it was grown from the earth in spirals of transparent ice and white marble. As we descended, the city shimmered under the aurora borealis, a haunting dance of neon greens and purples that reflected off the glass-like spires.
“Is that where we’re going to live, Mama?” Liam asked, his small hand pressing against the reinforced glas
