At dawn, Wigrid, separated from Naples by the sea, was wrapped in mist drifting across the water. Only its towering spire pierced through the fog.
The tip of the tower shone with dazzling white light beneath the clear sky. This spire was the headquarters of the Izawell Group and Wigrid's lighthouse. Like the doctrines of the Ragnar Covenant, it continuously scattered light across the world.
This light-diffusing object was not an ordinary giant light bulb, as people believed, but a glowing white sphere connected to the top of the spire by golden metal bands. A large and a small floating ring encircled the sphere. This was magic, not technology.
The enormous room at the top of the spire was surrounded by circular seating. If every seat were occupied, the audience's gaze would converge on the same place regardless of where they sat. Red banners hung from the columns beside the seats, trailing all the way to the floor, covered in densely packed golden scripture.
If not for the broad gold-and-red desk in the room, this place would have resembled a chapel more than an office. There were no electric lights, yet it overflowed with warm illumination. A faint glow also came from several enormous rings behind the gold-and-red desk.
These luminous rings were nested layer upon layer. The outermost ring was dark, inscribed with glowing runes. The closer the rings came to the center, the brighter they became. At the very center was a massive golden disc without any markings. Every second, the rings turned accordingly, yet made no sound of friction.
But that faint light was not enough to illuminate the office.
"After five hundred long years of waiting, the moment is finally coming." A hoarse yet calm voice sounded from behind the desk. Its owner was Balder, president