Zellheim, the Royal Capital, the pearl of the canal.
The air currents high above were cold and sharp.
Nefarian spread his gray-black wings, hovering steadily above the clouds. Veylin looked down as the heart of the Duchy unfolded beneath him.
Magnificent, yet divided.
With the great canal running through the city as its central axis, dozens of islands linked by white stone bridges formed the heart of the noble district.
The Grand Duke's Palace and the Nobles' Council rose like white mountains atop the main island, their magnificent reflections flowing silently across the clear water below.
On private islands, boats lined with velvet cushions lay moored at the garden docks of noble estates. At night, magical lights illuminated the canal network like the Milky Way brought down to earth.
Order and wealth, power and nobility, bloodline and status were shaped into eternal art here by flowing water and stone foundations.
Yet at the end of this "Milky Way" lay a filthy shadow.
The slums.
Downstream and along the city's fringes, the canals grew narrow and murky, like the city's open sewers.
Densely packed shacks clung like leeches to the riverbanks and old embankments, some even built out over the foul-smelling water.
Garbage and excrement clogged the waterways, forming floating "islands" that faced the noble district from afar, the divide unmistakable.
Veylin did not even need supernatural perception to "see" the mold hanging in the air there, the stench of poverty and despair.
This scene laid bare the rotten foundations of this feudal world. And he was always being drawn into the heart of that rot.
Every time he came to the Royal Capital, it felt as though some major event awaited him.
"Let's go down." Veylin patted Nefarian's neck.
The black pegasus gave a low whinny, folded his wings, and