There, at the far northern side of Dead Gardens, lies a magnificent sight I would never have expected to see in my life. Everything Dominion spoke about this place was correct and so much more. If I were still living under Firmament's decadent spell, I would have never believed anyone who would speak of this world. My old noble self would have dismissed words about this scenery as nothing but a fairy tale sung by ne'er-do-well bards to swoon the starry-eyed maidens in cheap taverns. But the peaks are real, and their points are pale, sharp, like the bared fangs of wild wolves. Nothing could have ever disproved this splendor, but even as I gaze at it with wobbling feet, I am still inclined to see this as nothing but a dream, and none could ever convince me otherwise.
Skystead Keep. Truly, magnificent structures befitting of praise, grandiose pillars that boast of the local's excellent architectural and engineering skills.
Before me stand a range of steep mountains touching the horizon. They loom above my still awed figure, looking sharper than what I would have imagined or how ancient artists illustrated it in paintings from a distant yore. They're tall and slender, jagged and unrefined, like the tip of pencils sharpened by a dull knife. Layers of snow blankets their peaks, but the familiar dark soil still desecrates their foothills.
On these icy peaks nestle countless venerable stone towers perched at the coldest areas of the range, some looming closer onto the sides like monolithic polearms sliding off the mountaintops. Slithering walls of stone connect one tower to another like a bridge tethering every summit together in this sprawling gray aurora-like structure. And as I marvel at its magnificence with a dropped jaw, the cyclopean serpentine mountain edifice glares gloriously from its unforgiving perch above the blackened moor. Though opulent and imperial, a shadowed sickness from those snow-capped peaks still plagues my heart whenever I gaze at those cobbled structures. Who knows what sort of damnable transcendent terrors await my advent upon the Keep's writhing path? But there's one thing I know for sure. There will be no fanfare for Dominion's return.
'This is your home?'
Around the stone pillars, I saw countless flying entities orbiting the peaks like flies hovering around a lamppost.
'Are those Vyurbornes?'
'Hey, you'll never know! Firmament had already created their steam-powered airships!'
I stared closely at the gliding entities around Skystead Keep with squinted eyes.
'Nah. They're definitely not airships.'
'They're quite fast, aren't they? Looks like they're enjoying their wings a little bit too much.'
'What do you mean? Do they not always fly around their towers?'
'It does look like a battle is about to happen soon.'
'Look at the foot of the mountains. Smokes. Dozens of them. All rising into the thick clouds like gray trunks. It doesn't take a genius to know that something's going on out there, and from what you said, there might actually be a war brewing soon.'
'Should we be worried?'
'That's all fine and dandy, but we also have another problem. Should we be worried about that heretic god the kapres had been worshipping?'
'You seem awfully confident, Dominion. Well, it's not like you to run out of pride anyway.'
'Tell me about him.'
'How about starting on his name?'