Thud, thud.
Joshua strolled to a flank of the throne, saying nothing and staring toward the surface alongside Israel.
Twelve thousand meters in the air, the watchtower was no completely opened, its four leaf-shaped wings designed by a certain elderly mage absorbing the elemental energies around it to stay afloat—a smart application since only elements wafted in this environment of thinned atmosphere. The wings, themselves forged of crystals and metals emanated faint myriad colors as Nostradamus walked to the warrior's side, and the trio stared upon the surface that stretched to their edge of vision.
