The transition from the chaotic, grease-stained lower tiers of the Dry Wards to the upper echelons of the capital was as abrupt as walking through a solid wall. The ambient noise of shouting merchants and drunken brawls simply died away, swallowed by a secondary tier of localised sound-dampening arrays.
"The architecture here is so terribly pretentious. They try so hard to emulate the surface elves, but they fundamentally misunderstand gravity."
Krave announced, tossing her newly acquired pouch of platinum coins into the air and catching it without looking.
She wasn't wrong. As we drifted deeper into the noble district, the heavy stone buildings of the commercial sectors gave way to sweeping, spiralling estates constructed from pale moon-coral and deep-sea pearl. The structures were designed to look light, airy, and delicate—which was entirely absurd considering the millions of tons of ocean water pressing down on the golden dome directly above our heads.
