Chapter 11: The Zenith of Cloud-Reach
The ascent to Cloud-Reach Gardens was not made by elevator, but by a private gravity-stream. As Carson stood on the silver platform, the city of New Seattle began to shrink beneath his boots. The neon-lit skyscrapers, which once seemed like insurmountable mountains during his days in the gutters, now looked like glowing circuit boards.
"Gravity adjustment at 0.8g," Aura's voice whispered in his ear. "Welcome home, Mr. McCain."
The platform pierced through a layer of artificial mist—a security "shroud" that kept the estate invisible from the ground—and revealed the Gardens. It was a floating island of emerald grass and white marble, held aloft by Tier-10 Repulsor Engines. While the rest of the world lived in a cage of steel and smog, here, the air tasted of mountain oxygen and jasmine.
Carson stepped off the platform and walked toward the central manor. His footsteps were silent. His 30 strands of Saber-Qi were humming, reacting to the "Spirit-Gathering Array" Hobs had installed here. Every breath he took was filtered through a Level 12 Alchemical scrubber, turning the very air into fuel for his cultivation.
"Sir, your father's journals have been digitized," Aura reported as Carson entered a study that overlooked the entire Pacific coastline. "I've cross-referenced the 'Flow' equations he was working on with the Solaris Hegemony's recent activities in the Sahara. There is a 94% match. Your father wasn't just designing sensors, Sir. He was designing a 'Key'."
Carson walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. He looked at his hands, which were now glowing with a faint, violet hue. "A key to what?"
"To the Library of the First Blade," Aura replied. "The Hegemony didn't kill your parents for their money. They killed them because your mother found the location of the tomb, and your father found the way to open it."
Carson's grip tightened on the windowsill. The reinforced glass—capable of withstanding a missile strike—spider-webbed under his fingers. The "Low-Key" peace he had sought was a lie. His family hadn't been a victim of a car accident; they were victims of a galactic heist.
"Find me a pilot," Carson said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, vibrating bass. "And prepare the Star-Shedder. We aren't just going to the desert. We're going to claim what my mother died to protect."