POV Alpha Jackson
The spires of the Palace didn't just sit against the horizon; they seemed to pierce the very fabric of the sky. Up close, the marble wasn't just white—it was translucent, pulsing with a soft, subterranean rhythm that matched the beating of our hearts. As we crossed the threshold of the outer gates, the air changed again. The heavy humidity of the ravine vanished, replaced by a crisp, oxygen-rich chill that tasted like high-altitude snow and ancient incense.
"Hold the Star Formation," I commanded through the mind-link, my voice echoing back to me with a strange, harmonic resonance. "Tyson, Serena—watch the flanks. The Palace is open, but that doesn't mean it’s empty."
We stepped onto the courtyard, a vast expanse of white stone etched with silver veins that flowed towar
