Three days later.
In the hidden valley of the Southern landmass, the grand strike array was complete. Massive pillars of carved volcanic rock rose toward the clouds, channeled with the liquid fire of Chieftain Balthazar's ancestral magma veins. Intersecting these pillars were silver ley-line conductors brought by Empress Lin Chu's elite shadow-force weavers, all of them routing back into a central altar where King Gunnar's massive ice-mana mechanical cores hummed with terrifying intensity.
Holy Cardinal Malachai stood before the central altar, holding the ancient parchment scroll. His robes were stained with sweat and ritual oils. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and burning with a feverish desperation.
"The alignment is perfect," Malachai whispered, "The ancestral flows of the East, the mechanical energy of the North, and the primal fires of the South are locked onto a single target coordinate. The Dragon Emperor's palace."
