The iron fleet was a cluster of rusted needles stitching their way through a world of wet ash. The Kashima Maru groaned as it pushed through the thickening sludge of the Pacific. The water was so dense with salt and rotted mana that the hull made a sound like a blade scraping against a whetstone.
Ren Hanshin stood on the bow, his boots stomped firmly on the cold steel. He was no longer the Zenith who could fly above the clouds. He was a man who felt the vibration of every rivet, the shudder of every wave.
[Divine Mana: 0.3 / 150]
[Synchronization: 49.0% (LOCKED)]
His right arm, the one that had been charred and reborn, was stiff in the morning air. He flexed his fingers in slow, jerky movements feeling the raw skin stretch. It hurt, but the pain was a grounding wire. It reminded him that he was still in the room.
"Smoke on the horizon," Kaito called out from the bridge.
