Long before the towers rose, before silk and crystal held the city aloft, a star fell to the barren highlands of the north. From its shattered heart spilled fragments of a mind not our own — stones that drank the sun and whispered in colours unseen. In the depths where they came to rest, creatures of shadow and silk awoke to the hum of alien dreams.

From this meeting of light and hunger was spun a pact, and from that pact, a miracle: Aerius, the City of Light, lifted from the dust by the weaving of the Levithari and the will of humankind. Here, in the vault of the sky, the Sunstones refract the day into living power —Aetherion— feeding the lattice that keeps the city adrift.

Yet even the brightest light casts a shadow. Beneath the Spire’s radiance lies a web of secrets and debts, where the measure of one’s worth is etched into the flesh, and every pulse of the city’s heart is counted. Some call this order; others call it chains.

I have walked the shining rings and the hidden veins of this place, seen both its triumph and its frailty. There are cracks in the glass through which strange lights leak — some born of ambition, others of desperation. In time, those lights may converge… or collide.

So gaze well upon Aerius, traveller. Let your eyes drink the splendour, but do not forget to look where the beams do not reach. For in the shadows of its web, threads are stirring—and the loom remembers every hand that dares to touch it.