The Fall of Asgard

The towers rise above the clouds, pure white and polished like glass blades. Eight spires rule the world now — their light so bright it hides the smoke beneath. Down below, the surface chokes on dust and rust. Once, there were nine. The Ninth Tower fell — its ashes scattered across orbit, its name erased from the system. They say the Asgard line was lost that night, burned away in their own creation. But rumors still linger in the smog — of a survivor, a whisper of iron and flame hiding in the tunnels. Someone rebuilding something the world swore never to see again. In a city where perfection is law, even ghosts can start wars.