Author's POV:
The slums' edge pulsed with menace, Wuhan's dawn casting jagged shadows across shacks and dirt, the air thick with dust and blood. The Silver Pact's elites—four, globe-crests glinting, rifles and blades poised—flanked Envoy Kael, their robed leader's eyes ice-cold, tablet flashing: Nexus active, keys required, Wuhan North, now. Master Wu stood beside, blade glinting, his crest a taunt, smirk sharp, a betrayer bound to the Pact's leash. A new figure loomed—robed, spiral-crested, voice deeper, colder: "Keys, the Nexus waits."
