Sarn Landing Ground

A geothermal basin on the flanks of Sarn Mountain, the landing ground is a flat expanse of dark volcanic glass and ash, scarred by heat shimmer and the intermittent glow of cooling lava flows. Cracked basalt stretches toward a single primitive stone pier where a battered skiff rests, its hull streaked with soot and engine dust from repeated use. The air carries a sulfurous tang that burns the throat and stings the eyes, mingling with the acrid bite of ionized fumes from the emergency beacons. Pilots speak in clipped tones over screeching radios while ground crews haul crates of sacred artifacts and rations with desperate urgency. No permanent structures exist here—only wind-driven embers swirling between the skiff and the skeletal remains of earlier failed evacuations, stark reminders of how few escape routes remain.