Veilspire

Veilspire clings to basalt shelves above a black-sand harbor. Its highest spires are conductors: tempered glass veins thread through stone, drinking storms before they strike farmland below. The guild halls call this civic weathercraft. Dissenters call it ley-theft.

Districts

• The Cordial Docks: Legitimate trade, watched brass orreries, and customs officers who can smell mirror-moth scales at twenty paces.
• The Ash Stair: Narrow markets where powdered ley-ash is never sold—only talked about, loudly, until a buyer appears.

Every citizen learns two truths young: the city loves beauty, and beauty is always a fence for something sharper.