Aelvyrenn

The elder Vyr's sky-seat — a great island of pale tiered halls hung in the cold air above Caer Vallen, where the oldest blood withdrew after the Sundering and the Riven King still reigns. Most of the Vale half-believes it a myth; it is reached only by a warp-pilgrimage, never on foot.

Before the Imperium put bronze roads through the Vale, the Vyr built the works that ran it, and Aelvyrenn was their high seat — a terraced city of luminous fluted stone that they raised out of reach when their own engine cracked the god beneath them. It hangs in the thin cold air directly above Caer Vallen, the seat where Vallen was drawn down and broken, so that the eldest Vyr are condemned to look down forever at the wound they made. Up here the ache of it — the guilt that maddens the ones who stay on the ground — is faint enough to bear; the only mercy the city has. Its halls are kept as a household keeps a mourning it will not name: attendants who have not aged since the drawing-down, tending a king who is more crack than man. The settled Vyr of the Far College are this city's grandchildren, emigrants who came down; almost no living human has stood here, and the few who claim to are not believed.