This wasn't the silver-haired, eagle-eyed healer they all knew—the one with a sharp tongue but a steady hand, a woman who stitched them back together no matter how dire the wound. No, what marched down the street today was something else entirely.
The gleaming silver armor of a Sister of Battle caught every stray beam of pale light that managed to filter through the rain-heavy clouds. Crimson tabards and pristine white cloth fluttered with each step, and in her gauntleted hands, she carried a weapon that drew gasps and uneasy murmurs. A bolter, its barrel glinting with quiet menace.
The crowd parted without a word, no one daring to stop her. For the first time in years, Dusthaven saw not the doctor—but the warrior she had once been.
Her march ended at a familiar shack near the town's edge, its makeshift construction a testament to necessity and ingenuity. Without hesitation, her armored fist rapped on the door, the impact reverberating like a gunshot.
"Koron!" she called, her voice carrying a clipped edge. "Get your ass out here—I need your help!"
A pause. Then the door creaked open, and a flushed, wild-haired Kala peeked out. Her wide eyes drank in the sight of the armored figure standing before her.
"Whoa," she breathed, stepping back instinctively. Her gaze flicked over the silver plates, the crimson and white of the battle garb, and finally to the enormous bolter cradled in Doc's hands. "Wait a minute... Doc? Is that you?"
"Yes—"
Before Doc could say more, two more figures appeared behind Kala. Tara and Koron stepped into the cramped front room, both disheveled and sweaty, Tara tugging at the hem of her shirt as she glanced between Doc and Kala.
"…Am I interrupting something?" Doc asked, her tone half-curious, half-impatient.
Kala tilted her head, confusion blooming in her expression. "No? Well, yes—but no. We were sparring." Her eyes flicked to the bolter again. "But more importantly, Doc, what is with the armor? And the gun? What's going on?"
Doc mentally filed the scene away for later and turned to Koron, her gaze sharp. "I need a ride to the city. Now. Your bike is the only thing that can handle the desert with all this water—and get me there in time. Will you take me?"
Koron didn't hesitate. He nodded, his eyes already scanning for his gear. "Give me five minutes."
-
Moments later, the two were astride Koron's bike. The machine's hum was almost lost under the hammering rain, but it still hovered above the shifting sands. Doc's arms wrapped tightly around Koron's waist, her grip firm as the desert became a blur of shifting dunes and churning water.
The rain lashed at Doc's armor, hissing against the reinforced plating. She barely noticed; her gaze fixed on the faint glint of Koron's pale blue chest plate.
"What's the problem?" Koron's voice crackled through her helmet's voxbead, calm but probing.
Doc's voice came back steady, but with an undercurrent of urgency. "Milo brought in some bodies earlier—caravaners and orks. And I recognized the wounds they had."
Koron's hands tightened on the controls. "What kind of wounds?"
"If I'm right…" Doc hesitated, her voice dropping a fraction. "We're going to need help. Big-time help."
A pause. Then, "How bad are we talking?"
Her response was grim, each word heavy with meaning. "Complete annihilation of all life on this planet."
For a second, silence filled the voxbead. Then Koron's voice came back, laced with grim determination.
"Hold on," he said. "I'm opening up the throttle."
The bike surged forward, its engines screaming as they tore across the rain-soaked dunes, a storm ahead and a storm behind.
-
The atmosphere of the Forge city of Anaxis had not changed much since Koron had last visited. The cold, mechanical hum of servitors laboring through the torrential downpour was the same, their movements steady despite the weather. As Koron guided the bike through the tunnels toward the heart of the city, a curse slipped from his lips, his expression tightening as the imposing structures of the city loomed ahead. He slowed, then sped up again, frustration evident in his actions.
Before Doc could ask what had caused the sudden change, the bike's engines roared louder, the power surge pushing them forward, cutting through the humid, waterlogged air. The servitors paid no heed to their passage—small but significant in the grand machine of the city.
Koron glanced to Doc as he steered the bike with precision. "Where am I going?" His voice was steady, but she could hear the slight tension in it as they navigated the congested streets.
"The main spire," Doc replied, scanning the pathways ahead, her gaze unwavering as ever. "That's where the astropathic choir will be."
Koron's expression tightened as he slowed again, veering around a cluster of servitors and workers. "We going to have trouble getting in? The cogboys—"
"No," Doc interrupted, her tone firm. "Won't be an issue. Just get us there, fast."
The air between them was thick with urgency, and Koron wasted no time in flicking a switch that activated the stabilizers at the rear of the jetbike. The hum of the anti-grav plating became higher-pitched as the bike surged forward, lifting them into the air with precision. With controlled bursts, they soared above the congested pathways of the city, easily bypassing the chaos below.
The towering spire soon came into view, its jagged silhouette piercing the heavens, an imposing structure of cold stone and Imperial grandeur. Imperial script adorned its walls, and banners depicting the Emperor's symbols fluttered in the damp air. People milled about below, the vast number of adepts, servitors, and workers going about their daily lives, caught in the ever-turning gears of the Imperium. Bureaucracy had its way with them all, slow and unyielding.
Doc, however, cut through the crowds like a storm, her power armor gleaming under the artificial lights. Her movements were deliberate, no hesitation in her pace as she shouldered past the civilians. Some of them shuffled aside at the sight of the armed and armored figure, while the few who dared not step out of her way found themselves quickly and forcefully shoved aside.
The pair made their way through the crowded entrance with ease after the first few pained cries. There, an adept stood frozen in place, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of the fully armored Sister of Battle.
Doc didn't wait for any further exchange. She moved up to the adept with a cold, commanding presence. From the heavy-duty container at her side, she withdrew a simple charm, pale gold and engraved with an intricate skull, six tines, three to a side. It gleamed in the artificial lights as she held it out to the adept.
"I am Interrogator Lucia Malinov," she stated, her voice calm, but cutting through the air with authority. "By the power vested in me by the Emperor, I hereby invoke Aquila Extremis."
The adept's face turned a sickly shade of pale as he stammered, his hands shaking. "I— I—yes, of course, but—"
Doc leaned forward, her silver visor locking onto his gaze, her voice now a low, commanding growl. "Get me the astropathic choir. Now."
There was no hesitation in the adept's response. His terror was palpable, but he knew enough of the Inquisition's might to recognize when to comply. Trembling, he gestured quickly to one of the nearby attendants, who scurried off to make the necessary arrangements. Doc did not move, her gaze unflinching, her entire presence radiating quiet but absolute authority.
The words of the Emperor were not to be denied, and Lucia Malinov knew that.
-
Message Subject: Urgent – Confirmed Necron Awakening - Request for Immediate Response.
Message Body:
By the authority of Interrogator Malinov, Cipher Veritas 774-Argentis, I issue this distress signal on behalf of the Imperium. Black Star Ascension, Omega-level Containment Protocol. I have confirmed evidence of a Necron awakening. The planetary system is Lysix, Morrak Two within the Segmentum Tempestus. An immediate response is required. We are already seeing signs of early Necron activity, including unusual weaponry wounds and environmental instability.
As the local Interrogator, I am unable to confirm the status of my superior Lysandra Ferox or her whereabouts. Considering this, I request that this message be forwarded to my Inquisitor, if possible. If she is unavailable, I seek guidance from the nearest available Ordo Xenos authority. A complete planetary eradication event is a likely outcome, and escalation of force will likely be required. Response required within twenty-four hours. Time is of the essence.
Instructions to Forward:
Ensure that this message is forwarded to Inquisitor Lysandra Ferox of Ordo Xenos, as she may be the only one with the necessary experience and resources to address the threat immediately.
End Message
Finished, Doc leaned back from the servitor as it transcribed her message. Above, the hololith of Fabricator-General Karadel Thrant, her form rendered in greenish light, every detail of her intricate augmetics displayed, her own message appearing beside Docs.
Transmechanic Priority Declaration
From: Fabricator-General Karadel Thrant, Forge City Anaxis, Forge-World Morrak-Two, Lysix System, Segmentum Tempestus.
To: All Adeptus Mechanicus High Commands, Segmentum Tempestus Conclaves, and Relevant Forge Worlds Within Proximity
Subject: Escalation Status Omicron-Acutis: Potential Existential Threat Detected
Cipher: Delta-9A Alpha Binary Encryption
Priority Code: Magenta-Level Absolute Imperative
Security Seal: Transmechanic Sigillite of Forge Authority, Blessed Datum-Lock Confirmed
Timestamp: M41.999 (Local Morrak-Two Conversion)
-
Message Content
Skitarii Protocol Preface (Validated by Servo-Litanies):
Praise the Omnissiah and His Manifestations in the Universal Machine.
This is an urgent message from the Forge World of Morrak-Two regarding a newly identified xenos manifestation posing an unprecedented level of risk to local systems. Immediate attention and coordination are required to safeguard Mechanicus assets and Imperial interests.
Threat Analysis:
- Xenos Classification: 97.4% identifying markers associated with Necron architectures and technologies.
- Observations:
- Presence of Necrodermis-like Materials at incident sites.
- Locally observed disruptions to environmental conditions, consistent with awakening protocols of stasis-locked xenos artifacts.
- Initial encounters suggest autonomous war constructs of significant lethality, resistant to conventional Mechanicus ordnance.
- Escalation Directive: Omicron-Acutis.
- Self-replicating potential identified.
- Environmental tampering indicative of system-wide consequences if left unchecked.
Strategic Considerations – Titan Legio Loss Risk
To All Recipients:
As Fabricator-General of Morrak-Two, I must stress the unparalleled importance of this forge world in the production and maintenance of Titan-class war assets. While Morrak-Two does not possess the output of the highest-priority forge worlds, it remains a vital contributor to the Legio Morrakul's supply chain and maintenance of Titan-class constructs.
- Necron Threat Analysis: The observed xenos technology exhibits constructive self-replication, potential disruption of planetary geostrata, and emissions consistent with terraforming or void-linked reconstitution fields. These effects, if left unchecked, pose an immediate existential threat to the continued operational capacity of this forge world.
- Titanic Strategic Impact:
- The Legio Morrakul has 17 operational Titans, with an additional 9 under construction or maintenance.
- Current Operational Unit Status: Four Warlords. Four Reavers. Six Hounds. One Imperator. Two Nemesis Warbringers.
- Xenos incursions at this stage could result in catastrophic delays or outright destruction of irreplaceable Mechanicum assets.
- Broader Imperial Consequences: The loss or significant disruption of Titan production at Morrak-Two would weaken Imperial forces along Segmentum Tempestus borders, as nearby forge worlds lack sufficient infrastructure to compensate for Titan shortfalls. This would leave key sectors vulnerable to xenos incursions and heretek warbands, further compounding the damage.
Directive: Call for Reinforcements.
By the Will of the Omnissiah, Fabricator-General Karadel Thrant hereby invokes Mechanicum Protocol Absolutis, a Magenta-Level Directive, to request the following:
- Deployment of Titan Legions in reserve or surplus capacity to counter potential existential xenos war constructs.
- Immediate deployment of Ordo Reductor elements for containment.
- Priority transport and mobilization of high-ranking Magi, Tech-Priests, and Skitarii cohorts to Forge World Morrak-Two to assist with tactical and defensive operations.
- Deployment of Skitarii Legions and Combat Maniples to secure Morrak-Two.
- Activation of Titanic Support Pacts to prevent irretrievable loss of Titan assets.
- Coordination of strategic resources to ensure Legio Morrakul's operational readiness.
Failure to act decisively at this critical juncture risks not only the destruction of this forge world but also a cascade of losses that could destabilize nearby sectors and compromise the Omnissiah's divine work.
Coordination with the Ordo Xenos:
In conjunction with Interrogator Lucia Malinov, operative of the Inquisition, this threat has been elevated to Imperial Conclave Awareness Status. All recipients are urged to synchronize their efforts with Imperial authorities in the Segmentum Tempestus.
Omnissiah's Protection and Blessing Requested. Awaiting Immediate Response.
Mechanicus Sealant: Transmitted under Fabricator-General Karadel Thrant's authority, with the authentication of Binary Canticles and Magos-Validated Encryptions.
May the Omnissiah guide us all.
"Messages sent, astropathic choir transmitting. Warp stability is high, likelihood of message being received: 94.352%." The towering amalgamation of flesh and metal, her pale irises locked on Doc, said. "Time to mobilization from Mechanicus assets…. best estimates of one hundred and sixty-eight hours with optimal speeds and standard warp behavior."
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
"A damned week." Koron spat the word out like a curse. "And that's optimal. What the hell are the timeframes for if things don't go well?"
The scarlet robed woman turned her head towards Koron, muted clicks sounding from within her hidden frame, observing the man. Seemingly satisfied, Karadel turned back to Doc. "Interrogator, is the presence of your menial necessary here?"
Brushing aside the question with a swift motion, Doc's voice cut through the air with an authority that could slice through steel. "Irrelevant. What I…request," Her words were deliberate, her silver hair gleaming like moonlight in the dimly lit chamber. "Is a single large aerial transport, one capable of evacuating valuable personnel. It should be returned to you within two days. Would this be acceptable?"
The Fabricator-General's mechadendrites shifted in a subtle, almost imperceptible motion as she calculated the request. A flicker of data flashed across her augmented gaze, and after a moment's pause, she spoke. "It is. We can spare an Arvus Lighter for the operation."
Doc gave a curt nod, the fluid motion of her silver strands catching the light in a way that made her seem more than human. "More than enough. Thank you for your time."
"And the Omnissiah's blessings upon you," the General intoned solemnly, her voice a low hum of mechanized precision. "I will return to my preparations now."
With that, the Fabricator-General turned on her heel, the soft whirring of her mechanized limbs filling the silence before the hololith display cut out. Doc exhaled, the tension in the room lifting as the weight of the conversation settled into the past.
Koron, who had been silent through the exchange, took a step forward, his boots echoing against the cold, steel floors. He glanced over at Doc, his expression tight with the uncertainty that seemed to cloud every new moment they faced. "My knowledge of this is pretty sporadic. How much time do we have before this really kicks off?"
Doc didn't look at him immediately. Her gaze was fixed ahead, but her voice, when it came, was grave, threaded with a weariness that she hadn't yet allowed to show. "I wish I had a more realistic answer for you, Koron. The fact remains, it's highly variable. Tomb worlds, as I've seen, can take years to fully awaken, but here…" She shook her head slowly, her silver hair framing her face like a shroud. "Here, it's happening at a much faster rate. The signs are unmistakable. I fear that one of the leaders of this world is already active, pulling the strings."
Koron's jaw tightened as the weight of the situation pressed down on him. He processed Doc's words, the implications gnawing at him. "So… months?" he asked, voice laced with reluctant disbelief.
Doc's reply came softly, but with a gravity that filled the space between them. "More likely days to weeks." Her voice was a low murmur, heavy with an unspoken understanding. "And that's assuming the Mechanicus reports aren't just catching up. If we're unlucky, we could see Necron forces mobilizing in the next day or two." She looked at him, eyes dark but steely with resolve. "It's happening faster than we can keep up with."
The two of them exited the meeting room, the sterile, metallic hallways of Forge City stretching before them. The air was thick with the faint hum of distant machinery, a constant reminder of the world's vast mechanical heart. Their footsteps echoed off the polished metal floors, muffled in the quiet corridor. Etched into the walls were the sigils of the Adeptus Mechanicus, glowing faintly with ancient power—an ever-present reminder of the forge's unyielding dedication to the Omnissiah.
Koron was silent as they descended another flight of stairs. He stopped mid-step, hand reaching out to steady Doc, a subtle but firm grip on her arm halting her in turn. His voice, when it came, was low and laced with the hint of uncertainty. "Hey… Do you think you could get me access to the data archives here?" He hesitated, eyes narrowing as he sought the right words. "If the Mechanicus has any reports on the Necrons, there's bound to be something—anything—that can help us. Their behavior, weaknesses, maybe something we can exploit. I might be able to offer some insight if I can get to that data."
Doc paused, her body tense as her mind quickly processed the request. She stood still for a moment, brow furrowed, considering the risks and the possibilities. Her fingers tapped absent-mindedly against the side of her leg in a rhythm of contemplation. After a moment, she exhaled softly, a steadying breath as she tilted her head and looked up at Koron. "Maybe," she said, her tone thoughtful but guarded. "My authority isn't…" Her voice dropped into a low whisper. "Exactly what it used to be. If the cogboys do a deep dive, there will be problems." She exhaled a quiet sigh. "We'll have to be careful. But asking for data on Necron weaknesses should be… manageable." She looked at him then, her eyes sharpening with quiet determination. "I'll make it happen. Just follow my lead."
-
An hour later, Doc watched in silence as Koron's cybernetic fingers, each split into smaller tines, danced across the dataslate screen with remarkable precision. "So," she asked, her voice breaking the silence, "what are you thinking?"
Koron didn't look up from the screen, his focus entirely absorbed by the torrent of data scrolling before him. "I'm thinking we're utterly fucked," he muttered, his words blunt, heavy with grim finality. "There are zero reports of any Imperial forces managing to defeat the Necrons in sustained combat. No worlds reclaimed… plenty destroyed."
Doc's silver eyebrow arched in surprise. "You've gone through all the records of every engagement with the Necrons already?"
Koron gave a slight shrug, still absorbed in his work. "I'm a fast reader. What's worse, though, is that the Mechanicus has had a hell of a time getting any real intel on their weapons or armor. Their dogma is the biggest barrier, but even then…" He trailed off, speaking almost to himself now. "Basic molecular dispersion and phase displacement, but their body construction—unique. And the weapons, what's the power source? Zero-point energy? Quantum destabilization? File that for later consideration."
Doc, pacing with a restless energy, absently ran her fingers over the worn contours of her bolter's casing, her mind elsewhere. "So, what's the plan?" she asked, her voice tinged with impatience.
Koron stood up abruptly, fingers sliding back into place as he pushed away from the terminal. "I can see where I might help, but frankly speaking, none of it's really viable. I don't have the tools or materials to make what I know into something functional." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. "I was thinking maybe we could adjust the city's shields or mess with their teleportation somehow, but…" His voice faltered for a moment, the weight of the task ahead pressing in. "Sorry. Near as I can tell, the Necrons' systems are so far beyond what the Mechanicus understands, that even if they weren't so... hidebound, they still wouldn't be able to figure it out. And I'm guessing tuning the city's void shields isn't something your badge can get us access to, is it?"
Doc snorted, shaking her head with a small, rueful smile as she pulled her helmet back on. "Not even close. Forge city defenses are paramount. A full Inquisitor would face resistance trying to get that sort of access. We?" She raised an eyebrow. "We'd be laughed out of the room or shot. Probably both."
Koron's lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile, his frustration giving way to a darker kind of humor. He nodded, accepting the bitter reality as he slid his own helmet on, its pale blue a stark contrast to the rest of the space. "I figured as much."
-
As Koron pulsed the jetbike and its cargo up the ramp, Doc kept a watchful eye on the tech-priests nearby. Their heads turned in unison to track the vehicle, their augmented senses no doubt cataloging every detail. She had no doubt they would have swarmed it, dissecting it down to the rivets, had she not been standing there, her argent armor gleaming even in the relentless downpour. Erratic blasts of emerald lightning carved jagged pathways across the storm-laden sky, each one, at least in her mind, a harbinger of what was to come.
Striding aboard the transport, she made her way to the cockpit only to find Koron already seated, his fingers moving with practiced precision over the controls. "I didn't know you knew how to fly," she said, strapping herself into a chair just outside the cockpit.
"Me neither," he replied with a short laugh. His tone quickly sobered, though, as he continued. "But, Doc, what's the plan here? Even if we evac the town, the city won't hold forever, hell, the optimal week might be pushing it. And then what—hope we can get them to the ships in time to escape?"
"Something like that," she admitted, her voice steady but tinged with weariness. "My priority is to protect the people. I'll use everything I have to do that. Much like you, I hope." Her gaze flicked toward the cargo bay. "You've hauled in a lot of parts back there. What are you planning?"
"Automated defenses," Koron replied without hesitation. "Slapdash as hell, but it'll be better than nothing. The rest is for some bigger ideas I'll need the crew to help me with."
"Like what?" she pressed.
"Grav plating for the crawler, in case we need to get out by land. Energy projectors and cabling to add a defensive field to the wall—"
"You're going to put a force field around the city?" Doc's voice sharpened, a mixture of disbelief and intrigue.
"Not the city, just the wall." Koron's tone was calm, measured, as though he were explaining a simple maintenance routine. "Necron weapons strip molecular bonds, and the Mechanicus force fields are either useless or fail too quickly. I'm going to tweak them—adjust the harmonics—to make them more effective."
As he spoke, Doc's eyes were drawn to the small blue circle embedded in Koron's arm. It glowed faintly, the armatures within whirring with precision as they rapidly assembled...something. It was another reminder of just how different he was.
She narrowed her gaze. "Koron, who the hell are you?"
He didn't look back, his helmeted face remained focused on the controls. "Someone who wants to protect them. Same as you."
Every instinct told her to dig deeper. Koron knew too much. He did too much. No simple Mechanicus operative—certainly no menial—could possess his skill or insight. She'd seen this sort of thing before: the heretek tinkering with forbidden technology, arrogantly claiming their work was for the greater good. Those had been the first she'd consigned to flames, purging their corruption before it could spread.
But Koron was different. He didn't flaunt his abilities or seek power. He helped when asked, often without being asked. He kept out of politics and never sought to elevate himself. In the year he'd been in the town, not a single sign of Chaos corruption had surfaced. If anything, people seemed...happier. Safer.
And she'd watched him, harder than he probably realized. She'd run every test: medical, spiritual, and purity scans. Each time, he came up clean. No taint. No warp residue. Just a man doing more than most dared to.
She let out a slow breath, her tension easing ever so slightly. For now, she'd hold her questions. For now.
"Just don't get any of us killed," she muttered, settling back into her chair.
Koron's quiet reply held a weight she recognized. "That's the plan."
Outside, another lattice of jade lightning illuminated the storm, casting shadows that seemed to dance like specters of what was to come.
-
The cockpit of the lighter hummed with subdued activity as Koron guided the craft through the storm-laden skies. Rain streaked the reinforced viewscreen, and occasional flashes of emerald lightning illuminated the jagged terrain below. The drone of the engines filled the small space, a steady rhythm that masked the storm's howling fury outside. Doc sat strapped into the chair just behind him, her argent armor faintly reflecting the dim interior lights.
"Storm's worse than I expected," Koron muttered, fingers deftly adjusting the controls. "Visibility's trash. At least Dusthaven's beacon is holding steady."
Doc leaned forward slightly, her gaze fixed on the glowing instruments. "It'll hold. The Mechanicus doesn't build navigation markers to fail under a little bad weather."
The moment of relative calm shattered as a shrill chime pierced the cockpit. A crimson light flared on the comms console, accompanied by the unmistakable tone of an emergency burst transmission. Koron's hand shot out, activating the feed. Static hissed through the speakers, resolving into the panicked voice of a Mechanicus acolyte.
"Attention all loyal forces. This is Forge City Anaxius. Priority code Magenta. Omicron-Acutis escalation confirmed." The voice wavered, both from the distortion of the transmission and barely restrained fear. "Necron forces detected. Multiple units advancing across sectors Theta-4 through Theta-9. Estimated mobilization rate—unprecedented. All available forces are to—"
The voice cut off abruptly, replaced by a burst of mechanical shrieks and distorted binary. A few tense seconds passed before the signal returned, now calmer but no less dire. This time, the voice belonged to Fabricator-General Karadel Thrant herself.
"This is Karadel Thrant. Forge City Anaxis is now under threat of imminent Necron assault. Initial skirmishes with xenos constructs confirm extreme lethality. Automated defenses at Theta-7 have been overrun."
Doc's hands clenched the armrests of her seat, her voice low and steady despite the weight of the words. "They've broken through already?"
Koron shook his head grimly, his glowing implants casting faint shadows across his helmet. "If they're hitting automated defenses that far out, they've been moving for longer than the city knew."
Thrant's voice continued, the rhythmic cant of her Mechanicus enunciation now crackling with urgency. "Requesting immediate reinforcements from all available allied forces. Necron units advancing on Forge City proper. Estimated time to contact: six hours. Defensive protocols activating across all primary sectors. Omnissiah preserve us."
The transmission ended with a sharp tone, leaving only the hum of the lighter's systems and the muffled rumble of thunder outside. Doc exhaled sharply, her voice laced with tension. "Six hours. That's less time than I'd hoped."
Koron kept his eyes on the controls, his jaw tight as he processed the message. "Not enough time to fortify anything properly. The city might hold for a while, but Dusthaven—"
"—is a sitting target," Doc finished grimly. She pushed herself up from the seat, her armor creaking slightly. "We need to get back to Dusthaven now. Evacuation plans need to be finalized, and defenses need to go up yesterday."
Koron's fingers flew over the console, increasing the lighter's speed. The engines roared in protest, but the craft surged forward. "We're pushing max burn. If the storm doesn't rip us apart, we'll make it in thirty minutes."
Doc glanced out the viewport, her gaze tracing the eerie flashes of green lightning on the horizon. "It's not just about getting there in time. It's about holding long enough to matter."
Koron's voice was steady, but there was a grim resolve behind it. "Then we'd better get to work."
The lighter hurtled through the storm, carrying them toward Dusthaven—and the impending storm of war.