**Captain Vesperian Korr's Log, Supplemental**
**Draco Imperia North Fleet Flagship recording**
**2 hours 3 minutes to planned landfall**
**Dusk**
Black sails gather.
Steel rises in the valley.
Two storms converge.
Captain Vesperian Korr paced the quarterdeck of the flagship *Iron Fang*, the salt wind snapping at his black cloak. The North Fleet lay just beyond the headlands of Blackthorn Harbor, a dark wall of galleons and troop transports riding the swell. The scouts—two dragons and their riders—had never returned. No signal crystals pulsed, no smoke markers rose from the coast. Only silence.
"Still no word?" he demanded of the signal officer. "None, Captain. The crystals remain dark." Korr's jaw tightened. Caution had always served him well in the Draco Imperia. A single lost scout could mean ambush. Two lost dragons meant something far worse waited in that hidden cove. He glanced at the chronometer crystal glowing on the binnacle. Two hours remained before the planned landing. The southern and central fleets were already closing on their own targets. If he waited, the glory—and the reinforcements—would go to others.
"Signal the fleet," he ordered, voice cutting through the wind. "All ships make full sail. We push the entire force straight into the harbor. No probing boats, no delays. We land everything at once. If there is an enemy, we crush them under sheer weight." The signal flags snapped up the lines. Across the fleet, oars bit water and sails billowed. The *Iron Fang* heeled as the helmsman brought her about. Korr gripped the rail, eyes fixed on the darkening coast. Caution had its place, but hesitation could cost an empire. Tonight the North Fleet would strike like a hammer.
Miles inland at Shire Base, the engineering annex hummed with controlled frenzy. Sebastian stood at the edge of the fabrication floor, arms crossed, watching the printers work. The first prototype E-900-MIPC was taking shape before his eyes. The massive metal printers moved in perfect synchronization, layering titanium-composite chassis plates with surgical precision. Robotic arms extruded hydraulic lines, welded mounting brackets, and fitted the heavy tracks in under an hour. Where Sebastian had expected weeks of hand labor and trial-and-error, the machines simply built exactly what the holo model demanded.
Amir stood beside him, arms folded, a satisfied smile on his face. "See that? The printers read the final design file and just… make it. No waste, no mistakes. The Mana-Induction Power Core housing is already in the queue. We'll have the full prototype rolling by dawn." Sebastian shook his head, genuinely awed. "I've built ships with my own hands and mana runes for years. This… this is like watching the gods themselves forge steel. The speed, the accuracy—every bolt hole perfect on the first pass. Back home it would take a full shipyard crew a month to do what your machines finish in hours."
A.L.I.'s avatar appeared on a nearby display, green eyes bright. "Fabrication progress at eighty-seven percent. The Mana-Induction Power Core will be installed and calibrated by zero-four-hundred. The bulldozer will be operational before first light." Sebastian let out a low whistle. "If we can get the first load of Mana Stone from that cave, this machine will cut the road to Roth Vale in days instead of months. Your people truly build miracles." Amir clapped him on the shoulder. "And your runes give those miracles a heart that never runs dry. Together we might actually stay ahead of that fleet." Outside, the valley lights burned steady against the coming night. Inside the annex, the printers never slowed. The first E-900-MIPC was rising—steel, mana, and hope—while far to the east black sails drove relentlessly toward the coast.
The dragon from the east had come.
But now the ridge itself offered its heart.
The green watched from the heights.
The strangers asked with respect.
Two worlds were learning to share the stone.