04:30. An hour after the explosions rocked Northveil, smoke still billowed from four distinct points. The eastern sky began to pale, but below, fires still raged in the ruins of Rudigor's headquarters, the decimated ammunition depot, and the collapsed communication tower.
But behind the veil of panic, Rudigor had already begun to move.
Above Northveil, twelve Sky-Hunters flew low—as low as they dared. Their rotors sliced through the cold morning air, creating a distinctive, sharp whistling sound. The morning mist started to lift, but the broken city beneath remained shrouded in shadows.
Kaelen, in the lead cockpit, scanned the urban landscape below. In his seat, Thamrin sat with his hands white-knuckled around the flight controls. His eyes—the same eyes that had witnessed his mother crushed by rubble and his sister cleaved by a cyborg in that very market—were now burning. It wasn't just rage. There was a cold, piercing focus.
