The border between the expanding mortal Capital and the ancient Eastern Wilds was no longer a theoretical line on a map. It was a physical collision of two entirely different eras, and the friction was threatening to ignite a war.
A heavy, suffocating tension hung in the air where the newly laid steel tracks of the Iron Engine abruptly stopped.
On one side of the tracks stood Duke Alaric and his team of soot-stained engineers. Behind them idled the massive steam locomotive, its cast-iron boiler hissing aggressively, venting thick clouds of white steam and smelling sharply of burning coal and grease. It was the undeniable roaring heartbeat of mortal progress.
