Aurelion stood at the window, his eyes fixed on the distant hangars.
They were massive—easily the size of several city blocks, their roofs reinforced with mana-infused steel. Soldiers moved around them like ants. Vehicles rolled in and out. The hangars were active, operational, busy. He could see the glow of welding torches from inside, hear the distant clang of metal on metal.
What are they storing? he wondered.
He didn't have an answer. But he intended to find out.
He dressed and walked out into the city.
The morning air was cold, carrying the scent of exhaust and ash. New New York was waking. Soldiers drilled in the streets, their boots pounding against the concrete in perfect rhythm. Hunters prepared for missions, checking their weapons, their armor, their supplies. Civilians moved through the markets, their faces tired but determined. The city was a machine, and every person was a gear.
Aurelion walked toward the hangars.
He moved through the streets, his eyes scanning, his mind cataloging. The buildings grew taller, more industrial, as he approached the outer wall. Warehouses, depots, storage facilities lined the roads. The air smelled of fuel and steel and something else—something electrical, something charged.
He reached the perimeter of the hangar district.
A fence barred his way—tall, reinforced, topped with razor wire. Guards patrolled the gate, their weapons ready, their eyes scanning. They moved with the precision of soldiers who had been doing this for a long time.
He stopped at the fence, studying the structure beyond.
The hangars were larger up close. Their doors were open, revealing glimpses of what lay inside—vehicles, aircraft, machinery. He could see the shapes of transports being assembled, the glint of mana-infused plating, the steady rhythm of workers moving with purpose.
This is where they're building something, he thought. Something big.
He turned away before the guards noticed him.
He found a bar in the civilian district—a small, dimly lit place with tired-looking patrons and a bartender who didn't ask questions. The walls were scarred, the tables worn, the air thick with smoke and the smell of cheap alcohol.
He sat in the corner, nursing a drink, listening.
The soldiers talked about the war. The Demon King's movements. The battles. They talked about the hangars, too.
"Did you see the new transports?" one soldier said, his voice low. "They're massive. Bigger than anything we've had before."
"They're not transports," another soldier replied. "They're weapons."
"Weapons?"
"The engineers are building something. I don't know what. But it's big. And it's almost ready."
"How do you know?"
"I heard the commander talking. She said it's our last chance. If this doesn't work, nothing will."
Aurelion listened, his mind racing.
Last chance, he thought. Big weapons.
What are they planning?
He finished his drink and left.
He walked back toward the hangars, his footsteps silent, his eyes scanning. He needed to see what they were building. He needed to understand.
The guards were still there, still watching. But there was a gap in the fence—a narrow opening, barely visible, hidden by overgrown weeds. He slipped through.
The hangar district was vast.
Aurelion moved through the shadows, staying low, staying quiet. The hangars loomed above him, their doors open, their interiors glowing with light. Workers moved in and out, carrying tools, components, materials.
He reached the first hangar and peered inside.
It was filled with aircraft—mana-infused fighters, transport ships, drones. They were being assembled, repaired, prepared for deployment. Mechanics worked on engines, their faces lit by the glow of welding torches.
He moved to the next hangar.
More aircraft. More vehicles. More weapons. He saw rows of mana cannons, stacks of ammunition crates, racks of armor. The scale of it was staggering.
And then he saw it.
At the far end of the district, in the largest hangar of all, something was being built. Something massive. Something that seemed to absorb the light around it.
He walked toward it.
The hangar was guarded—heavily guarded. Soldiers stood at every entrance, their weapons ready, their eyes scanning. They were alert, disciplined, prepared.
Aurelion found a vantage point—a stack of crates near the hangar's side wall. He climbed up, his movements silent, and peered through a grimy window.
Inside, the hangar was vast. And at its center, a shape.
A weapon. Enormous, dark, its surface covered in runes and mana conduits. It was shaped like a cannon—a massive cannon, its barrel pointed toward the sky. It must have been fifty meters long, its surface etched with symbols that seemed to shift and pulse.
He stared at it, his mind reeling.
What is that? he thought. What are they building?
Workers moved around it, their faces intent, their hands steady. They were attaching conduits, calibrating runes, preparing something.
He had seen enough.
He jumped back down from the crates, landing silently on the concrete floor. He turned to slip away—
"HEY! YOU!"
A voice rang out, sharp and commanding. Aurelion froze.
A soldier stood ten feet away, his weapon raised, his eyes narrowed. He was young, but his face was hard, his stance alert.
"This area is off-limits! How did you get past the perimeter?"
Aurelion raised his hands slowly. "I was just—"
"I don't care what you were doing. You're not supposed to be here." The soldier gestured with his weapon. "Move. Now."
Aurelion didn't argue. He walked toward the soldier, his hands still raised.
The soldier grabbed his arm, none too gently, and marched him toward the hangar district's entrance. Other soldiers turned to watch as they passed, their eyes curious, suspicious.
"You're lucky I didn't shoot first," the soldier muttered.
"I wasn't trying to cause trouble."
"You were snooping. That's trouble enough."
They reached the gate. The soldier pushed him through, then pointed toward the city.
"Go back to wherever you came from. And stay out of the hangar district. Next time, you won't get a warning."
Aurelion nodded and walked away.
He didn't look back.
The barracks were quiet when he returned.
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall. His body was healed, but his mind was still heavy.
He thought about the weapon. The hangars. The soldiers' words.
Last chance, he thought. If this doesn't work, nothing will.
What are they planning?
He didn't have answers.
But he intended to find out.
The next morning, a message arrived at his door.
It was brief, written on official letterhead.
Report to Commander Reyes. 0800 hours. Don't be late.
Aurelion read it twice, then folded it and tucked it into his pocket.
Here we go, he thought.