Count Reginald Roth's Log, Supplemental
Albion Command recording
27 days after Rothgard's Fall
Holo light blooms.
Weak points revealed.
Blue steel sweeps clean.
Inside the dimly lit War Room of the Harbor Master's Keep, the air hung thick with the acrid bite of smoke and the metallic tang of spent mana. Maps and glowing rune-crystals lay scattered across the heavy oak table like fallen banners. Count Reginald Roth and Lord Blackthorn stood over them, faces drawn with exhaustion and the grim certainty that the line was about to break.
Major Harlan Kane stepped forward without hesitation, still in his matte-black powered armor. He reached the hip attachment point of his exoskeleton and withdrew a compact cylindrical device no larger than a man's fist. With a practiced flick, he set it on the table. The projector hummed to life. A sphere of light expanded above the wood, resolving into a perfect real-time satellite rendering of Blackthorn Harbor and the surrounding city. Every street, every building, every barricade appeared in crisp detail. Draco Imperia forces glowed blood-red, Albion defenders burned steady green, and the newly arrived Discovery troops shone bright tactical blue. The image updated instantly as the battle shifted.
The lords recoiled. Lord Blackthorn's sword clattered against the table edge. "By the ancestors," he breathed, eyes wide with disbelief. "It is as though the gods themselves have drawn our battlefield on a tapestry of light." Roth stared, speechless for a long moment, the shock still vibrating through him. The projection showed the Draco legions pressing hard against the inner walls, their red markers clustering like a closing fist. Green Albion icons were thinning dangerously near the civilian evacuation corridor.
"You see it clearly now," Roth said, voice hoarse but steady. He pointed to two glowing red clusters. "Here and here—the western gate and the riverfront warehouses. Those are our weakest points. The Draco have massed there. If they break through, the civilians have nowhere left to run." Kane studied the holo for only a heartbeat, then spoke with crisp authority. "Understood. All Discovery ground elements, concentrate fire on the western gate and riverfront warehouses. Begin a systematic sweep of the city. Raptors, maintain air superiority and engage remaining dragon riders. Jackels, prioritize any siege engines still active. Delta and Marines, push the corridors clear and secure every civilian. Move." The orders were transmitted instantly. On the holo, the blue markers surged forward like a living tide. The lords watched, dumbfounded, as the image updated in real time.
Outside, the VS-22 Jackels banked hard, stubby spars extended, their Vulcan cannons and air-to-ground missiles hammering the last Draco artillery emplacements. Stone towers and rune-steam cannons vanished in brilliant flashes. Raptor Squadron screamed overhead at supersonic speed, twelve rolling sonic booms shaking the rooftops as they engaged the few remaining dragon riders still in the air. Missiles streaked away, turning black silhouettes into falling fireballs.
On the ground, the Delta and Marine squads moved with machine-like precision. Their powered armor shrugged off desperate Draco counter-fire as they swept block by block. Red markers on the holo winked out one after another. Green Albion icons stabilized, then began to push forward again, heartened by the sudden collapse of the enemy lines. The black tide that had threatened to swallow the city was being rolled back with ruthless efficiency.
Roth and Blackthorn stood in stunned silence, watching the holo projection paint the impossible in living color. What had taken hours of brutal fighting was now being undone in minutes by these strangers from the stars. The lords exchanged glances, awe and disbelief plain on their faces. Kane kept his voice level. "We will hold the perimeter until the last civilian is clear. Your men have fought bravely. Let us finish this together." Roth met the major's eyes, the weight of a kingdom's survival shifting on his shoulders. For the first time since the sky had opened, he allowed himself a single, grateful breath.
The blue tide swept on.