**Corporal Garrick Thorne's Log, Supplemental**
**Discovery, Main Hanger Bay access corridor recording**
**37 days after Rothgard's Fall**
The stars return us to the soil we left behind.
Garrick Thorne's squad followed their Delta Operator down the wide, echoing corridor that led to Discovery's main topside hangar bay. Sergeant Mira "Havoc" Calder moved with the fluid economy of someone who had spent years threading through hostile spaces, her matte-black tactical gear absorbing the overhead lights and her short-cropped dark hair showing the faint silver of old scars at the temple. She was compact, sharp-featured, and carried the quiet confidence of a woman who had raised two children alone on Earth before volunteering for the Black Fleet program. Her voice, when she spoke, was low and measured.
"Keep the pace," she said over her shoulder. "We link up with the rest in the main topside hangar bay for final checks. No stragglers. The Wyvern shuttles operate out of the topside bay alongside the fighters." They had gone only a short distance when Princess Jasmine Same Roth stepped out of a side passage ahead of them, wearing the formal regalia of Rothgard nobility—deep green velvet trimmed in silver thread, the Rothgard crest gleaming on her chest, her half-elven features composed yet urgent. She fell into step beside Garrick without breaking stride, her voice warm yet fierce.
"Garrick," she said, gripping his forearm in the old Rothgard greeting. "I could not let you leave without speaking." He clasped her arm in return, steadying himself against the sudden surge of memory. In his mind, he saw her again on the cove beach at dawn, dragon scales gleaming as she gave him the same charge, but this moment was here, now, aboard Discovery. "Princess," he answered, voice low. "I carry your words with me."
Jasmine's grip tightened, her formal robes brushing the corridor floor. "When you reach Rothguard soil—my home, our home—find the resistance. My parents are still fighting in the woods. Tell them the Americans stand with us. Give them these coordinates and this message: help is coming from the sky, and the black fleet will burn. Gather targets and persons of interest. The resistance must know they are not alone."
Garrick nodded once, committing every word to memory. "I will find them. The message will reach them." For a heartbeat, they stood together in the corridor, two children of Rothgard bound by blood and duty, before Jasmine released his arm and stepped back. "Go with the ancestors' blessing, old friend. Come back alive." She turned and disappeared down the side passage, leaving Garrick's squad to continue with Mira. The operator gave him a respectful glance but said nothing, respecting the moment.
Garrick's boots rang on the deck plating. His broad shoulders were set, but his mind kept slipping back to the ascent only hours earlier. The CHS-130 had roared eastward low over Shire Valley, then the engines had thundered into full climb. The acceleration had slammed him into his harness like a mailed fist, the roar vibrating through every bone and tooth. The sky had darkened in seconds, stars exploding into view in impossible numbers, and the pressure had crushed the air from his lungs. For one terrifying heartbeat, the knight who had once charged Imperial lines in the Rothgard forests had felt like a frightened boy again. His stomach had lurched, his vision had tunneled, and a raw, involuntary cry had torn from his throat as the world fell away beneath him. He had gripped the webbing until his knuckles cracked white, whispering the old Rothgard battle prayer between clenched teeth while the void pressed in from every side. The memory still sat heavy in his chest.
Sergeant Calder glanced back as if reading the silence. "First climb is always the worst. I threw up the first time. The second time, I just screamed inside my own head. You get used to it… or you learn to live with the scream." She slowed as they reached the open arch of the main topside hangar bay. The vast space opened before them like a steel cathedral, sleek VS-44 medium shuttles and the deadly forward-swept wings of the FS-64 Switchblade fighters secured in their launch positions, technicians moving with practiced urgency around the craft. The rest of the infiltration teams were already forming up near the VS-44s that would carry them planetside again. Calder stopped and turned to face her assigned squad fully.
"Before we board," she said, "let's make this real. I'm Sergeant Mira Calder. Call sign Havoc. I've got a husband and two kids back on Earth—twins, twelve years old, probably arguing over who gets the last packet of chocolate right now. My squad—Delta Team Three—has run more black ops than I care to count. We're not here to be heroes. We're here to make the Imperia bleed where it hurts most and come home alive. You four are my responsibility tonight. Any questions before we step onto the bird?"
Garrick met her gaze steadily. "Our target is occupied Rothguard. It's become their main departure point and supply stockpile on the west coast of the East Continent. But there's more." He repeated the charge aloud now, voice low. "Princess Jasmine charged me personally. Link up with the Rothguard resistance. Pass the message. Gather targets and persons of interest. The resistance must know they are not alone." Calder's expression sharpened with respect. "Understood. We'll adjust the infil route to give you contact windows. My team has done similar link-ups before—quiet drops, dead drops, whispered words in the dark. We'll make it work."
The other squads drifted closer, drawn by the conversation. Torin Shadowear and Garrick Thorne clasped forearms in silent brotherhood. Sylvana Silverleaf offered a graceful nod, her voice soft. "Rothguard was once a place of refuge for many. Now it is a wound. We strike the supply lines that feed the wound."
Stories began to flow in low voices as the teams waited for the final call. Calder shared a quick tale of her twins trying to "borrow" a training drone for a backyard siege, drawing laughter that eased the tension. Darius Blackthorn spoke of the old Rothgard forest ambushes, his deep voice carrying the weight of lost comrades. Elara Whitestone traded quips about the absurdity of fighting from the stars, while Rylan Graymaw's wolfkin growl softened into reluctant admiration for the Delta operator's calm.
The easy exchange was cut short by the calm, clear voice that rolled through the bay from hidden speakers. "All infiltration teams, final pre-drop checks commence immediately. Board your shuttles. This is not a drill." The squads straightened as one. Torin Shadowear caught Garrick's eye and gave a single, resolute nod. Garrick Thorne squared his shoulders, the terror of the ascent still fresh but now tempered by purpose. Rothguard waited below—occupied, scarred, yet still home. He would deliver Jasmine's message, mark the stockpiles, and help turn the black tide once and for all.
The void had carried them home. Now they would make it count.