The sky above the Delafae region was a thick, suffocating grey. It wasn't clouded—it was tainted. As if the heavens themselves recoiled from the land below.
The two armored carriers, floating on anti-gravity arrays and powered by arcane turbines, hummed through the air, weaving low between jagged ridgelines and dead trees. Their glass fronts glowed faintly, casting rays of light ahead into the mist.
Inside the lead carrier, Special Force 1 sat in silence. Weapons secured. Gear locked in. The only sound was the occasional shift of armor plates and the low murmur of arcane detectors scanning the landscape below.
"ETA: Three minutes," the automated voice of the carrier's spirit-core announced.
Vorden stood at the front window, face calm, eyes narrowed as he watched the nothingness roll by.
