The people and their ships had all gathered. For the first time, this desolate corner of the Star Realm known as Terminal Star was flooded with so many flying devices that the man-made objects in its sky outnumbered the visible celestial bodies.
As Rorschach gazed out, large ships hovered, sparsely but evenly spaced. Among them, smaller vessels zipped back and forth like flies and mosquitoes, ferrying the Istani to the Alliance's capital ships and peddling Valois's cargo to the Dwarves.
Many of these ships had been built decades ago, their designs a microcosm of their respective eras. The earliest vessels still bore exposed rivets, their seals and stability deeply concerning. The only reason they could even function was by burning massive quantities of Transmuting Dust, leaving magic to solve all their problems.
