Inside Sierra‑17 Outpost, the makeshift meeting room had been rearranged to host the first meaningful discussion between Aurion and Drakensport. A simple table separated Sergeant Ramirez, Dr. Helena Voss, and a few outpost officers from Sir Edric Varlen, Sir Roderic, and Father Alric.
Through slow, broken translation, they finally began to understand each other.
Father Alric, speaking carefully, gestured to himself and the knights. "We… come as messengers. Our king… wishes to know your people. Your land. Your… history."
Helena, working quickly with her translation tablet, looked at Ramirez and nodded. "He's saying they want to visit Aurion to learn who we are. They want to understand us… and maybe tell their leaders about us before the larger delegation arrives."
Ramirez gave a slow nod. "That's… good. But we'll need approval." He turned to one of the officers. "Patch this through to Solaira. President and Foreign Affairs need to see this."
As the message was relayed to Aurion High Command, Sir Edric leaned slightly toward Father Alric and muttered, "Look around, Father… even their soldiers live with comforts beyond our lords. If their homes are greater still, then truly, these people are unlike any we've ever known."
Roderic, however, kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, eyes still sharp and wary. "Powerful, yes… but power makes tyrants. We must not forget that."
Father Alric, though equally cautious, nodded. "Then we go, not as fools… but as witnesses. Our king must know the truth of these people—both their might, and their hearts."
Minutes later, Helena's radio crackled. "Authorization granted. Escort the envoys to Solaira. Keep everything calm—this is official now."
Ramirez exhaled and looked at the knights. "You… come with us. To our capital. You… learn Aurion."
The words were broken, but the meaning was clear.
Sir Edric straightened, nodding solemnly. "Then we accept. Lead the way."
Outside, the roar of another steel dragon echoed overhead. The knights tensed, but Ramirez raised a hand. "Safe. Patrol."
For the first time, Father Alric allowed himself a small, tentative smile.
They were about to see the true heart of this strange new nation—and bring its image back to Drakensport's throne.
The envoy's carriage rattled to a halt as Sergeant Ramirez motioned for the drivers to stop. Ahead stretched a massive stretch of flat, paved ground—strange markings painted along its surface. To the knights and Father Alric, it looked like nothing more than an unnaturally smooth barren field, empty and lifeless.
"This is… where we wait," Ramirez said, pointing toward the far end of the open ground.
Sir Edric narrowed his eyes. "A strange place… like stone, but too smooth. No crops. No trees. What purpose does it serve?"
Before Father Alric could speculate, a deafening roar filled the air. The knights instinctively drew their swords, surrounding the priest in a protective circle.
From the clouds descended the massive steel dragon they had seen patrolling before—the AWACS. Its wings stretched wide, casting a shadow over the field as it approached at incredible speed. Dust and loose debris whipped around as the dragon's wheels touched the ground, screeching until it slowed to a crawl.
Father Alric's voice trembled. "By the gods… it lands like a beast tamed."
Sir Roderic muttered through clenched teeth, "That thing could destroy an army… and yet here it rests as if nothing."
Moments later, two smaller dragons—the F‑35s—descended in quick succession, their sleek frames darting across the sky before touching down beside the AWACS. The knights braced themselves, some muttering prayers under their breath, their armor clinking from the tension.
To the Aurion soldiers at the airfield, this was routine. Ground crews moved swiftly, signaling the jets, checking their landing gear, and speaking into radios as though none of this spectacle was extraordinary.
But to the Drakensport envoys, it was unlike anything they had ever imagined.
Sir Edric kept his hand on his sword but leaned closer to Ramirez. "These… dragons… they obey you?"
Ramirez glanced at him and gave a small nod. "Yes. Ours."
The knights exchanged wary looks. It was a confirmation they had suspected—but hearing it still felt surreal.
Hours passed as the envoys waited, occasionally flinching as other steel dragons roared overhead on patrol. Finally, the rhythmic thrum of rotors echoed in the distance—a helicopter approaching to carry them to Solaira.
Father Alric stared at the strange flying machine as it hovered closer. "Another dragon… but with wings that spin like a windmill…"
Sir Roderic shook his head in disbelief. "If these are their steeds of war… then truly, we walk among giants."
Sergeant Ramirez pointed at the helicopter as it slowly descended, its spinning rotors kicking up dust around the airfield.
"This…" he said, speaking slowly so Dr. Helena Voss could translate for Father Alric and the knights, "…will take us to our capital. You ride… inside."
Father Alric's brow furrowed, glancing at Sir Edric and Sir Roderic. "Inside… the beast?"
Helena, after a moment of hesitation, nodded. "It is… not a beast. It is… a machine. It carries people. Safe."
Sir Roderic looked unconvinced, gripping the hilt of his sword. "We step into its belly, and it flies away with us? What if it decides to devour us instead?"
Sir Edric, however, studied the Aurion soldiers carefully. None of them seemed afraid. The ground crews worked calmly around the helicopter, treating it as they would a simple wagon or horse.
"If it were truly dangerous to them," Edric muttered, "they would not stand so close. Perhaps… it is tamed."
Father Alric's eyes remained fixed on the craft. "Tamed or not, I cannot help but wonder if stepping into it is to surrender ourselves to their mercy."
Ramirez, sensing their unease, stepped closer and patted the helicopter's side. "Safe. Pilot… controls. Not beast."
Helena translated again, adding softly, "A man inside guides it. Like a carriage driver… but in the sky."
The knights exchanged glances. The idea that the roaring contraption was guided by a man inside instead of being alive was difficult to grasp.
Sir Roderic muttered under his breath, "Sky‑carriage… madness."
Still, as the crew gestured for them to board, curiosity slowly outweighed fear. Sir Edric stepped forward first, placing a hand on the cold metal surface before cautiously climbing inside.
Father Alric followed, gripping his holy pendant tightly as he muttered a prayer.
One by one, the envoys entered the helicopter's cabin, glancing nervously at the seats and instruments as if they had stepped into the stomach of a slumbering beast.
Outside, Ramirez gave the pilot a thumbs‑up. The rotors grew louder, and the ground began to tremble as the craft lifted from the earth.
The envoys clung to their seats, wide‑eyed, as the world below shrank away.
For the first time in their lives, they were flying—not on the back of a dragon or through magic, but inside a machine built by human hands.
As the helicopter descended through the clouds, Father Alric, Sir Edric Varlen, and Sir Roderic pressed against the windows, their eyes widening with disbelief.
The land below shimmered with countless lights—streets glowing like rivers of fire, buildings illuminated from every level, and vehicles moving endlessly along winding roads.
Then, the city itself came into view.
Towering structures pierced the sky, their tops vanishing into the night clouds. Entire districts glowed with vibrant colors—reds, blues, and golds from signs and screens larger than any tapestry they had ever seen. The roads were packed with carriages of steel, each moving without horses, weaving in and out with seamless order.
Sir Roderic's voice was barely a whisper. "This… this is no city. This is a world of its own."
Father Alric gripped the window frame, his face pale in awe. "Never have I seen so much light… not even in the grandest of temples. It is as if the stars themselves were stolen from the heavens and placed upon this earth."
Sir Edric swallowed hard, unable to look away. "Our castles… our halls… they are nothing. We are ants compared to this."
As they drew closer to the heart of Solaira City, the sheer scale became overwhelming—massive towers lined with shining glass, colossal bridges that spanned entire districts, and crowds of people moving like endless tides far below.
The noise of the city reached them even through the helicopter's cabin—horns blaring, engines roaring, and the constant hum of life in motion.
"This place never sleeps," Father Alric murmured, almost to himself. "A city of light and iron… with power beyond comprehension."
The helicopter banked slightly, revealing the Presidential Complex, a sprawling, fortified structure surrounded by sleek government buildings and well‑lit plazas. Compared to the medieval stone halls of Drakensport, it looked impossibly advanced—built not for lords, but for rulers of an empire unlike any they had imagined.
Sir Roderic exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "If this is merely their city… then what of the rest of their land?"
Sir Edric, still staring out the window, muttered softly, "Now I understand why they do not fear us. We are nothing like them… and they are nothing like us."
The helicopter began its slow descent toward the landing pad within the complex. Soldiers were already assembled below, awaiting the envoys' arrival.
For the first time since entering this strange land, the knights and priest felt the weight of the unknown pressing down on them.
Whatever awaited them inside this city of light… would change Drakensport forever.
The helicopter's skids touched down gently on the rooftop helipad, its rotors still whipping the air around. Bright landing lights illuminated the landing pad, casting sharp shadows across the rooftop.
Waiting just beyond the marked zone stood a group of hotel staff—men and women dressed in immaculate uniforms, their posture professional but curious. Some held silver trays with refreshments, while others stood ready to escort the visitors inside.
As the rotors slowed, Sergeant Ramirez stepped out first, signaling for Father Alric, Sir Edric Varlen, and Sir Roderic to follow.
The knights hesitated for a brief moment, glancing around at the unfamiliar surroundings—high winds brushing against their cloaks, the ground beneath them unnervingly smooth, and the night sky framed by towers of glass and steel all around.
"This… is where we stay?" Sir Roderic asked under his breath, gripping the hilt of his sword instinctively.
Ramirez nodded. "Hotel. Rest. Food. Safe."
Father Alric took a cautious step forward, his robes swaying in the rotor wash. "A palace in the sky… built not for kings, but for common travelers?"
One of the hotel attendants stepped forward, bowing politely. "Welcome, honored guests. We have prepared your rooms."
The words were translated haltingly by Dr. Helena Voss, who followed closely behind. The knights exchanged puzzled glances—this place felt as grand as any royal hall, yet these people treated it as something normal.
As they walked across the rooftop toward the entrance, they passed sleek glass doors that opened automatically with a soft hiss. The sudden motion startled Sir Roderic, who reached for his sword before Sir Edric placed a calming hand on his arm.
Inside, the opulence of the hotel lobby left them momentarily speechless. Marble floors reflected golden light from chandeliers, while staff members in crisp uniforms moved gracefully about, ready to serve.
Sir Edric muttered under his breath, "Not even the king's palace is this… pristine."
Father Alric could only nod slowly. "This is no kingdom's hall. It is another world entirely."
The group was led toward a set of private elevators—strange moving rooms with mirrored walls and glowing buttons. As the doors slid open without anyone touching them, the knights instinctively stepped back, weapons half‑drawn.
Ramirez chuckled lightly. "Safe. No danger."
Helena translated softly, and after a tense pause, Father Alric stepped in first, signaling for the knights to follow.
The elevator doors slid shut, and with a faint hum, the room began to rise. Sir Roderic gripped the railing tightly, muttering, "We… we are moving. But… the ground does not."
Sir Edric exhaled slowly, his eyes fixed on the illuminated numbers counting upward. "These people… they command not just steel, but even the very earth beneath their feet."
When the doors opened again, a staff member guided them to their lavish suites—rooms far grander than any noble's chambers, complete with lights that shone without flame, water flowing at the turn of a handle, and soft beds that felt like clouds.
For the knights and Father Alric, it felt as though they had stepped into a realm of gods.
While Father Alric, Sir Edric Varlen, and Sir Roderic were still adjusting to the overwhelming culture and technology of Aurion, the Kingdom of Drakensport had already chosen its official delegation.
Weeks of heated debate in Drachenhalm's royal court had finally resulted in a compromise: three factions—each with their own vision for Drakensport's future—would be represented in a single envoy.
The economic faction, led by Lord Alistair Ventross, a shrewd noble deeply interested in trade and acquiring foreign technology, would officially head the delegation. His goal was clear—to open commerce with Aurion, secure knowledge of their "steel dragons," and ensure Drakensport gained wealth and power through peaceful exchange.
The military diplomacy faction, represented by Marshal Cedric Vaughn, was there not to negotiate trade but to assess Aurion's military strength firsthand. Vaughn and his retainers believed that power was the only language worth speaking. If Aurion was weak, they would advocate for conquest. If Aurion was strong, they would argue for strategic submission—while plotting ways to match their might.
The expansionist faction, embodied by Lord Merrow, had more sinister ambitions. While officially labeled as an "observer," he and his allies hoped to find weaknesses to exploit, believing that Aurion's incredible machines and weapons were rightfully Drakensport's to take.
The delegation was large—knights in polished armor, scribes carrying parchments and seals, priests eager to spread the faith, and merchants curious about Aurion's riches. Carriages were laden with gifts—gold, furs, fine wines, and mastercrafted arms—to present as tokens of goodwill.
Lord Ventross rode at the center, his fine cloak embroidered with gold thread fluttering in the wind. He was calm but determined; this was his chance to cement himself as the architect of Drakensport's rise.
Marshal Vaughn, armored and imposing, sat rigid on his warhorse, scanning the horizon with a soldier's eye. "If these outsiders wield their steel beasts as easily as we swing a sword, we must learn their secrets—or take them by force."
Lord Merrow smirked from his carriage, glancing at the wealth they brought as offerings. "We bring them gold now… but one day, their cities will pay tribute to us. Mark my words.".