The next morning, the medieval envoys were escorted out of the hotel by a group of Aurion service staff and security personnel. The city was already alive with activity—cars rushed through wide streets, towering glass buildings reflected the morning sun, and the constant hum of life in Solaira felt overwhelming to the knights and priests.
Father Alric clutched his robe tightly, still wary of the rushing metal carts that roared past them. Sir Garrick Thorne, the military envoy, kept his hand on his sword's hilt out of instinct, though Sergeant Ramirez assured him repeatedly, "You're safe here. No one's going to attack you."
Selvara Wynne, the expansionist envoy, walked with sharp eyes, studying everything—the architecture, the strange machines, the sheer scale of the city. "This… is nothing like Drachenhalm," she muttered to Lord Carsten Deymar. "They build without limit. These people could house an entire kingdom within a single city."
Lord Carsten nodded, but his focus was elsewhere. "Look at the shops. The goods. Their wealth isn't just in walls and weapons—every citizen seems to live better than some of our lords."
The envoys were guided first to a grand marketplace, a sprawling complex filled with bright signs and endless rows of products. Father Alric stopped in awe as an Aurion staff member handed him a cold, sweet drink in a cup. "It's called soda," she said kindly.
He took a cautious sip—and his eyes widened. "By the gods… what manner of potion is this?"
The group moved through the market, witnessing automated machines scanning goods, people paying with small cards instead of coins, and food stalls offering dishes they could not name.
Later, they visited a large public library. Rows upon rows of books, glowing screens, and people studying in silence made the knights exchange uncertain glances. Sir Garrick finally muttered, "They must have scholars beyond count to build a place like this."
In the afternoon, they were taken to a school. Dozens of children in uniforms walked through clean hallways, some carrying strange glowing tablets instead of scrolls. Selvara watched carefully as students spoke confidently to their teachers. "Their young are taught differently," she whispered. "Less obedience… more questioning."
Everywhere they went, curious citizens watched from a distance. Some took photos, making the envoys uncomfortable at first until Ramirez explained, "They're just keeping a memory. It's harmless."
By evening, the group returned to the hotel, their minds overwhelmed. Lord Carsten sat silently for a long time before finally saying, "If this is how even their common folk live… then Drakensport is centuries behind."
Sir Garrick clenched his fists. "Perhaps. But power is more than comfort. We must never forget that."
Father Alric looked out the window at the city lights glittering like stars. "Maybe… the gods sent us here for a reason. To learn. Or to be humbled."
None of them slept easily that night. The wonders they saw were too vast to comprehend, and each envoy quietly wrestled with what it meant for their kingdom's future.
On their final day before returning to Drakensport, the envoys were given more freedom than ever. The security detail was minimal, with only a few Aurion officers keeping a discreet distance as they moved through the bustling streets of Solaira.
Sir Edric Varlen, who had been unusually quiet during much of the trip, found himself drawn to a lively district filled with shops and small festivals. He wandered into a crowded plaza where a cosplay event was taking place. His eyes widened at the sight of beautifully crafted swords, shields, and armor—though all made from harmless materials. "These are… remarkable," he muttered as he examined a sleek katana replica. Without hesitation, he purchased several swords, fascinated by their exotic shapes and lightweight build. "They fight for sport here," he later told Sir Garrick, shaking his head in disbelief, "yet even their toys feel as if they belong to a different world."
Father Alric, meanwhile, spent hours in a quiet corner of a grand bookstore. With the help of a translator, he carefully selected a Bible and a Qur'an, studying their pages with reverence. "If their people live by such teachings," he whispered, "then their strength may not lie only in steel, but in wisdom as well." He also purchased small religious relics—crosses, prayer beads, and simple charms—intending to show them to scholars back home.
Lord Merrow, as expected, roamed the city with calculated curiosity. He paid close attention to the layout of markets, the flow of trade, and the sheer abundance of goods. "If these people traded freely with us," he quietly said to himself, "their wealth could drown our coffers."
Lord Ventross, the military envoy, was far less subtle. He constantly observed soldiers, vehicles, and security systems, taking mental notes of everything. Yet he remained outwardly calm, never voicing the obvious conclusion: if Aurion chose war, Drakensport would stand no chance.
Lady Arlenne, who had mostly kept to herself during the trip, spent much of the day walking through peaceful parks and quiet neighborhoods. She watched families play with their children and students relaxing after school. For the first time, she seemed genuinely moved. "They live without fear," she said softly to a nearby aide. "Our people deserve this kind of peace."
As night fell, the envoys reunited at the hotel. Sir Edric proudly showed the swords he had bought, grinning like a boy with new toys. Father Alric sat with his new holy books, lost in thought. Merrow, Ventross, and Arlenne remained silent, each processing the past days differently—Merrow envisioning power and profit, Ventross pondering strategy, and Arlenne quietly wondering if Drakensport could ever achieve what Aurion already had.
For the first time since arriving, they truly felt what it was like to be ordinary citizens—eating street food, laughing at oddities, even being photographed by curious Aurion locals who simply found them fascinating.
As they prepared to leave for the airport the next morning, the delegation carried not only gifts and souvenirs but also questions that would shake the foundations of their kingdom once they returned.
The morning sun cast a warm glow over Solaira City as the Drakensport delegation gathered at the rooftop helipad of the five‑star hotel. Their belongings—souvenirs, books, and the various curiosities they had collected—were carefully loaded into the transport helicopter that would take them back to Sierra‑17.
Sir Edric stood near the edge of the helipad, looking at the towering skyline one last time. "Hard to believe places like this exist," he muttered, tightening the strap around the bundle of replica swords he had purchased. Father Alric clutched his newly acquired Bible and Qur'an close to his chest, his expression conflicted—fascination mixed with quiet unease.
Lord Merrow scanned the city below with narrowed eyes, already thinking of trade routes and resource flows he had observed. Lord Ventross remained stoic, his mind replaying every detail he had seen of Aurion's infrastructure, discipline, and sheer capability. Lady Arlenne, standing slightly apart, looked back at the city with a faint, wistful smile, as though she had glimpsed a future her people might never reach.
The helicopter's engines roared to life, the sound startling some of the envoys despite having flown several times already. As they lifted off, the sprawling metropolis shrank beneath them. The shimmering glass towers, neon‑lit districts, and endless streams of vehicles became distant lights on the horizon.
Hours later, they arrived at an Aurion airfield near Sierra‑17. From there, the familiar armored convoy awaited them—this time with Sergeant Ramirez at the lead. "Welcome back," he greeted with a casual salute, his expression neutral yet cordial. "We'll escort you to the outpost before nightfall."
The convoy moved steadily through the open roads. Despite now being accustomed to Aurion's strange machines, the knights and priests still found themselves glancing uneasily at every vehicle that passed by, their horses tethered to a separate carrier.
As the walls of Sierra‑17 came into view, the tension among the envoys rose slightly. They knew that upon returning to Drakensport, they would have to present everything they had learned—and what they would say could decide whether their kingdom pursued trade, conquest, or uneasy peace.
By the time they entered the outpost gates, the sun was setting. Aurion soldiers stood at attention, giving polite nods to the envoys as they disembarked. For the first time since their arrival in this new world, Sir Edric, Father Alric, and the other delegates felt the weight of the task ahead.
The next step would not be sightseeing or pleasantries. The next step was facing King Aldred's court—where ambition, fear, and pride would collide once more.
The sky above Sierra‑17 was clear as the transport helicopter descended toward the outpost. The knights and priests inside gripped their seats tightly, still uneasy with the sensation of flight. The rhythmic thrum of the rotors was unlike anything they had experienced, and each gust of wind reminded them they were suspended in the air by nothing more than the "magic" of the modern world.
Sergeant Ramirez stood near the open side door, headset on, calmly watching the landing zone grow larger beneath them. "Touchdown in thirty seconds," he called out over the noise, though only the Aurion personnel understood his words.
The helicopter hovered for a moment before easing down, the landing skids meeting the ground with a soft jolt. The knights exchanged nervous glances as the side door slid open. Warm, dusty wind blew in from the outpost as soldiers outside formed a loose perimeter, curious onlookers watching the unusual passengers disembark.
Sir Edric Varlen was the first to step onto the ground, his boots crunching against the gravel. He squinted up at the helicopter, still marveling at the machine that had carried them across great distances in mere minutes. Father Alric followed closely, clutching the books he had taken from Aurion—religious texts and writings he still struggled to comprehend.
Behind them, Lord Merrow, Lord Ventross, and Lady Arlenne descended, each carrying themselves with practiced nobility despite their clear discomfort.
Merrow muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Ventross to hear. "Even now, they flaunt their power. No beasts, no horses—just machines beyond reason."
Ventross gave a short nod, his eyes scanning the soldiers around them. "Power that could be ours, if they prove weak."
Lady Arlenne, walking just behind them, remained silent, instead observing every detail of the outpost—its order, its strange towers, and the soldiers' disciplined movements. She noted how quickly the Aurion troops moved, how efficiently they handled their duties without any noble barking orders.
As the group gathered near the helicopter, Ramirez approached with two Aurion soldiers and Dr. Helena Voss, the lead linguist. Voss offered a practiced smile and spoke slowly, her words translated through the device she wore. "Welcome back to Sierra‑17. You will rest here for the night before traveling to your kingdom tomorrow."
Father Alric nodded stiffly, still uneasy at hearing their language echoed back through a strange metallic voice. "We… understand," he replied haltingly.
Aurion soldiers moved their luggage toward a small set of barracks prepared for them. The outpost felt busy but calm—trucks rumbled by, soldiers stood watch at the gates, and a pair of drones buzzed quietly overhead.
Sir Edric couldn't help but glance upward again. Two F‑35s soared past in formation, their sleek frames glinting in the sunlight. He muttered under his breath, "Steel dragons… guardians of the sky."
Merrow watched them too, but his expression hardened. "And weapons we must one day claim for our own."
None of the Aurion soldiers heard him. Ramirez simply gestured toward the barracks, his voice even. "Get them settled. Tomorrow, they return home."
As night fell over Sierra‑17, the medieval envoys lay awake in their bunks, each quietly contemplating everything they had seen—machines that flew, cities of light, and a world that defied every truth they had been taught.
Morning sunlight spilled over Sierra‑17 as the medieval envoys prepared for their return journey. The outpost buzzed with activity—soldiers loading supplies onto armored vehicles, mechanics checking over the convoy, and drones lifting into the air for routine patrol.
Sir Edric Varlen stood beside Father Alric, watching as a large armored personnel carrier rumbled to life. Its heavy tires churned up dust as it rolled forward, stopping just short of the waiting carriage. The knights instinctively gripped their swords, still uneasy around the strange machines.
"Strange… beast," Edric muttered, glancing at Father Alric.
The priest adjusted his grip on the satchel containing the books he had collected in Aurion. "And yet… they move like trained steeds. Tireless, strong, never faltering. It is no wonder they command such power."
Sergeant Ramirez approached with two soldiers in tow, motioning for the knights and nobles to board the carriage. Through Dr. Helena Voss's translation device, he spoke evenly. "The convoy will escort you to your border. Flying support will follow overhead. You will be safe."
Lord Merrow sneered faintly as he stepped up into the carriage. "Safe, because they wish to impress us. They parade their machines as if to boast."
Lady Arlenne, just behind him, frowned. "Or perhaps as a gesture of goodwill. Not every act of strength is a threat, Merrow."
The convoy set off, the carriage moving at a steady pace while the APC and several FPVs formed a protective formation around it. Overhead, two F‑35s circled lazily in the sky, their engines a constant low roar. The knights inside the carriage shifted uncomfortably every time the jets passed overhead, memories of the battle against the undead flashing in their minds.
Sir Edric muttered, "They honor us as allies… or remind us what they are capable of."
Ventross leaned back in his seat, arms crossed. "Allies or not, they have shown their power too clearly. We must remember this."
The journey back to Drakensport's frontier passed without incident, the armored convoy drawing curious stares from peasants and villagers along the way. Children pointed at the massive vehicles in awe, while elders crossed themselves nervously at the sound of the jets.
By evening, the convoy reached the agreed border point. Ramirez stepped forward once more, speaking through Voss. "This is where we part ways. Your kingdom awaits you."
The knights and nobles disembarked, their eyes lingering on the armored vehicles and the jets circling overhead one final time.
Father Alric turned to Ramirez and offered a formal bow—awkward but sincere. "Your people… are strange. But we thank you."
Ramirez gave a short nod, his face unreadable. "Safe travels."
As the convoy turned back toward Sierra‑17, the medieval envoys began the final leg of their journey home, their minds weighed down by everything they had seen.
For some, the escort had been a sign of strength and security. For others, it had been a quiet, deliberate reminder of Aurion's overwhelming power.
As the carriage rattled along the dirt road, Father Alric carefully adjusted the satchel resting on his lap. Inside were the holy books he had collected during his stay in Aurion—a Bible and a Qur'an, both of which fascinated him for their rich teachings and stark differences from the faith of Drakensport.
But beneath those sacred texts, wrapped in plain cloth so as not to draw attention, was something far more significant. During one of his last quiet visits to a modern library, Alric had found books—detailed accounts of Aurion's past. Chronicles of its rise as a great power, its struggles, and above all… its wars.
He had not told Sir Edric, nor the other delegates, about this final acquisition. The librarians had assumed he was a curious foreign scholar, and no one had questioned what he borrowed.
Alric ran his fingers over the book's edge beneath the cloth. The pages told of conflicts so vast that entire nations had been reshaped. It spoke of wars fought with weapons so devastating that entire cities were erased in seconds—nuclear fire, concepts far beyond his comprehension but terrifying in their implications.
The priest's face betrayed nothing as the carriage swayed gently. Outside, knights chatted idly, while jets thundered faintly overhead.
Sir Edric glanced at him. "You've been quiet, Father. Is something troubling you?"
Alric smiled faintly. "Merely… thinking of all I have learned. Knowledge is a heavy burden, Sir Edric."
Neither Edric nor the other nobles knew that what Alric carried could one day shift the balance of power between their world and Aurion.
For now, it was just a book in a satchel.
But its pages told a story of conquest, power, and destruction—a story that, in the wrong hands, could change everything.