CHAPTER SEVEN: THE SIXTH ASTRAL ERA
In the year 1570 of the Sixth Astral Era, few beings on Etheirys could imagine their star was about to be visited by beings incredibly alien, yet so similar to the races that lived there. After centuries of travel, braving the dangers of the Sea of Stars, the ships of the expedition had finally reached their destination. While the majority of the ships remained in a nearby star system in order to construct the Space Bridge that would provide a link back to the Commonwealth, the starship Axalon, under the command of Countdown, proceeded on to Etheirys.
It was a small ship by the standards of Transformers, crewed mostly by mini-cons and micromasters, those who, with the aid of holograms or specially designed alt-modes, could move among the people of Etheirys without raising suspicion. With no current information on the state of the star, and with only vague details from Hydaelyn on just how the core objective of the expedition could be achieved, caution and stealth would be critical, especially in the early stages of contact.
And so, hidden behind the best stealth technology the transformers had, to avoid the attention of the War-moon Dalamud, the Axalon settled into orbit above the continent of Eorzea, and Countdown teleported to the Churning Mists, in the hopes of reestablishing contact with the draconic allies he’d made on his first visit...
***
There was a trespasser in the Churning Mists, Darkscale was certain of it. Moments before, there had been a sudden surge of levin-aspected aether, unlike anything the black-scaled dragon had ever experienced. Despite the intensity of the surge, it had somehow been focused on one specific location. If he hadn’t been drifting in the skies above the floating islands, he would have missed it entirely.
He didn’t know what it was, be it some sort of teleportation spell or some sort of weapon, and it didn’t really matter. It was the mortals of Ishgard, seeking to compound their sins yet again by trying to attack their betters. And once again, Darkscale would burn them out. With a roar that echoed across the land, calling to any of his kin that were nearby, he swooped towards his target.
Surprisingly, his prey was out in the open, not even trying to hide. And it didn’t appear to be Ishgardian soldiers, or their elite ‘Dragoons’. Instead, it appeared to be a single metal figure in the shape of a mortal, red and white plates gleaming in the morning light. Eyes narrowing, Darkscales fury grew as he realised what this must be. One of the Garlean Empires ‘magitek’ creations, like the devices they’d used in their foolish attempt to slay Midgardsomr. Snarling at the memory, he tucked his wings in and dove sharply, pulling up just in time to avoid crashing into the ground, then unleashed his flames across the magitek soldier.
The solider leapt clear of the green flames, rolling on the ground as he did so to smother the patches of flame clinging to his leg and arms. “I’m not here to fight!” he cried. Having no time or patience for mortal lies, Darkscale landed and pressed the attack, lashing out with claws almost as long as the machina was tall. To his surprise, his target caught the blow on his forearms, managing to stand despite being driven back over half a dozen fulms. “I come here in peace,” the machina insisted. “I seek an audience with-”
Darkscale spun with greater speed than one would have expected for one of his size, catching the metal man with his tail and throwing him back across the clearing, bouncing painfully across the ground until he finally slid to a stop against a fallen tree. The dragon grinned in satisfaction, but before he could call upon the flame again, another voice called out to his right.
“Captain, I know what you hoped for here, but I don’t think he’s going to listen to you!” Darkscale’s head snapped around, only to freeze in sudden confusion. Instead of another mortal soldier, he found himself looking at a grey griffin, the animal meeting his gaze with a surprisingly intelligent look. Shaking his head, the dragon opened his mouth and unleashed another stream of fire, only to have the griffin take to the air and avoid it.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the beasts ‘captain’ pull himself to a standing position. “I think you’re right. Axalon, initiate recall.” Snarling, Darkscale spread his wings wide, channelling aether along the bones in them. That aether flowed out of his body and through the air, forming into spears of ice that raced towards the machina. In response, the machina unleashed bolts of plasma from long barrels on his forearms, blasting the spears out of the air before they reached him.
“We got more incoming!” a third voice to his left called out, which only made Darkscales rage grow even fiercer as he turned to see some variant of coeurl, yellow furred with black spots, standing on a rock. The animal was staring into the distance, where half a dozen winged shadows could be seen in the sky. The sight of his kin approaching cooled Darkscales fury, a vicious satisfaction taking hold. Whatever was going on, they would carve the answers from the animals very bones.
Then sparks of levin-aspected aether began to dance along the ground, with no apparent source. For a moment, he wondered if one of his enemies was preparing an attack, before realising that the aether was moving in similar ways to what had originally drawn his attention. Furthermore, it was gathering around the two animals and machina. Eyes widening, he lunged at the coeurl, but before his claws could reach the beast, the aether surged, bolts of levin wrapping around all three figures, briefly blinding the dragon.
By the time his eyes cleared, the aether was gone, and he was alone. Only the small crater the machina soldier had left in the dirt after the tail strike, and the scorch marks around where the levin had been concentrated, provided any evidence his foes had ever been there. His head darted around, searching in all directions, before he screamed in rage at being denied his kill.
***
Of the various forms of teleportation Countdown had encountered, orbital jumps were among his least favourite. Something about the way it tore him out of physical reality always left his circuits aching at the best of times. Given how thoroughly he’d been worked over by a disturbingly aggressive dragon, he nearly fell over the moment he appeared on the Axlaons teleportation platform.
Next to him, the coeurl darted forward, transforming as it did so, artificial skin and flesh separating along invisible seams to reveal the mechanoid underneath. By the time he reached Countdown, a quadruped had become a tall, thin humanoid, one easily able to provide a shoulder for him to lean on. “Easy boss-bot, I got you.”
The door across the room slid open, revealing an irritated red and white mech. “What in the pit happened to you?” Fixit demanded, quickly darting across the room.
“A rather angry dragon decided to protest our presence with flame and claw,” the griffin declared, transforming to bot mode as well. He took a moment to stretch his wings, still intact in this mode, before tucking them up on his back. “And unfortunately for our captain, he was the obvious target.”
“I really didn’t expect that reaction,” Countdown admitted. “Last time I visited, I landed a scoutship on their islands and they were still willing to talk first – ow.” He directed a glare towards Fixit, who looked utterly unapologetic as a section of melted shoulder tire peeled off in his hand. “A single mech standing out in the open shouldn’t have drawn such a hostile reaction from them.”
The ships chief doctor raised an optic ridge. “It’s been, what, two thousand years or so? Organic civilisations change pretty fast sometimes.”
He waved a hand. “Draconic lifespans are long enough that there shouldn’t have been this drastic a change, not this fast.” Frowning slightly, he rubbed at his nose. “Unless there was an outside factor to the change… something from the shorter lived races perhaps?”
“Either way, it can wait,” Fixit said. “Right now, you’re going to the infirmary. You’ve got severe structural damage to your arms, and I’m reading multiple smaller cracks and damaged servos across your torso. You should be able to walk, but Cheetor, Silverbolt, help him along.”
“Yes sir,” both beastformers responded, cheerfully ignoring their captains good-natured protests in favour of not drawing the doctors wrath.
***
Lying on a bed in the infirmary with sections of his chest panelling removed, Fixit carefully detaching a cracked energon pump from below his spark chamber, Countdown considered the matter once more. “While I’d like to make more attempts at establishing communications with the dragons, I think it’s best to wait until we have a better understanding of just what caused them to react so violently,” he said to his executive officer standing next to the bed.
Folding his arms across his chest, the black-furred mech frowned thoughtfully. “So, our initial plans of having on-site allies isn’t happening, at least in the short term. Well, that’s just prime,” he grumbled. “I’m really wishing you’d left some way to contact Ratatoskr directly.”
Sighing, Countdown let his head rest against the bed. “I wanted to, but she talked me out of it. She felt there was too much potential of it falling into the wrong hands. I’m not sure what exactly would be the wrong hands for a simple comm unit, but, well, there’s already a war moon here with enough firepower to be a threat to modern starships, so she might have had a point.”
“Well, at least the initial plans shouldn’t need to be altered too much,” Optimus Primal mused.
Countdown had to admit the mech was right. Even without the dragons to provide current information on local societies, sky spy drones should still be able to develop maps of the regions, allowing various mechs with beast modes to find places to observe the population undetected, and from there bots under holographic disguises could make contact. It was still a viable plan, they’d just have to move slower. “Start the preparations for me, could you?” He waved a hand towards his doctor. “You know where to find me for the foreseeable future.”
“Complaining won’t make me go any faster,” Fixit said, not looking up from where he was sealing off an energon tube. Optimus merely chuckled as he left the infirmary, leaving Countdown to wonder, yet again, just what happened to the dragons he remembered.
***
The answer, as he found a few days later, was all too familiar.
“We arrived in the middle of a war.” Standing at the far end of the conference room table due to the lack of any seats big enough to support him, Hardtop shook his head. “Actually, if our initial surveys are accurate, there’s several smaller conflicts across the continent, and potentially a few more brewing, but regarding the dragons in particular…” The wall screen behind him activated, displaying several high-altitude images of an area east of the Churning Mists, where the mountain ranges opened up into a wide valley. Several villages of varying size could be seen, with expansive farmland around them.
Then the outer images focused on a particular village, while the central one shifted to ground footage collected by one of the survey teams. While clearly recorded at a safe distance, one could easily make out the details of a vicious battle being fought, with dragons of every size and shape on one side, and an army of men on the other side. As the mechs watched, both sides tore into one another with a savage ferocity, neither side showing quarter or mercy.
As he watched a red scaled dragon pin an elezen warrior in place with a massive claw, then bite down through the chainmail and tear her open, Countdown winced noticeably. The aggression, the sheer hatred on display, all of it brought back memories of the Great War, when the nations of Cybertron fought with similar ferocity. “Something tells me this isn’t a new development,” he muttered.
“Yeah, pretty much. This was the only battle that Razorbeasts team was close enough to actually witness, but they have found evidence of others, less than a month old. And the sky spies found a number of ruins that we suspect might have been towns wiped out by attacks over at least a vorn, maybe longer,” Hardtop replied. “Sorry boss, but it looks like your old friends are stuck in a particularly nasty, ongoing war.”
“No wonder they reacted so poorly when you teleported into their territory,” Optimus muttered.
Countdown couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Yeah, there’s a critical difference from last time I was here… Slag.” Leaning back in his chair, he ran a hand down his face. “Until we know more about the situation, I want the survey teams to maintain their distance from both sides. Let’s try not to get too involved, just in case.” Everyone else around the table nodded, and he pressed on, trying not to think about how such a conflict might have changed his friends. “Next order of business?”
“The team in what was the Amalj'aa Expanse have reached the location of Zal'na'rak. And… sorry boss,” Hardtop said with a wince, as the images behind him changed again. The majority of the city was long gone, with not even ruins left to remember them by. Even the mesa that had contained the Temple of the Undying Flame had collapsed, leaving the outer shell of the land that Countdown remembered. From images taken by the survey team, they could see that the area was inhabited, with timber structures built into the rocky walls. But instead of the Amalj’aa, everyone present seemed to be Hyurs, many of them in threadbare clothes.
“Pretty sure we’re looking at a refugee camp,” Hardtop continued. “And to make matters worse, the Amalj’aa don’t seem to have abandoned the area entirely willingly. Silverbolt reported several patrols, and at least two small skirmishes with the camp guards.”
“Where did they come from?” Optimus asked, frowning.
“Sky Spies have shown refugee groups moving west, towards a pretty large city out past what you called the Silver Fields. South is Amalj’aa territory and doesn’t appear to have changed hands any time recently. But to the east…” He changed the images again, now showing a I’d say they came from the other side of this before it went up.
“Skalla was in that region, back in the day. One of the smaller city-states at the time,” Countdown mused. “Their descendants maybe.”
“Maybe. Dinobots team is in that area now, hoping to determine the situation there...”
***
Once, the city of Skalla had been a grand sight. Founded at the dawn of the Fifth Astral Era, it had endured through the centuries, its stonework unmatched by any across the continent. Grand towers reached for the heavens, and elaborate temples celebrated the Twelve, while beautiful art decorated the streets.
All of that was gone now. While the city had faced countless challenges during the War of the Magi, its final destruction came from the waves of the Calamity of Water. When the ocean surged forth to claim the lands of Eorzea, the steep-walled ravine that had been the cities natural defence for so long became the source of its doom, forming a new inland sea where once so many people had lived. Centuries later, long after the last tower had sunk beneath the waves, it was remembered only in legends and tales, known to all as the Drowned City.
Standing on an old piece of masonry, Yda Hext considered the ruins, visible beneath the surface, smiling in satisfaction. She’d always loved this place, from the very first time her father had brought her here as a child. Despite the many upheavals in her life since those simple days, despite the dangers she faced from just being in the kingdom of Ala Mhigo, returning here at last had helped an old wound on her soul heal, just a little bit.
And not just from those memories of simpler times. There was a message in those ruins, to those who paid attention. Nothing was eternal, and time would wash away all those who thought otherwise. Her father and his allies had taught that lesson to the Mad King Theodoric, and in time, the Garlean Empire would learn it too.
A voice called her name, pulling her from her thoughts, and she turned to see a redheaded girl in her early teens making her way along the shoreline towards her. Grinning, the woman jumped down off her perch and sprinted towards her. “Fordola! I was starting to wonder if you’d make it!” she noted as she came to a halt.
“Mother wanted help with some chores,” the girl admitted, half-grumbling but still unable to hide her relief at the fact. When Yda had first met Fordola Lupis, it had only been a few days since the girl had lost her father, through circumstances Yda still didn’t have all the details on, and her mother had naturally been hit hard by the grief. Chores, and getting her daughters assistance with such was a return to normality, however slight.
Despite that, Yda kept her smile playful, her serious gaze hidden by her facemask. “Ugh, chores,” she said. “You think they’re all done, and then there’s more. Waiting. Watching. Lurking. And then boom, laundry out of nowhere and Papalymo’s grumping at me that it was clearly my turn...” She leaned in closer. “He’s got no room to complain. He wears all black and browns. I think it’s so he can put off doing the laundry for as long as possible.”
That earned a chuckle from her young friend. “While you not only wear clothing that will attract every stain,” she noted, gesturing at the womans white shorts and blouse, “but seem incapable of passing a mud pile without jumping right in.”
Yda gasped. “That lecturing… Papalymo, is that you? How’d you make yourself look like Fordola? Is it an illusion?” She started poking the girl, earning another chuckle that turned into a slight giggle as the youth proved slightly ticklish. The older woman kept her delight at that giggle carefully hidden. The pain and loss over her father had been smothering the poor girl, with no real outlet for it either. Yda knew, from personal experience, how such grief could turn toxic if one didn’t have ways to handle it. If she could help Fordola out with her antics?
Then her returning to Ala Mhigo was worth all the trouble.
Eventually, she stopped poking the girl, darting back before she could retaliate. “Okay then, good news! You’re not so late that todays plans are ruined.”
“You have plans?”
“Plans and schemes,” Yda responded. “But I do believe you expressed curiosity in learning how to hunt the other day. I have some gear to help out, and if you’re willing and able, today we will feast! On ducks or rabbits, not sure which yet.” Movement in the distance caught her attention, and she turned her head slightly. “Or we could try that raptor, but that might be a bit too much for your first try,” she continued without missing a beat.
“Try for wha-” Turning, Fordola squeaked and jumped backwards, bumping into Yda, as she saw the large reptile emerging from behind the rocks, sniffing at the ground. Her movement caught the animals attention, its head snapping up towards them, and Yda quickly pulled the young girl behind her. “What is that?!”
“That’s a raptor of some sort. Kind of weird to see one this far east really, maybe it’s a pet that got loose?”
“A pet? Seriously?”
“Hey, it’s clearly well fed,” Yda pointed out as the raptor tensed. She frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe a little too well, honestly.” The raptor growled slightly, and she carefully unhooked the pair of heavy darksteel knuckles from her belt. “Okay big guy, keep on moving,” she continued, keeping her voice and body language as nonthreatening as possible. “No need for any trouble…” Still growling, the animal considered them for a long moment, before apparently deciding the pair was neither a threat nor a meal, darting off in another direction and vanishing into the undergrowth.
Sighing in relief, Fordola relaxed. “Well, that was exciting.” Chuckling, she poked Yda in the side. “And here you thought you might have to save me from another beast, hmm?”
“At least this one looks nicer than a giant frog,” Yda laughed, darting away from Fordolas fingers. Behind her mask, her eyes glanced over at where the raptor had vanished. Something about the animal and its reactions seemed off...
And was it her imagination, or had it understood her when she insulted it?
***
In the year 1570 of the Sixth Astral Era, few beings on Etheirys could imagine their star was about to be visited by beings incredibly alien, yet so similar to the races that lived there. After centuries of travel, braving the dangers of the Sea of Stars, the ships of the expedition had finally reached their destination. While the majority of the ships remained in a nearby star system in order to construct the Space Bridge that would provide a link back to the Commonwealth, the starship Axalon, under the command of Countdown, proceeded on to Etheirys.
It was a small ship by the standards of Transformers, crewed mostly by mini-cons and micromasters, those who, with the aid of holograms or specially designed alt-modes, could move among the people of Etheirys without raising suspicion. With no current information on the state of the star, and with only vague details from Hydaelyn on just how the core objective of the expedition could be achieved, caution and stealth would be critical, especially in the early stages of contact.
And so, hidden behind the best stealth technology the transformers had, to avoid the attention of the War-moon Dalamud, the Axalon settled into orbit above the continent of Eorzea, and Countdown teleported to the Churning Mists, in the hopes of reestablishing contact with the draconic allies he’d made on his first visit...
***
There was a trespasser in the Churning Mists, Darkscale was certain of it. Moments before, there had been a sudden surge of levin-aspected aether, unlike anything the black-scaled dragon had ever experienced. Despite the intensity of the surge, it had somehow been focused on one specific location. If he hadn’t been drifting in the skies above the floating islands, he would have missed it entirely.
He didn’t know what it was, be it some sort of teleportation spell or some sort of weapon, and it didn’t really matter. It was the mortals of Ishgard, seeking to compound their sins yet again by trying to attack their betters. And once again, Darkscale would burn them out. With a roar that echoed across the land, calling to any of his kin that were nearby, he swooped towards his target.
Surprisingly, his prey was out in the open, not even trying to hide. And it didn’t appear to be Ishgardian soldiers, or their elite ‘Dragoons’. Instead, it appeared to be a single metal figure in the shape of a mortal, red and white plates gleaming in the morning light. Eyes narrowing, Darkscales fury grew as he realised what this must be. One of the Garlean Empires ‘magitek’ creations, like the devices they’d used in their foolish attempt to slay Midgardsomr. Snarling at the memory, he tucked his wings in and dove sharply, pulling up just in time to avoid crashing into the ground, then unleashed his flames across the magitek soldier.
The solider leapt clear of the green flames, rolling on the ground as he did so to smother the patches of flame clinging to his leg and arms. “I’m not here to fight!” he cried. Having no time or patience for mortal lies, Darkscale landed and pressed the attack, lashing out with claws almost as long as the machina was tall. To his surprise, his target caught the blow on his forearms, managing to stand despite being driven back over half a dozen fulms. “I come here in peace,” the machina insisted. “I seek an audience with-”
Darkscale spun with greater speed than one would have expected for one of his size, catching the metal man with his tail and throwing him back across the clearing, bouncing painfully across the ground until he finally slid to a stop against a fallen tree. The dragon grinned in satisfaction, but before he could call upon the flame again, another voice called out to his right.
“Captain, I know what you hoped for here, but I don’t think he’s going to listen to you!” Darkscale’s head snapped around, only to freeze in sudden confusion. Instead of another mortal soldier, he found himself looking at a grey griffin, the animal meeting his gaze with a surprisingly intelligent look. Shaking his head, the dragon opened his mouth and unleashed another stream of fire, only to have the griffin take to the air and avoid it.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the beasts ‘captain’ pull himself to a standing position. “I think you’re right. Axalon, initiate recall.” Snarling, Darkscale spread his wings wide, channelling aether along the bones in them. That aether flowed out of his body and through the air, forming into spears of ice that raced towards the machina. In response, the machina unleashed bolts of plasma from long barrels on his forearms, blasting the spears out of the air before they reached him.
“We got more incoming!” a third voice to his left called out, which only made Darkscales rage grow even fiercer as he turned to see some variant of coeurl, yellow furred with black spots, standing on a rock. The animal was staring into the distance, where half a dozen winged shadows could be seen in the sky. The sight of his kin approaching cooled Darkscales fury, a vicious satisfaction taking hold. Whatever was going on, they would carve the answers from the animals very bones.
Then sparks of levin-aspected aether began to dance along the ground, with no apparent source. For a moment, he wondered if one of his enemies was preparing an attack, before realising that the aether was moving in similar ways to what had originally drawn his attention. Furthermore, it was gathering around the two animals and machina. Eyes widening, he lunged at the coeurl, but before his claws could reach the beast, the aether surged, bolts of levin wrapping around all three figures, briefly blinding the dragon.
By the time his eyes cleared, the aether was gone, and he was alone. Only the small crater the machina soldier had left in the dirt after the tail strike, and the scorch marks around where the levin had been concentrated, provided any evidence his foes had ever been there. His head darted around, searching in all directions, before he screamed in rage at being denied his kill.
***
Of the various forms of teleportation Countdown had encountered, orbital jumps were among his least favourite. Something about the way it tore him out of physical reality always left his circuits aching at the best of times. Given how thoroughly he’d been worked over by a disturbingly aggressive dragon, he nearly fell over the moment he appeared on the Axlaons teleportation platform.
Next to him, the coeurl darted forward, transforming as it did so, artificial skin and flesh separating along invisible seams to reveal the mechanoid underneath. By the time he reached Countdown, a quadruped had become a tall, thin humanoid, one easily able to provide a shoulder for him to lean on. “Easy boss-bot, I got you.”
The door across the room slid open, revealing an irritated red and white mech. “What in the pit happened to you?” Fixit demanded, quickly darting across the room.
“A rather angry dragon decided to protest our presence with flame and claw,” the griffin declared, transforming to bot mode as well. He took a moment to stretch his wings, still intact in this mode, before tucking them up on his back. “And unfortunately for our captain, he was the obvious target.”
“I really didn’t expect that reaction,” Countdown admitted. “Last time I visited, I landed a scoutship on their islands and they were still willing to talk first – ow.” He directed a glare towards Fixit, who looked utterly unapologetic as a section of melted shoulder tire peeled off in his hand. “A single mech standing out in the open shouldn’t have drawn such a hostile reaction from them.”
The ships chief doctor raised an optic ridge. “It’s been, what, two thousand years or so? Organic civilisations change pretty fast sometimes.”
He waved a hand. “Draconic lifespans are long enough that there shouldn’t have been this drastic a change, not this fast.” Frowning slightly, he rubbed at his nose. “Unless there was an outside factor to the change… something from the shorter lived races perhaps?”
“Either way, it can wait,” Fixit said. “Right now, you’re going to the infirmary. You’ve got severe structural damage to your arms, and I’m reading multiple smaller cracks and damaged servos across your torso. You should be able to walk, but Cheetor, Silverbolt, help him along.”
“Yes sir,” both beastformers responded, cheerfully ignoring their captains good-natured protests in favour of not drawing the doctors wrath.
***
Lying on a bed in the infirmary with sections of his chest panelling removed, Fixit carefully detaching a cracked energon pump from below his spark chamber, Countdown considered the matter once more. “While I’d like to make more attempts at establishing communications with the dragons, I think it’s best to wait until we have a better understanding of just what caused them to react so violently,” he said to his executive officer standing next to the bed.
Folding his arms across his chest, the black-furred mech frowned thoughtfully. “So, our initial plans of having on-site allies isn’t happening, at least in the short term. Well, that’s just prime,” he grumbled. “I’m really wishing you’d left some way to contact Ratatoskr directly.”
Sighing, Countdown let his head rest against the bed. “I wanted to, but she talked me out of it. She felt there was too much potential of it falling into the wrong hands. I’m not sure what exactly would be the wrong hands for a simple comm unit, but, well, there’s already a war moon here with enough firepower to be a threat to modern starships, so she might have had a point.”
“Well, at least the initial plans shouldn’t need to be altered too much,” Optimus Primal mused.
Countdown had to admit the mech was right. Even without the dragons to provide current information on local societies, sky spy drones should still be able to develop maps of the regions, allowing various mechs with beast modes to find places to observe the population undetected, and from there bots under holographic disguises could make contact. It was still a viable plan, they’d just have to move slower. “Start the preparations for me, could you?” He waved a hand towards his doctor. “You know where to find me for the foreseeable future.”
“Complaining won’t make me go any faster,” Fixit said, not looking up from where he was sealing off an energon tube. Optimus merely chuckled as he left the infirmary, leaving Countdown to wonder, yet again, just what happened to the dragons he remembered.
***
The answer, as he found a few days later, was all too familiar.
“We arrived in the middle of a war.” Standing at the far end of the conference room table due to the lack of any seats big enough to support him, Hardtop shook his head. “Actually, if our initial surveys are accurate, there’s several smaller conflicts across the continent, and potentially a few more brewing, but regarding the dragons in particular…” The wall screen behind him activated, displaying several high-altitude images of an area east of the Churning Mists, where the mountain ranges opened up into a wide valley. Several villages of varying size could be seen, with expansive farmland around them.
Then the outer images focused on a particular village, while the central one shifted to ground footage collected by one of the survey teams. While clearly recorded at a safe distance, one could easily make out the details of a vicious battle being fought, with dragons of every size and shape on one side, and an army of men on the other side. As the mechs watched, both sides tore into one another with a savage ferocity, neither side showing quarter or mercy.
As he watched a red scaled dragon pin an elezen warrior in place with a massive claw, then bite down through the chainmail and tear her open, Countdown winced noticeably. The aggression, the sheer hatred on display, all of it brought back memories of the Great War, when the nations of Cybertron fought with similar ferocity. “Something tells me this isn’t a new development,” he muttered.
“Yeah, pretty much. This was the only battle that Razorbeasts team was close enough to actually witness, but they have found evidence of others, less than a month old. And the sky spies found a number of ruins that we suspect might have been towns wiped out by attacks over at least a vorn, maybe longer,” Hardtop replied. “Sorry boss, but it looks like your old friends are stuck in a particularly nasty, ongoing war.”
“No wonder they reacted so poorly when you teleported into their territory,” Optimus muttered.
Countdown couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Yeah, there’s a critical difference from last time I was here… Slag.” Leaning back in his chair, he ran a hand down his face. “Until we know more about the situation, I want the survey teams to maintain their distance from both sides. Let’s try not to get too involved, just in case.” Everyone else around the table nodded, and he pressed on, trying not to think about how such a conflict might have changed his friends. “Next order of business?”
“The team in what was the Amalj'aa Expanse have reached the location of Zal'na'rak. And… sorry boss,” Hardtop said with a wince, as the images behind him changed again. The majority of the city was long gone, with not even ruins left to remember them by. Even the mesa that had contained the Temple of the Undying Flame had collapsed, leaving the outer shell of the land that Countdown remembered. From images taken by the survey team, they could see that the area was inhabited, with timber structures built into the rocky walls. But instead of the Amalj’aa, everyone present seemed to be Hyurs, many of them in threadbare clothes.
“Pretty sure we’re looking at a refugee camp,” Hardtop continued. “And to make matters worse, the Amalj’aa don’t seem to have abandoned the area entirely willingly. Silverbolt reported several patrols, and at least two small skirmishes with the camp guards.”
“Where did they come from?” Optimus asked, frowning.
“Sky Spies have shown refugee groups moving west, towards a pretty large city out past what you called the Silver Fields. South is Amalj’aa territory and doesn’t appear to have changed hands any time recently. But to the east…” He changed the images again, now showing a I’d say they came from the other side of this before it went up.
“Skalla was in that region, back in the day. One of the smaller city-states at the time,” Countdown mused. “Their descendants maybe.”
“Maybe. Dinobots team is in that area now, hoping to determine the situation there...”
***
Once, the city of Skalla had been a grand sight. Founded at the dawn of the Fifth Astral Era, it had endured through the centuries, its stonework unmatched by any across the continent. Grand towers reached for the heavens, and elaborate temples celebrated the Twelve, while beautiful art decorated the streets.
All of that was gone now. While the city had faced countless challenges during the War of the Magi, its final destruction came from the waves of the Calamity of Water. When the ocean surged forth to claim the lands of Eorzea, the steep-walled ravine that had been the cities natural defence for so long became the source of its doom, forming a new inland sea where once so many people had lived. Centuries later, long after the last tower had sunk beneath the waves, it was remembered only in legends and tales, known to all as the Drowned City.
Standing on an old piece of masonry, Yda Hext considered the ruins, visible beneath the surface, smiling in satisfaction. She’d always loved this place, from the very first time her father had brought her here as a child. Despite the many upheavals in her life since those simple days, despite the dangers she faced from just being in the kingdom of Ala Mhigo, returning here at last had helped an old wound on her soul heal, just a little bit.
And not just from those memories of simpler times. There was a message in those ruins, to those who paid attention. Nothing was eternal, and time would wash away all those who thought otherwise. Her father and his allies had taught that lesson to the Mad King Theodoric, and in time, the Garlean Empire would learn it too.
A voice called her name, pulling her from her thoughts, and she turned to see a redheaded girl in her early teens making her way along the shoreline towards her. Grinning, the woman jumped down off her perch and sprinted towards her. “Fordola! I was starting to wonder if you’d make it!” she noted as she came to a halt.
“Mother wanted help with some chores,” the girl admitted, half-grumbling but still unable to hide her relief at the fact. When Yda had first met Fordola Lupis, it had only been a few days since the girl had lost her father, through circumstances Yda still didn’t have all the details on, and her mother had naturally been hit hard by the grief. Chores, and getting her daughters assistance with such was a return to normality, however slight.
Despite that, Yda kept her smile playful, her serious gaze hidden by her facemask. “Ugh, chores,” she said. “You think they’re all done, and then there’s more. Waiting. Watching. Lurking. And then boom, laundry out of nowhere and Papalymo’s grumping at me that it was clearly my turn...” She leaned in closer. “He’s got no room to complain. He wears all black and browns. I think it’s so he can put off doing the laundry for as long as possible.”
That earned a chuckle from her young friend. “While you not only wear clothing that will attract every stain,” she noted, gesturing at the womans white shorts and blouse, “but seem incapable of passing a mud pile without jumping right in.”
Yda gasped. “That lecturing… Papalymo, is that you? How’d you make yourself look like Fordola? Is it an illusion?” She started poking the girl, earning another chuckle that turned into a slight giggle as the youth proved slightly ticklish. The older woman kept her delight at that giggle carefully hidden. The pain and loss over her father had been smothering the poor girl, with no real outlet for it either. Yda knew, from personal experience, how such grief could turn toxic if one didn’t have ways to handle it. If she could help Fordola out with her antics?
Then her returning to Ala Mhigo was worth all the trouble.
Eventually, she stopped poking the girl, darting back before she could retaliate. “Okay then, good news! You’re not so late that todays plans are ruined.”
“You have plans?”
“Plans and schemes,” Yda responded. “But I do believe you expressed curiosity in learning how to hunt the other day. I have some gear to help out, and if you’re willing and able, today we will feast! On ducks or rabbits, not sure which yet.” Movement in the distance caught her attention, and she turned her head slightly. “Or we could try that raptor, but that might be a bit too much for your first try,” she continued without missing a beat.
“Try for wha-” Turning, Fordola squeaked and jumped backwards, bumping into Yda, as she saw the large reptile emerging from behind the rocks, sniffing at the ground. Her movement caught the animals attention, its head snapping up towards them, and Yda quickly pulled the young girl behind her. “What is that?!”
“That’s a raptor of some sort. Kind of weird to see one this far east really, maybe it’s a pet that got loose?”
“A pet? Seriously?”
“Hey, it’s clearly well fed,” Yda pointed out as the raptor tensed. She frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe a little too well, honestly.” The raptor growled slightly, and she carefully unhooked the pair of heavy darksteel knuckles from her belt. “Okay big guy, keep on moving,” she continued, keeping her voice and body language as nonthreatening as possible. “No need for any trouble…” Still growling, the animal considered them for a long moment, before apparently deciding the pair was neither a threat nor a meal, darting off in another direction and vanishing into the undergrowth.
Sighing in relief, Fordola relaxed. “Well, that was exciting.” Chuckling, she poked Yda in the side. “And here you thought you might have to save me from another beast, hmm?”
“At least this one looks nicer than a giant frog,” Yda laughed, darting away from Fordolas fingers. Behind her mask, her eyes glanced over at where the raptor had vanished. Something about the animal and its reactions seemed off...
And was it her imagination, or had it understood her when she insulted it?
***