Captain's Log, Supplemental DDSN-X1OO USS Discovery
Captain James Nolan recording
Christening Date plus 42 days (estimated)
High orbit above Terra — colonization site selection locked
The valley is chosen.
The modules are prepared.
We descend in darkness.
The world below sleeps.
Or pretends to.
We leave no trace.
We take only what we need.
And we carry the weight of what we do not know.
Verdant's wings carved the pre-dawn sky in long, silent strokes as he descended toward the hidden royal cove. The dragon's scales caught the first pale threads of light—emerald and gold shimmering like wet leaves after rain—while below, the narrow inlet remained cloaked in shadow. Cliffs rose sheer on three sides, their faces draped in thick ivy and salt-stunted pines. Only a single narrow channel pierced the rock wall, barely wide enough for a ship's beam, hidden from the open sea by the jut of the headland.
Jasmine Same Roth leaned low over Verdant's neck, wind tugging at her braids, the bond thrumming steadily between them. She felt the dragon's satisfaction as the familiar scent of pine resin and sea salt reached him—the same cove where he had first learned to land on water as a yearling. He flared his wings, slowing, and touched down on the pebbled beach with barely a ripple. Salt spray misted the air. The ironclad waited at the water's edge.
The vessel was no pleasure barge. Low, armored, and brutal, its hull rose in black iron plates riveted over heavy oak frames.
Twin smokestacks stood aft, cold for now. Forward, a low conning tower bristled with armored view-slits and a single heavy magitech cannon— experimental, untested in war. The deck was cluttered with lashed crates and coiled lines. Lanterns burned low, their light carefully shielded so no gleam escaped the cliffs. Sebastian stood at the gangplank, sleeves still rolled, grease streaking his forearms. Around him moved a small retinue: six royal guards in muted cloaks, swords, and pistols at their sides; four trusted servants hauling the last of the supplies; and Sarah—Jasmine's oldest friend, ship handler and former harbor pilot—already on the ironclad's quarterdeck, checking lines and shouting quiet orders to the crew.
Verdant folded his wings and lowered his head. Jasmine slid down his shoulder, boots crunching on wet pebbles. She rested a hand on his snout; the dragon huffed once, warm air stirring her hair, then stepped forward onto the gangplank. The wooden planks groaned under his weight—subtle, but noticeable. Verdant paused, talons flexing against the timber. The deck shifted minutely beneath him—not much of a movement, barely a flex—but to the dragon's heightened senses it was alien, unsettling. His tail flicked once, nostrils flaring, and he let out a low, rumbling huff of displeasure.
The bond pulsed: unease, uncertainty, the sensation of something solid yet unsteady beneath claws meant for stone and soil. Jasmine laid both hands on his neck, steadying him. "Easy," she murmured. "It holds. You hold." Verdant's eyes glowed brighter for a moment—searching her face—then he took another careful step. The gangplank creaked again, but held. He moved forward slowly, head low, wings half-furled, every muscle tense until he reached the open deck.
There he stopped, spreading his claws slightly, testing the iron plating beneath him. It did not yield. The dragon snorted again, softer this time—acceptance, if not comfort. Sebastian watched the exchange with quiet respect. "He'll settle," he said. "Dragons adapt. We've got a keep ready—reinforced stall amidships, padded with straw and canvas. Open enough for his wings, closed enough to shield him from spray. He'll be fine."
Jasmine nodded, still stroking Verdant's neck. She led him across the deck toward the keep —a sturdy, iron-reinforced enclosure built into the amidships structure, its doors wide enough to admit him. Verdant ducked inside, wings tucked tight, and folded himself onto the padded floor. The structure groaned once as he settled, then stilled. Jasmine rested a hand on the doorway, feeling the bond steady—uneasy but present.
Sebastian joined her. "Core's in," he said. "Motors are humming. She'll answer the helm. ready." Jasmine glanced at the ironclad. "You're sure about this?" He gave her the same crooked smile she'd known since they were teenagers sneaking out after vespers. "I've been dragging you out of worse messes since we were kids. Think I'm letting you sail off alone now?" She snorted, the sound half laugh, half sigh. "You always did have terrible taste in trouble."
"Only when it's yours," he replied, eyes softening. "The core's stable. Three days continuous at full power. After that... we coast or pray for wind." Sarah called down from the quarterdeck, voice carrying that familiar dry humor. "If you two are done reminiscing, we've got a tide to catch and an empire to outrun." Jasmine shot her a look—half glare, half grin—and climbed the short ladder to the deck proper. Verdant shifted once in his keep, talons scraping iron, then settled, wings tucked tight. The open sea waited beyond—vast, gray, and merciless.
Behind them, smoke rose far too close to the city walls.
Rothgard braced for shadow.
And the ironclad slipped west—small, armored, carrying the future on its back, one dragon and one rider at its heart.
The dawn had not yet broken.