**Jasmine's Log, Supplemental**
**The Cove, Eastern Coast of Albion**
**Rothgard Fall plus 26 days (estimated)**
**43 hours 5 minutes to Black Fleet Landfall**
Twilight settles on the shore.
Engines fade into silence.
The forest yields to purpose.
The cove lay peaceful and calm in the early twilight, a sheltered crescent of pale sand embraced by steep, forested cliffs that rose like protective walls on three sides. Gentle waves lapped at the shore with rhythmic patience, their foam glowing faintly under the fading light. The air carried the clean scent of salt and pine, mingled with the rich loam of the thin but lush forest that hugged the water's edge. Young trees and thick brush crowded the open area not far from the ocean approach, their leaves rustling softly in the evening breeze. It was a place that had known only the rhythms of nature for centuries—until now.
Two hours after departing from Shire Base, the VS-44 Wyvern circled the cove once, its fusion-torch engines humming low as the pilot assessed the landing zone. From her vantage on Verdant's back, Jasmine watched the shuttle descend in a smooth, controlled spiral, the two VS-22 Jackals holding protective positions above. The dragon glided silently beside them, his powerful strokes catching the coastal updrafts with effortless grace.
The Wyvern touched down in the clearing with a soft thud, its landing skids sinking slightly into the sandy soil. The rear ramp dropped with a mechanical hiss, and the Delta Force Ghost Team emerged in perfect formation. Gone was the easy banter of the flight; every movement now radiated sharp, professional focus. Helmets sealed, visors down, weapons held at the ready but not raised, they fanned out with practiced efficiency. Stonefang stepped off the ramp last, his silvered fur catching the twilight glow, and Jasmine noticed how the wolfkin scout instinctively mirrored their calm, predatory demeanor—ears forward, eyes scanning the tree line with the same measured intensity.
"Perimeter sweep," the team leader ordered, voice low and clipped over the comms. "Clear left. Clear right. Tree line—watch for movement."
One by one the calls came back, calm and precise.
"Clear left."
"Clear right."
"Tree line clear—no heat signatures, no movement."
Stonefang added his own report, voice steady despite the unfamiliar setting. "The forest is quiet. No scent of danger. The green sleeps peacefully here… for now." Only when every member, including Stonefang, had confirmed the area secure did the Delta leader relax his stance a fraction. "Site secure. Engineers forward." Two engineers in light tactical gear hauled a large equipment crate from the shuttle's belly. The container opened with a series of metallic clicks, revealing chainsaws, brush cutters, folding saws, heavy-duty gloves, and a compact soil compactor. Without wasted motion, the pair donned their gear and began the systematic clearing operation that would last the next hour.
The montage of work unfolded with relentless precision. One engineer started at the northern edge, the chainsaw's low growl rising as it bit into young saplings with clean, controlled cuts, the blade slicing through wood with a high-pitched whine that echoed off the cliffs. The second worked parallel, using a brush cutter to shear away thick undergrowth in wide, sweeping arcs, the machine's teeth chewing through brambles and ferns with mechanical precision. Branches fell in neat piles, cleared areas expanding outward in precise grids marked by glowing stakes the engineers planted as they went. Every cut was measured, and the bramble and light limbs were dragged to a designated burn pile beyond the landing zone.
As the hour progressed, the engineers shifted focus. The cut branches were gathered into large, orderly piles near the softer, sandier sections of the clearing. The soil here was loose and prone to shifting under the weight of the heavy Condors. One engineer activated the compact soil compactor—a heavy, vibrating plate on wheels—pressing it firmly into the ground to firm the base layer. The other began layering the gathered branches in a crisscross lattice over the compacted soil, creating a natural reinforcement grid that would distribute weight and prevent sinking. The compactor passed over the branch-reinforced sections again and again, pressing the wood into the earth until the surface became a stable, woven mat capable of supporting the massive shuttles.
"Grid three marked and cleared," one engineer reported over comms, voice calm and professional. "Moving to four. Watch for root systems on the south side—soft soil here."
"Copy," the second replied. "I'll take the denser brush. Keep the slope clear for the Condor approach path. We'll need at least eighty meters of flat ground for the heavy birds."
Stonefang stood at the edge of the expanding clearing, his gaze sweeping the surrounding forest with quiet respect. He had never seen tools like these—machines that felled trees faster than any axe—but he recognized the same hunter's discipline in the engineers' movements. "They work as a pack," he murmured to himself, ears twitching. "Efficient. Respectful of the green. No waste. No arrogance. This… this is how true hunters clear a path and then strengthen it."
One of the Delta operators noticed his interest and gave a brief nod. "You see anything we miss, Ridge, you speak up. Your eyes are better than our sensors in these woods." Stonefang dipped his head in acknowledgment, a small but genuine sign of growing trust. "The trees here are young but strong. The roots run shallow near the sea. Cut low, and the ground will hold. I will watch the deeper forest—nothing moves without my knowing."
Jasmine guided Verdant to a gentle landing on the soft sand just beyond the cleared zone. The dragon folded his wings with a soft rustle, his golden eyes scanning the horizon where the sun dipped toward the sea in a blaze of orange and crimson. She dismounted slowly, boots sinking into the cool sand, and stood beside the massive beast, one hand resting on his scaled shoulder.
The sight before her was both humbling and hopeful. The cove, once wild and untouched, was now being shaped into a temporary sanctuary by hands from another world. The systematic clearing continued with relentless precision, the low growl of chainsaws blending with the distant crash of waves. In nine hours, her people would begin arriving—exhausted, frightened, but alive. She looked toward the horizon, where the first stars were beginning to appear, and felt the weight of leadership settle more firmly on her shoulders. The black fleet was coming, but here, in this quiet cove, a bridge between two worlds was already being built.
The dragon from the east was coming.
But now, at least, they would not face it alone.
The green watched from the ridge.
The strangers prepared.
Two worlds were clearing ground together.