**Lord Captain Vesperian Korr's Log, Supplemental**
**Imperial Galleon Black Harbinger recording**
**Rothgard Fall plus 26 days (estimated)**
**13 hours 45 minutes to planned rendezvous with main fleet**
Silence cloaks the waves.
Scouts swallowed by shadow.
The cove beckons empty.
Lord Captain Vesperian Korr paced the quarterdeck of the Black Harbinger, boots striking the polished planks with measured fury. The morning sun had climbed high, yet the air felt unnaturally still, as though the sea itself held its breath. For more than half a day, his two dragon scouts had sent no word. Their communication charms remained dark and cold despite repeated hails. Korr's hand tightened on the hilt of his silvered saber, the black-and-crimson cloak of the Draco Imperia snapping behind him in the light breeze.
At the wheel, the helmsman, a veteran named Garrick, kept his eyes fixed forward, knuckles white on the spokes. He knew better than to speak when the captain paced. Korr stopped at the rail, scanning the approaching headland. The cove they had charted from captured Atlantian merchants lay just beyond the cliffs—a sheltered anchorage perfect for resupply and reconnaissance before the main fleet swept the eastern coast.
"Report," he snapped. The lookout in the crow's nest called down, voice tight. "Rigging of merchant caravans and several smaller vessels visible in the inner harbor, my lord. No movement on decks. The cove appears quiet." Korr's jaw clenched. Quiet was never good. Not when two of his best riders had vanished without a trace. He could not shake the crawling suspicion that something waited beyond the cliffs—something that had swallowed his scouts whole. "Bring her in slow," he ordered. "Battle stations. All hands armed. Lower the boats. I will lead twenty of my best ashore."
The Black Harbinger glided between the headlands under reduced sail, her black hull cutting the water like a blade. Korr descended first into the lead longboat with his handpicked warriors—veterans in blackened scale armor, swords drawn, eyes scanning every shadow. The oars dipped in perfect rhythm as they rowed toward the strange metal piers that gleamed unnaturally in the sunlight.
As they drew closer, Korr's sharp eyes narrowed. Several sailing vessels sat abandoned at anchor—merchant caravans with their distinctive high prows, smaller ketches bobbing gently, sails furled and decks empty. But one ship stood out among them all: a formidable ironclad warship, larger and heavier than the rest, its hull clad in dark metal plates that reflected the sun like a suit of armor. No ordinary vessel. This one looked built for war, yet it sat silent and motionless, as if its crew had simply vanished. No flag flew from its mast, no crew stirred on deck. The sight sent a fresh chill down his spine.
The longboat bumped against the seamless metal pier. Korr stepped onto the cold, unnaturally smooth surface first, followed by his men. They advanced across the beach toward the abandoned camp, boots crunching on sand still marked by hundreds of footprints. The silence pressed heavier with each step. No gulls cried. No insects hummed. Only the gentle lap of waves and the distant creak of the galleon's rigging. Korr halted at the edge of the camp, gaze sweeping the tree line. His instincts screamed danger, yet nothing moved.
Then, from the shadows of the forest, a single figure emerged. A woman in a crisp black uniform trimmed with gold stepped into the sunlight. She walked alone, hands empty, posture relaxed yet perfectly poised. Her eyes—bright green with faint luminous patterns shifting within them—met his without fear.
The dragon from the east had come.
But now the trap had closed.
The green watched from the ridge.
The strangers had waited.
Two worlds stood face to face.