The sun had not yet dared to show its face over the eastern horizon of Northreach, yet the South Paddock had already transformed into a bubbling cauldron of anxiety. The thin, silver mist that usually blanketed the grasslands was being torn asunder by the deafening, rhythmic roar of mana-steam engines. The sharp, acrid scent of sulfur and ozone bit at the senses, mingling with a biting cold that seemed to seep into the very marrow of the bones.
If yesterday they had fought with ink, parchment, and logic in the auditorium, today they stood before a different kind of judgment. Five units of the Sudrath Sky-Hunter stood lined up under the harsh, white glare of mana-powered floodlights. Their duralumin frames, lightweight yet incredibly resilient, shimmered like resting predators—metallic beasts waiting for someone crazy enough to try and domesticate them.
