Iris stepped out of the dropship first, her boots sinking slightly into the coarse sand. The dunes stretched for miles in every direction, broken only by the twisted skeleton of what had once been The Vanguard—a Northern blimp now half-buried in a ravine, its metal ribs jutting from the earth like the bones of a dead god.
The air shimmered with heat and the faint stench of ozone. Her visor flickered briefly before stabilizing, catching the faint traces of mana residue scattered through the crash zone.
"No signs of engine ignition," said Sergeant Vyne, kneeling beside a shattered propeller. "No impact crater either. It just... fell."
Iris didn't answer.
Her gaze traced the broken hull of the ship, painted once in Northern silver, now charred and scorched black. The banners of the North crest fluttered limply from the sand, the threads torn and burned.
The Chrome Hearts unit fanned out around her...six soldiers in polished cobalt armor, their lenses glinting under the sun.
