The Northern sea base hummed like a sleeping beast beneath the night sky. Black waves broke against the iron harbor, faintly illuminated by the violet shimmer of mana reactors buried beneath the decks. Every worker moved in silence, every bootstep muffled by the tension that hung like a veil. The air smelled of oil, salt, and a quiet dread that had settled since Ravenwood Fortress fell into ruin.
On the central dock stood Noah. His gloves were slick with machine grease, his hair disheveled from hours of last-minute preparation. Before him rose the fleet — ten airships plated in obsidian armor, their hulls carved with runes that bent light itself. They seemed less like ships and more like shadows torn from the night. The Shadow Fleet.
"This will work," Ren said beside him, eyes reflecting the black sheen of the airships. "Mana radar won't detect them. You'll get in, plant the detonators, and vanish before Central even realizes."
