12th Eastern Wyvern Squadron
The Great Sea
April 28th, Central Calendar Year 1427.
5:25 AM
Marly Hastnan looked at the looming storm with some concern, even his wyvern could feel it, there is something wrong happening here. Years of service and he has seen nothing like this. He looked over to his comrade, who shares the same uneasy feeling. Closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath, he regained composure and flew the designated flight path using his magic detector.
Out in this vast sea of nothingness, the magical detector is the only thing keeping him from getting lost as the magical relay tower constantly updates his coordinate from the shore but he does not care, as his reliable wingman often reminded him of anything out of the ordinary.
However, besides the darkened skies on his left, the usual boring patrol pattern has made his mind numb. He couldn’t recount how many times he has gone out patrolling the sea only to find nothing besides a few usual sightings of Krakens chewing through some poor school of fishes and occasional dolphins.
While his siblings get to serve in the Royal Wyvern Corp, eating good food and trains with the best riders out there in the capital city of Anzuri, he alone stays here defending the oh so poor coast from the seabirds that the locals love to munch on at festivals. Had he been more qualified, he could’ve served alongside his brothers but he had hoped his test earlier in January would land him a spot in the Corp and escape this boring town.
A faint droning noise entered his sharp ears, but he dismissed it. The intensity of the noise increased, until it became a slight annoyance to Marly. Looking at the skies around him in an attempt to find the source of the noise. Seeing nothing, he tapped his earpiece and applied mana into it, connecting to his wingman. “Oi, Chresh! You hear something out of the ordinary?”
“Yeah, are you talking about the buzzing sound?”
“Yes. Where is it coming from?”
“It’s coming from the storm on our left.”
Before Marly could reply, a yelp of shock emanated from his magical earpiece. “Contact! On our right!”
His wingman stammered a report, stuttering between breaths as he attempted to make sense of the object he is currently seeing. “Strange object! Behind the clouds!”
“I’m investigating it!” Marly shouted, barely able to contain his excitement.
Finally getting some action after all this time, Marly smiled at this encounter, maybe he could even impress his superiors and get himself recommended for the Royal Corp. Taking down a sea dragon, even if it’s a small one, is a feat few get to brag about and would certainly improve his odds of entering the Corp.
Approaching the storm, the object exited the clouds and sped into him, hitting his Wyvern’s wing directly and breaking it. The wyvern flapped its broken wing furiously in an attempt to stay in the air but Marly couldn’t hold her anymore. He attempted to bail down into the ocean only to find his straps weren’t disengaged.
“Oh god!” He shouted in panic while attempting to disengage the safety straps on his hip while free falling from the sky. But it was too late. He and his wyvern slammed down on the ocean surface at deadly speed and sank to the depth.
Chresh flew down to where his wingman had fallen, frantically looking for signs of life. “Marly!”
He looked up back to his squadron as they attempted to pursue the strange metal object in the sky to no avail as the thing glided through the air at unnaturally high speed, unthinkable for most wyvern species besides the Wind Dragon.
The large, white colored metal object was leaving smoke trails from its left solid, non-flapping wing and heading towards Sunsettia, the nearest settlement in the coast.
Below him, a rider’s boot floats up to the surface of the ocean, taking Chresh’s attention. Knowing what this means, he holds up his tears and guides his wyvern to pick up the boot using its feet. Putting his right hand on his magical earpiece and attaching the small mana gem from his pocket, he holds in his pain and utters a few painful sentences. “Thi-this is Chresh from the 12th Eastern Squ-Squadron… I lost my wingman. Report of a stra-strange metal object flying West at high speed towards Sunsettia, over.”
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P-12 Light Patrol Aircraft
The Great Sea, 27 km from Sunsettia
April 28th, 1425.
5:25 AM
“I told you that you shouldn’t have flown too close to the storm! The instrument still isn’t working!” The navigator screamed.
“Vargson! Keep trying to contact the mainland! Tell them we’re in trouble!” The pilot shouted at his navigator sitting on the floor above.
“I can’t, Captain! The comms are also down! Signal is still jumping all over the place!”
“This wasn’t supposed to happen!” Hartmann thought to himself while the control stick rattled every part of his body.
Despite his and his plane’s effort to hurry back to the mainland, the storm had consumed the aircraft and messed up everything, not even the reliable compass work anymore. He had switched to manual piloting for the last three hours, struggling to keep his bird and his crewmates in the air in the hope of reaching back to the runway or at least crash land in the safety of land instead of the deadly sea below.
Darting his eyes around, praying to God, he caught a glimpse of open sky on his 9 O’clock direction despite the treacherous weather limiting his vision to nothing more than 100 meters from the front.
No time to question, he used his body to push the control stick left as hard as he could to the open sky, grasping for salvation from the storm that had consumed the aircraft.
Finally, a sudden brightness washed over the cabin. Hartmann let out a breath in relief as they had somehow exited the relentless storm. “Finally..!”
BUMP
The sudden collision with something shook the entire aircraft, unresponsive instruments were now roaring to life, blaring alarms like they were fresh out of the factory on this 24 years old aircraft.
“What was that?!” Hartmann shouted in disbelief.
As if the gods hadn't had enough fun condemning him to stay in the air in that accursed storm for the past three hours, he now has to fly this broken junk with a busted wing.
Vargson on his navigation cabin has a much better view of the damage, allowing him to look to the wings more clearly. “Engine one is smoking! We’re also losing fuel! I think we just got a bird strike!”
Wasting no time, Hartmann shut the fuel line to engine one and activated fire extinguishing. “Engine one shut down! Cutting fuel lines to engine one!”
“I still can’t pick up any other aircraft in the air sir! Attempting to reestablish communication!” Vargson desperately flips and crank the radio switches.
The aircraft is now shaking heavily, near impossible to keep flying straight due to the broken wing and cracked fuselage, every turn is a struggle as the aircraft’s metal groans and bent as if it is in unspeakable pain.
“Don’t give up on me, you beautiful flying piece of scrap metal…” Hartmann mumbles as he wrestle with the controls, arms burning with the effort to keep the aircraft level. Through the window, the large nearby land mass came into view. He can make it.
The coastal farmland came into view, he could see a town, even a nice big villa up in the hillside, but there was no time to think as he steered the aircraft towards the open farmland. Suddenly his plane started dropping, losing altitude quickly as more alarms rang through the cabin.
The loss of one of the two engines was severe, as procedure had dictated that one must find the nearest open field to land the aircraft as soon as possible upon the loss of one engine. Hartmann cursed himself for not noticing that he was approaching the minimum speed needed to maintain flight and that he was stalling down to the ocean.
The fuselage cracks have broken the hydraulics.
“No mechanical help now, Hartmann.” he mumbles as he uses his body to push the nose down to pick up speed so he could glide his way to salvation ahead.
However the aircraft refused to pull up, the strong winds had pushed the flaps back preventing him from lifting the nose back again. As he pulled the stick desperately, a pair of hands reached out behind him, it was Vargson.
“You have to pull it harder!” Vargson screamed as he and Hartmann used all their strength to pull the stick back together, groaning in agony and lifting the aircraft up again.
They’re almost over land now, Vargson hurried back to the navigator seat the floor above and hurriedly strapped his safety belts on. The flashing light on his right panel caught his eyes, the radio was picking up signals on their frequency.
“One minute to cri-critical altitude!” Hartmann yelled, almost passing out due to the fatigue yet still hanging on to the control stick.
Vargson tuned in the frequency. “Mayday mayday! Contact Arlette 4 ATC! We’re crash landing on an unknown landmass heading two, seven, five! Bearing-”
Hartmann’s voice crackles over the intercom, his voice screaming in panic. “Brace for impact!”
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BOOM.
The aircraft shakes uncontrollably as it slams down and scrapes on the dirt below, both of them could hear the wings snapping and catch the leaking fuel on fire, yet all they can do now is tuck their bodies in and hope that they will live another day.
Silence filled the cabin as the aircraft came to a stop, with the occasional sparking noise from the damaged electronics filled in for the deafening silence in the cockpit.
“Are you ok?... Vargson?...” Hartmann breathes heavily.
“I’m good sir.”
“Thank goodness, this wasn’t our end.” Hartmann sighs in relief, knowing that he had just barely managed to land his bird down with few injuries in between.
“That was a solid landing, sir.” Vargson comments as Hartmann passes out from fatigue.
Climbing down the floor below, Vargson grabs his R-25SB carbine in the SERE kit under his seat and slung it behind his back. Quickly grabbing everything he’d need, Vargson attempted to open the emergency hatch on the side but to no avail as the door refused to budge. “What kind of engineer designed this piece of shi…” as Vargson raised his leg, preparing to unleash the frustration on the poor escape hatch.
He remembers what his mother used to say. “If it’s mechanical, give it a good bash!”
Some tips never seem to get old, apparently. The hatch pops open quickly, detaching itself from its hinges entirely and revealing the relatively open countryside.
After dragging Hartmann’s passed out body out of the wrecked plane and resting him on a nearby tree, Vargson takes a sip from his canteen to calm down and quench the thirst.
“Thank you, sir.” he whispered as he patted on Hartmann’s shoulder. Pulling out the radio beacon from the SERE kit, he turns it on and fiddles around with the controls. “What does this do-”
“Hey! Who are you?!” a voice opened up behind Vargson’s back with a mix of confusion, fear and anger.
Vargson looked back, an old farmer looked at him dead in the eyes, pitchfork in hand pointing at him.
He instinctively aimed his R-25SB carbine at the old farmer, but to his surprise the old man showed no fear, replaced by confusion instead at the carbine aimed at him.
“You two fell out of… that thing?” The farmer asked in a deep voice, pointing his pitchfork at the strange metal craft burning on the wheat field.
Vargson could see behind the old man was a few other folks using… horse-drawn wagons? Where is he even? He had heard of extreme poverty in the communist-run Yarik, but surely not to this level? Even they must’ve seen a plane in their life before given how much the commies love to flaunt their bombers around in parades.
The passersby are watching him with curiosity and fear in their faces, most of the kids hid behind the caravan and the adults are helping to extinguish the fire caused by the aircraft’s fuel. Some even brought more weapons towards his position.
“This is bad. Very bad.” he mumbles.
Suddenly a loud trumpet sound roared in the sky above as everybody’s attention was immediately turned towards the sky behind Vargson. A few folks ran away, hurriedly telling their children to get back on the wagon and quickly rode as far as possible.
Only the old farmer remains, his expression tells a thousand words that needn't be told. Vargson could only think of one meaning behind this: he’s about to be captured.
“Shit…” Vargson thought to himself.
Dozens of shadow figures cast themselves on the dirt below as Vargson looked up to the sky in disbelief, mouth agasp. “Are those… Flying lizards? Wyverns?!”
Realizing that there are people riding on them, he raised his carbine and aimed it towards the sky. Dotting his eyes around, his tired eyes unable to pick a target due to the large number of wyverns circling around him and the aircraft wreck. ”What the hell is going on?!”
“Arrest that man!” One of the riders shouted, his outfit more colorful than the others, with long, big feathers attached to his helmet making him stand out among the rest.
Bingo. “This guy must be important.” Vargson mumbles to himself, focusing on the man.
He ready the carbine and racks the charging handle. There is no time to think of how he came to this situation, all he knows is that he and Hartmann are in danger and there are people wanting to capture both of them.
The wyvern officer hovers in the air casually, barking orders for others to follow as if that’s the only thing he knows how to do, which is probably true. Two riders landed near his aircraft, hurriedly rushing over to Vargson’s position, spears in hand, but they would be not so lucky.
Two thunderous bursts of 5.56x45mm rifle rounds filled the air, and the only thing left on the crop field in front of him besides wheat would be two dead wannabe captors. The farmer fell on his back in shock, trying to back away from the strange man whom he thought was a high tier mage with explosive magic.
Wasting no time, Vargson empty the rest of the 24 rounds in the 30 rounds magazine into the sky where the Wyvern leader is. Several rounds hit the wyvern and it fell down to the ground along with the commander on it, crushing his right leg from the weight.
In his trigger happy mindset, he had forgotten that he is practically outnumbered 1 to 100 and the enemy can fly everywhere. “Oh shit.”
Only 3 spare magazines left on the SERE kit with a combined total of 60 practically meaningless rounds among all of them, he knew he stood no chance against the swarm gathering up above him. The survival knife tucked inside the multi-tool kit isn’t much of an assurance either.
Quickly running back to Hartmann laying against the tree, he lifted Hartmann’s body on his shoulder and made a run for it to the nearby woods in the faint hope that he would escape these wyvern riders.
There would be no luck for Vargson, however. Didn’t even make it halfway across the crop field, a giant net was dropped on him and Hartmann.
“No!” Vargson screamed in panic.
The last thing he saw while squirming around in the net was one of the riders running up to him, about to knock him out with the back end of a spear. \
“I’m sorry, Hartmann.”
Black out.
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Sunsettia, bordering the Great Sea, East of Kingdom of Azuria
April 28th, Central Calendar Year 1425.
6:45 AM
The familiar salty breeze of the morning winds wept over Sunsettia, a medium-sized coastal town facing the Great Sea. Even though the sun had just risen not too long ago from the West, the harbor and the central market have already been filled with people of all make go about their days, giving this place an idyllic atmosphere rarely seen by most city dwellers in the Central Plain.
Sitting on the balcony of a villa overwatching the town, Duke Kalush takes a moment to take in the morning scenery in front of him
"Greetings, my lord." The young servant said as he put down the magically heated tea on the small table next to him.
"Hey, Farcel. What happened yesterday? I have heard great commotion and worries from the local Lords and garrisons" The middle-aged man asks as he sips on the hot cup of tea.
Confusion and worries clearly showed on Farcel’s face. “There have been reports of strange phenomena out in the Great Sea, my Lord. A great storm had been sighted yet it did not seem to go anywhere, stretched as far as the eyes can see even from a long distance. We lost a rider from the 12th Eastern Wyvern Squadron early this morning, patrolling along the coast, presumably got lost in the heavy winds and consumed by the vast ocean when he attempted to investigate the phenomena about an hour ago. What’s stranger is the report from the rest of the squadron, which told a very different story.” He calmly narrated what had happened, yet unable to explain the report in detail.
“How come there has been a storm yet the weather here is still calm?” Kalush asked.
“That’s the strange thing, my lord, the reported storm doesn’t emit a single gust of wind outward. It appears to be surrounding a very large area of the ocean.”
“Oh, more worries…” Kalush laments to himself, unable to escape from his duties even for a day despite going all the way to peaceful Sunsettia to escape the constant reminder that he is royalty.
“Anyway, how is our preparation for the Yarians?” Kalush asked his butler.
“They're still working on it, my Lord. The army still needs several months to construct defensive positions for the impending attack but I fear that we won’t make it in time.”
“What about the Lioris? The Principality couldn’t send troops?” He asked, annoyed at his allies' disregard for their own security.
“Their delegation has expressed little concern for our security, believing that we are sufficiently strong enough to resist the Yarians.” Farcel explained, his words helped little to brighten the mood.
“So be it, then. Tell them that Azuria will place an embargo on grain if they won’t send reinforcements, and tell them that if Azuria is lost then they too will be slaves to the Yarians.” Kalush placed an ultimatum, knowing that the Principality of Lior couldn’t refuse. Finished with that situation, he grabs the paper on the tea table.
Reading the report, the content inside is even more peculiar than the storm that had lingered beyond the eyesight out in the Great Sea from his villa. “What the?...”
Dotting his eyes along the words, he finds this hard to believe. “Strange metal object in the sky that flies faster than wyvern?”
“The Royal Army has already sent a quick reaction Royal Wyvern Dragoon squadrons as well as two Royal Wyvern squadrons toward Sunsettia upon the news to ensure your safety here and to escort you back to Anzuri, my Lord.”
“This worries me, Farcel. Yet… something tells me that our world is about to change in a big way, perhaps for the better.” Duke Kalush commented as he noticed a small sharp glint on the horizon and the peculiar buzzing noise coming from the object.
“Perhaps so, my Lord.”