The Great Sea
April 28th, Central Calendar Year 1427.
12th Eastern Wyvern Squadron
Marly Hastnan looked at the looming storm with some concern, even his wyvern could feel it, there is something wrong happening here. Years of flying patrols 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 continued on the designated flight path using his magic detector as guides.
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 pay much attention to the device much unless in emergencies, 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 the result of his test earlier in January would land him a spot in the Corp and escape this boring town to serve in the big city.
A faint droning noise entered his sharp ears, but he dismissed it, probably just the manacomm device getting less signal than usual. The intensity of the noise increased, until it became a slight annoyance, this sound definitely didn’t belong to a bad signal.
His eyes drifted around the skies 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 righ-.”
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 as he maneuvered his wyvern closer to the storm.
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.
“I can see it-!”
Approaching the storm, the object suddenly 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 Miritta! Help me!” He shouted in panic while attempting to disengage the safety straps on his hip while free falling from the sky to no avail, only to find out that the leather straps were wrapped around his legs in a tangled mess.
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 the rest of 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.”
PA-12 Light Patrol Aircraft, The Great Sea, 27 km from Sunsettia
April 28th, 1427.
“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 Eden Hadasha! Tell them we’re in trouble!” The pilot shouted at his navigator sitting on the front of the cockpit.
“I can’t, sir! The comms are also down! Signal is still jumping all over the place!”
“This wasn’t supposed to happen!” Hartmann thought to himself, the control stick rattling every part of his body due to the intense turbulence.
Despite him 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.
He internally curses at the plane he’s flying. Accepting to fly refurbished second-hand equipment passed on from the Army was certainly a decision he wasn’t regretting before, but he definitely did now. The entire aircraft was shot all over before being repaired, reequipped and transferred to the Navy for maritime patrol, and that definitely reflected on the thing’s reliability being displayed in the treacherous weather.
His eyes dashed around, praying to God before catching a glimpse of open sky in 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 immediately 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, looking to his side through the bubble canopy, finding his left wing dented while leaking some white-colored liquids.
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 in the back of the cabin has a much better view of the damage, instinctively raising his voice for a report. “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 the fire extinguishing system. “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, scrolling through dozens of channels as fast as he could.
The aircraft is now shaking heavily, near impossible to keep flying straight due to the broken wing and cracks spreading to the fuselage, every turn is a struggle as the aircraft’s lightweight aluminum metal groans and bent as if it is in unspeakable pain.
“Don’t give up on me, you beautiful piece of shit…” 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. He steered the aircraft towards the open farmland, hoping to make a somewhat safe crash landing. 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 groans again, this time much more audible even in the alarm-blaring cockpit. He moved the joystick, finding it much harder to steer than just before the crack.
“No mechanical help now, Hartmann.” he mumbles as he uses his body to push the nose down to pick up speed, doing anything he could to glide his way to salvation ahead.
“We lost hydraulics!” Vargson reports, scrambling to switch the hydraulic system back on. He notices the oil pressure had dropped down to zero, that could only mean that the cracks have leaked all the hydraulic oil from the flight system.
The aircraft refused to pull up, the strong frontal 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.
“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 and hurriedly strapped his safety belts on. After he strapped in the seatbelt properly again, a 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 available, the least he could do was to report to the nearest control tower. “Mayday! Mayday! Contact Eden 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!”
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.” The young man answered, his hand hovering over the radio again only to find it dead from the lack of power.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“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. Haha…” Vargson comments as Hartmann passes out from fatigue.
Kicking the cracked canopy, Vargson grabs his R-25C 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 to free Hartmann but the canopy refused to budge.
“What kind of engineer designed this piece of shi…” Vargson raised his leg, preparing to unleash the frustration on the poor escape hatch.
“If it’s mechanical, give it a good bash!” He remembers what his mother used to say, her usual frustration with the family TV definitely attributed to that attitude.
Some tips never seem to get old, apparently. The hatch pops open quickly, detaching itself from its hinges entirely. He pushed the canopy out of the way, detaching Hartmann’s seatbelts before lifting him out of the aircraft.
After dragging Hartmann’s passed out body out of the wrecked plane and resting him on a nearby tree, He took 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. “Hm… What does this do-”
“Hey! Who are you?!” a voice opened up behind Vargson’s back, filled with a mix of confusion, fear and anger.
Vargson looked back, seeing an old farmer looking at him dead in the eyes with a pitchfork in hand pointing at him.
He instinctively aimed his R-25C carbine at the old farmer, but to his surprise the old man showed no fear, his anger replaced by confusion instead at the carbine aimed at him.
“You two fell out of… that thing?” The farmer asked in a deep and wery 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 Socialist-run Yarik, but surely not to this level? Even they must’ve seen a plane in their life before given how much their leadership love to flaunt their bombers around in parades.
The passersby watched him with curiosity and fear in their faces. Most of the children hid behind caravans and the adults ran around to help extinguish the fire caused by the aircraft’s leaking fuel, hoping to save their crops. Some even brought more weapons towards his position, preparing to confront him for accidentally burning down their crops.
“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 new relieved 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. He moved his eyes around, but his tired eyes were 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 said to himself, his eyes focusing on the man barking orders for the others to follow.
He ready the carbine and racks its 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 as he continues barking orders for others to follow as if that’s the only thing he knows how to do, which is probably true, Vargson assumed. 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 wannabe captors rolling on the ground in pain. 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 advanced explosive magic.
Wasting no time, Vargson empty the rest of the ammunition in the carbine’s 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 one to twenty at least, and the enemy can fly everywhere. “Oh shit.” He said out loud, realizing he had just sunk himself into the gutter by shooting two potential captors instead of surrendering.
Only having two spare magazines in the SERE kit with a combined total of sixty practically meaningless rounds among all of them, he knew he stood no chance against the pack gathering up above him in the current state. He could barely catch his breath after that crash, aiming is almost impossible, now whatever this fantasy bullshit? The survival knife tucked inside the multi-tool kit isn’t much of an assurance either, more like a joke considering the circumstance he found himself in. Fuck it, he’d have to bail.
Quickly running back to Hartmann laying against the tree, he lifted his body on the shoulder and made a run for it to the nearby woods in the faint hope that he would escape these wyvern riders. Trees would make for nice visual covers from above, afterall. A proper escape plan can be made later.
There would be no luck for Vargson, however. The young man didn’t even make it halfway across the crop field before a giant net was dropped on him and Hartmann.
“No!” Vargson screamed in fear and panic, trying to cut away the net with his survival knife
The last thing he saw while squirming around in the net was one of the riders about to knock him out with the back end of a spear. “Fuck! Please no-!”
BUMP.
Moments earlier.
Sunsettia, Kingdom of Azuria.
Bordering the Great Sea.
April 28th, Central Calendar Year 1427.
The familiar salty breeze of the morning winds wept over Sunsettia, a decently-sized coastal town facing the Great Sea. Named so due to its emptiness, the Great Sea is the largest body of water encompassing almost half of the known world with very little out besides a few dotting island chains.
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 overlooking the town, a well dressed Kalush ad Azuri takes a moment to take in the calm morning scenery in front of him. As the Duke of Azuria, he was constantly bombarded with more responsibilities in these turbulent times when war is fastly approaching. Escaping to Sunsettia was definitely an irresponsible act, but he had made sure to prepare everything before departing for his vacation here. A clear and relaxed mind is far more useful if he has to lead his kingdom into war with the Yarians.
"Greetings, my lord." A young servant said as he put down the magically heated tea on the small table next to him. Its warm and soft aroma filled Kalush’s nose, putting him at ease.
"Hey, Farcel. What happened yesterday? I have heard of great commotions and worries from the local Lords and garrisons.” He asks as he sips on the hot cup of tea, savoring the familiar taste.
Confusion and worries clearly showed on the young butler’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 while he was patrolling along the coast, presumably got lost in the heavy winds and consumed by the vast ocean when he attempted to investigate the phenomena. What’s stranger is the report from the rest of the squadron that came just now, which told a very different story.” He calmly narrated what had happened, yet unable to explain the report in detail.
“Another thing is tha-” Farcel continued, but was suddenly cut off by the Duke.
“How come there has been a storm yet the weather here is still calm?” Kalush asked him.
Farcel puts the report down, placing it on the table. “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 just for a day as he burrowed his face into his hand.
“Anyway, how is our preparation for the Yarians?” Kalush asked his young butler, accepting the duty of management regardless.
“They're still working on it, my Lord. The Army still needs several weeks to construct defensive positions for the impending attack but I fear that we won’t make it in time.”
“What about the Liories ? The Principality couldn’t send troops?” He asked his butler, annoyed at his only allies's disregard of his request. The Yarians are coming, and they are coming fast. Having conquered most of the Eastern Continent, including the recently defeated Elvish Kingdom, the Yarian barbarians are solidifying their hold and replenishing their numbers in the neighboring occupied Elvish Kingdom. It was only a matter of time before they overrun Azuria and Lior with their goblin hordes and other foul dark races.
“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. “They’ve only sent material help in terms of tools and weapons. Many parts of the Principality still believed that the Elvish Kingdom posed a bigger threat to us, and that their defeat was good riddance thanks to the Yarians.”
“So be it, then. Tell them that Azuria will place an embargo on grain if they won’t send military 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 as they primarily rely on food imported from Azuria to survive, finding the harsh decision justified.
“I will relay your wish, Lord.” Farcel gestured for the maid girl behind him, who quickly complied as she relayed Duke Kalush’s words.
Satisfied with his ultimatum, he grabs the paper on the tea table and begins reading it intently. The content inside is even more peculiar than the storm that had lingered beyond the eyesight out in the Great Sea from his Sunsettia 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? I know that information travels incredibly fast thanks to imported Celestial manacomm devices, but how recent is this event?”
“That report was only ten minutes old, sir, freshly written. The Royal Army has already sent a Wyvern squadron toward Sunsettia upon the news to ensure your safety here and to escort you back to Anzuri, my Lord. Judging by their flight speed, we should expect to meet them by noon.”
“This worries me, Farcel. Yet,” He paused, finding the right way to express his words. “Something tells me that our world is about to change in a big way, perhaps for the better. I don’t know where this feeling came from.”
“Perhaps it is your intuition again, my Lord. I’ve heard from my father, the previous butler, that you were very intuitive with your feelings… especially during turbulent times.”
Just then, a small object appeared on the horizon. Its silvery color and droning noises almost alien to the Duke and his butler on the balcony. The object left behind a trail of black smoke, with one of its wings seemingly cracked and bent. The silvery beast eventually touched ground, sliding itself across some farmer’s wheat field.
Remembering what he had read in the report, Kalush eyed the object carefully. “I think we found what's in the report.”
“Perhaps so, my Lord.” Farcel said, looking to the sky as the local wyvern garrison took off, flying towards the downed beast. His face hardened, a sign of loyalty and commitment to the man he serves under. “I’ll handle your security in the time being, I suggest that you should remain here for your safety, my Lord.”
Kalush gave out a nod. “I will. Good luck, Farcel.”
“I won’t let you down, my Lord.”
