First Light of a New Age

High above the sprawling land of Edgellaf Kingdom, a squadron of F-12 Phoenix fighter jets streaked across the cerulean sky, their engines roaring as they cruised at Mach 2.

At the helm of the lead jet was Flight Sergeant Wegos Laver, commander of Gold Group. Glancing down at his flight instruments, he frowned and rapped the side of the fuel gauge with a gloved hand. Satisfied with the reading, he noted the fuel level and flight time on a notepad strapped to his thigh with the pencil stub scratching hurriedly against the paper.

"Gold Group, check your fuel levels and report," he said, triggering his throat mic.

One by one, the responses came through.

[Gold Two, fuel at 47%, over.]

[Gold Four, fuel down to 48%, over.]
 
[Five here, fuel at 45%, over.]

"Roger that," Wegos replied, doing a quick mental calculation. "Keep me updated when you're down to 35%. We’ve got about an hour of air time left, make it count." 

High Command had launched their squadron from a Liberation Navy carrier earlier that day, tasking them with patrolling the Empire's border. But barely into their patrol when word came in that a dragon had ambushed the rescue team. The fighter escorts sent ahead had been wiped out, leaving Gold Group to rush in as the last line of support.

When they arrived, they found that the Men of Stone had managed to heavily wound the dragon, but the beast remained a dire threat.

Using the sun as cover and the element of surprise, Wegos directed his squad into action. Two jets peeled off and initiated high-side gun runs, firing their 20mm autocannons and several mana-infused missiles, which proved very effective in injuring the dragon as it roars of agony when the attacks ripped through its armored hide.

The beast, enraged but gravely injured, flailed in anger, and so Wegos and his wingman dove in to deliver the final blows with more autocannons chattering and missiles detonating in fiery bursts, tearing the once-mighty dragon to shreds and its remains crashed into the forest below. 

Just as Wegos exhaled a rare moment of relief, his comms crackled to life. 

[Gold Lead, this is Gold Four! Red smoke spotted! Repeat, red smoke sighted!]

“Damn it,” Wegos muttered, craning his neck to scan the treetops below. In the middle of the emerald expanse, he could see the faint tendrils of red smoke drifting out from a patch in the sea of trees.

Red smoke was a bad omen and marked the unmistakable presence of a Transcendent, while blue meant enemy troops, but red was far worse. 

“All units, vector in over to the marked location!” Wegos ordered as he yanked his flight stick to adjust course. “Stand by for close air support!” 

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Angelo watched the plume of red smoke from the smoke grenade spiraling above the forest canopy, hoping the air support would spot it through the dense foliage. Their comms had been rendered useless under the suffocating tree cover, and to make matters worse, the Dwarf Prince had chosen the absolute worst moment and the shittiest way possible to crash into their operation like a living storm. 

Barks of AF-1 Magelocks erupted all around him as the squad of Special Operative soldiers fired their magic guns at the glowing figure wreathed in electric armor. The sheer amount of firepower kept the dwarf at bay, as his magical aura burned so intensely that nearby trees and underbrush began to smoke and smolder. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Angelo saw two soldiers with him were dragging a wounded soldier toward cover.

“Medic!” he shouted. “Tend to that soldier now!”