The White-Sea Dragon violently emerged from the spatial rift, wobbling out of control in the sky of an unfamiliar territory. Several runic panels spewed smoke, and the ship descended at an alarming speed. The pilots on the command bridge worked frantically until, at the very last second, they managed to stabilize the vessel and execute a hard yet controlled crash landing onto a vast plain of golden grass.
As the ship came to a complete halt, King Alaric stood up, his eyes sparking with rage as an oppressive aura made the bridge's floor tremble.
"Bring me the navigator who plotted this route immediately!" the monarch roared his voice echoing through the bridge.
A few seconds later, an old man in blue robes was escorted onto the bridge, trembling from head to toe as he fell to his knees before the king.
