Aiden stepped off the sky-palace ramp onto Valthar's main dock and immediately knew the victory in the south had teeth. Crates of crystal-enhanced armor and reinforced anchor rods stretched in long rows under tarps.
Workers shouted over each other while foremen waved clipboards. The air smelled of hot metal and river mud.
"Report," he said.
Captain Thorne, one of the new logistics officers, wiped sweat from his brow. "Blackvein tripled output like you ordered. We can arm three times the troops we had last season. Problem is moving it.
River ports are jammed. Great River fork is worse. Barges are overloaded, crews are exhausted, and half the wagons we requisitioned never showed up."
Aiden scanned the piles. "Eldrenholt needs those rods and healing crystals yesterday."
"They're stuck thirty miles upriver. Local commanders started cutting side deals with merchants just to keep their units fed. Prices are climbing."
