High Envoy Cassian gripped the polished brass railing of the Arbiter's Grace tightly. As the diplomatic vessel cleared the outer defensive perimeter of the Seventeenth Continent, the arrogant dismissal he had maintained for the entire month-long voyage completely evaporated.
'We were told this was an exhausted deadland,' Cassian thought while his stomach twisted violently. 'Intelligence classified them as a fractured population barely surviving the regional integration.'
He glanced over his shoulder at his lead tactical advisor.
"Are the mana-dampeners active?" Cassian whispered frantically.
The advisor swallowed hard, his eyes darting nervously across the shoreline. "They are at maximum capacity, Envoy. The ambient energy here is suffocating."
