The clang of orders, sharp, unequivocal, resounded through the command halls, propelling every division into precise motion.
On the vast expanse of the base's tarmac, sleek warships stood ready, their hulls meticulously aligned.
At the beckoning of the high command, ancient wards beneath their hulls flared to life in spiraling currents of arcane light.
In unison, the vessels rose, pivoting smoothly on invisible airstreams, until they hovered in disciplined formation above the staging grounds.
Below, amidst the network of armories and supply depots, soldiers moved with purposeful urgency.
Iron and steel were drawn from racks: cuirasses, sabatons, gauntlets, each piece of armor borne into waiting hands.
Young conscripts, faces taut with resolve, collected healing vials stamped with the emblem of the medical corps.
Teams of medics in stark uniforms organized crates of restorative elixirs, their movements disciplined and methodical.
