The huge armored dirigible Aethelgard Sovereign breached the heavy-duty cloud deck above the capital city, its massive diesel-aether turboprops throttling back to a rhythmic, low-hum. Below the airship’s polished bronze gondola, the sprawling metropolis of Aethelgard unfolded in tiers of black dark rock, forged iron, and soaring quartz spires. At the center of the city stood the Grand Colosseum. A huge circular tiered arena of pre-Cataclysm granite that held one hundred and twenty thousand spectators, its high outer edge towers crackling with protective energy fields.
Arthur Vance stood by the armored watching port in the aft cargo bay. He watched the city’s spires rise to meet them. His sand-camo duster was stained with red dark rock dust and skin-burning salt powder, his boots scarred from air-powered skating across thirty miles of badlands. Beside him, Toby sat atop an overturned ammunition trunk. He grabbed the three encrypted flash drives containing Logan Sterling’s trade ring ledgers like a chest of gold coins.
“Look at the media towers around the arena plaza, Arthur,” Toby whispered. He pointed out the glass port. “They’ve already updated the tournament brackets on the five-hundred-foot light-projected displays! Ironfang Vanguard Academy is flashing in solid gold at the very top of the board: Seed Number One!”
