The dawn broke over Sector 4 not with the warm light of sunrise, but with the sickly amber glare of sulfur flares burning through low storm clouds.
Across the five-half-mile expanse of the outer ash flats, the earth was shaking with a relentless, underground pulse. Deep within the bedrock, ground-shaking tracking data sensors were redlining at size 4.2. It wasn’t a natural earth-shaking tremor. It was the timed together tread of nearly ten thousand living shock units marching across the dark rock scree.
On the castle walls of Gate 4, the red tactical warning sirens were screaming in shrill, ear-splitting pulses:
WHEEEEE-OOOOH! WHEEEEE-OOOOH!
Major Orson stood on the watching platform. His polished silver armor shone under the emergency work lights. His fingers were trembling so wildly against his leather-wrapped swagger stick that the brass handle knob rattled against his sword sheath. Beside him, three junior officers from House Vance’s high-born cadet corps were furiously shouting into their encrypted dispatch comms. Their voices shrill with rose panic.
“The sensor array is fully blinded!” Orson yelled, wiping cold sweat from his forehead. “The outer wire at Picket Six just went dark! Central Garrison Command isn’t answering our priority signal! Order a general pullback! Pull all guard post troops back to the backup curtain wall!”
