The Apache soared westward over the ridgelines, its rotors thrumming like the heartbeat of a metal beast against the open sky. Inigo sat focused at the controls, eyes scanning the landscape through his heads-up display. The horizon stretched far ahead—rolling forests, winding rivers, and the occasional distant settlement dotting the valleys like forgotten pearls.
Lyra sat behind no longer clutching the seat with wide eyes. She had grown more comfortable with the rumble of the engine, the sway of the helicopter, and even the way the terrain rushed past beneath them. But when Inigo's gaze narrowed, she noticed.
"What is it?" she asked, leaning slightly forward.
He tapped a button on his side display, zooming in with the camera pod mounted beneath the nose. Through it, he saw movement—erratic, fast, and wrong. Fire licked at the edges of small wooden houses. Smoke curled skyward, staining the horizon.
"A village," he said. "And it's under attack."
