Spring, Year Twelve of Truth.
The 1,500-meter-long Ten Thousand Miles of Sunshine slowly ascended. Its main bow cannon reflected a blinding glare in the sunlight. As the massive silhouette of the ship swept over the Cybertron Fortress, it cast large swaths of the factory districts below into deep shadow. Allen stood on the bridge, gazing down at the Cybertron Fortress through the porthole. No. 18 stood silently at his right side, its body—constructed of Spiritual Remains Steel—not leaking a single trace of Magic Power fluctuation. If one were to close their eyes and rely solely on Spiritual Power to sense it, it would feel as though nothing was there at all.
