Kael's gaze drifted toward the distant mountain, its jagged peaks rising like the teeth of some ancient beast against the horizon. The sun, now fully risen, cast long shadows across the land, and he found his thoughts drawn inexorably to the possibilities that lay within those stony slopes. Where there were mountains, there must be metal—iron, copper, perhaps even something rarer, something that could transform his floating village from a wooden relic into a bastion of power. The mountain called to him, a promise of strength buried deep within the earth, just waiting to be unearthed by those with the will to seek it.
His mind raced ahead, already plotting the steps that would take him to the mountain's heart. A survey first, to locate any traces of ore. He'd need tools, equipment—perhaps even a more advanced Seraph unit, one capable of mining the depths. The thought of it filled him with a grim determination. He would find what he needed, no matter the cost.
As these plans took shape in his mind, the village below him began to mirror his thoughts, growing with each passing moment as the Seraphs continued their tireless construction. They moved like shadows, swift and efficient, their forms almost blending with the landscape as they planted the fruit trees around the square. The open space was slowly transforming into a green oasis, the trees standing like sentinels around the central fountain where the spring now flowed freely. It was a small thing, perhaps, but it brought a sense of life to the otherwise barren platform. The trees would provide shade, sustenance, and perhaps even a sense of peace in this wild and untamed world.
To the east of the square, the Seraphs had already begun preparing a stretch of land for farming. It lay empty now, the dark earth freshly tilled, waiting for seeds that had yet to be found. Kael frowned at the sight. Food would be essential, and he knew that relying solely on the wild fruits and game would not be enough. He would need to find seeds, to cultivate crops, to ensure a steady supply of provisions. The thought nagged at him, another task added to the growing list of needs and necessities.
Further still, the outlines of a barracks and a warehouse were beginning to take form. The buildings were little more than skeletal frameworks at this stage, but they hinted at the future that Kael envisioned. The barracks would house more Seraphs, units that would bolster his workforce as the village expanded. He would need them—hundreds, perhaps thousands of Seraphs, each dedicated to the task of building, farming, mining, defending. The warehouse would store the fruits of their labor, the raw materials and resources that would be the lifeblood of the village's growth.
Kael's eyes flicked back to the mountain, and he nodded to himself. The village was taking shape, but it was only the beginning. He would need metal to move forward, to forge the tools and weapons that would secure their place in this world. The mountain was his next goal, and he would reach it, no matter what obstacles lay in his path.
The Seraphs continued their work, heedless of the grand designs forming in Kael's mind. They planted trees, tilled soil, and raised buildings with a quiet precision, shaping the village according to Kael's vision. And Kael, standing at the edge of his creation, felt a surge of resolve. He had come to this land with nothing but his wits and a strange, mystical item, but he would leave his mark here. The village would grow, and with it, his power. And one day, when the time was right, he would ascend that mountain and claim the metal that lay within it.
As the afternoon sun began its slow descent toward the western horizon, Kael decided it was time to test the village's mobility. The wooden structures groaned as the village stirred, lifting from the earth that had been its cradle. Slowly, the floating village began its ascent, drifting upwards like some ancient leviathan roused from slumber. The upslope wind, rising from the lowlands below, caught the sails and urged the village slowly upward, toward the distant mountains where Kael believed the earth held its precious metals. The breeze was steady, but weak, and the village crept forward at a snail's pace, the wooden joints of the masts creaking under the strain.
Kael stood on the edge of the platform, his hands gripping the rough wood of the railing as he watched the mountain draw nearer, inch by painstaking inch. He couldn't help but think of Robert, the civil engineer he'd worked with so many times back in the old world. Robert, with his gruff voice and precise mind, would have known exactly how to strengthen those joints, how to coax more speed from the sails. If only Robert were here, Kael mused, his heart heavy with a sudden, unexpected pang of loneliness.
But Robert wasn't here. No one was. He was alone, save for the silent Seraphs that moved about the village like ghosts, their wooden bodies creaking just as ominously as the masts. The wind, though steady, was not strong enough to carry them quickly, and Kael knew that at this pace, night would fall long before they reached the mountain.
He frowned, his brow furrowing in thought. The wind would die with the sun, as it always did, and when the darkness came, it would bring dangers of its own. There was no point in pressing on, not with the village so unprepared for what lay ahead. The sails needed reinforcement, the joints needed oiling, and they would need a much greater stock of materials if they were to withstand the mountain's challenges.
Kael's eyes narrowed as the first shadows of evening stretched across the land. The sun, a fading ember on the horizon, signaled the approach of night—when the jungle would awaken with creatures unseen, and dangers unknown would creep from the darkness. He knew the village was far from ready, its defenses still a patchwork of hastily constructed barricades and incomplete fortifications.
"Seraphs," Kael called, his voice a low command that carried on the evening breeze. The silent figures, ever obedient, turned their glowing eyes toward him, awaiting orders. "Furl the sails. Fold the masts. We descend at once."
The Seraphs moved as one, their mechanical limbs working with swift efficiency. The sails, now slackened, were gathered and secured, the masts lowered with care to avoid further strain on the creaking joints. Kael watched them work, his mind already on the next task. They needed more—more wood, more stone, more of whatever they could scavenge from the unforgiving land below.
As the village began its slow descent, Kael turned his gaze to the ground. There, in the dim light of dusk, the jungle loomed, its canopy a tangle of shadows and secrets. "Gather all the material you can find," he ordered, his tone brooking no delay. "We need the Scorpios built before nightfall."
The Seraphs obeyed, disappearing into the thick underbrush as the village touched down with a soft thud. Kael's heart pounded with urgency. The Scorpios—stationary crossbows of formidable size—were their best hope against the nocturnal predators that prowled the night. But without metal, the mechanisms would be crude, relying on wood and sinew where iron and bronze should have been.
Still, they had no choice. The jungle was no place to be caught unprepared, and Kael knew all too well that when the darkness fell, the land itself seemed to conspire against the living.
The jungle stirred with the approaching night, its shadows growing longer, its noises more ominous. Kael knew they weren't safe yet. The Seraphs, indifferent to the hour, continued their work, gathering resources to fortify the village against whatever might come with the darkness. Kael's thoughts raced ahead. They needed more materials, stronger supports, and above all, they needed to be ready for the challenges the mountain would throw at them.
Lowering the village had been the right call. They were not yet ready to face the mountain's wrath, not with the scant resources at hand. They would gather, they would strengthen, and when the time was right, they would rise again—stronger, more prepared. For now, they needed to hunker down and brace for nightfall.
As the last light faded from the sky, the village began to rise once more, lifted by whatever arcane force the empty lot had conjured into being. The torches Kael had ordered placed earlier sprang to life, flickering beacons in the night. From above, they cast pools of light onto the jungle floor, illuminating the shadows but doing little to chase away the sense of foreboding that thickened with each passing moment.
Kael's gaze swept over the village, the torches flickering in the growing gloom. They were floating again, the ground beneath them slipping away as the village lifted into the air, suspended between earth and sky. Below, the jungle seethed with life, a cacophony of night sounds that hinted at the countless eyes watching from the dark.
The Seraphs worked tirelessly, bringing back bundles of wood, stone, and even sinew from fallen creatures. Kael could feel the weight of the night pressing in, the knowledge that they were surrounded by the unknown, with only their hastily prepared defenses to keep them safe.
The Scorpio turrets, with their broad, menacing frames, were already in place, their arms coiled like serpents ready to strike. Yet, Kael knew they needed more—something agile, something that could move with the grace of the wind but strike with the force of a storm. And so, from the depths of his mind, the Valkyrie was born.
The early Valks were crude, fashioned from the simplest of elements Kael had at his disposal—wood, stone, dirt, and water. They were a far cry from the sophisticated designs Kael had envisioned, more a necessity of circumstance than a triumph of engineering. The wooden frames were sturdy but clumsy, reinforced with stone and bound together by a mix of dirt and water, which, once dried, formed a brittle but functional armor. They were like the golems of old tales, animated by a spark of life that Kael still didn't fully understand.
These early Valks lacked the finesse and precision that Kael desired. Their limbs moved with a certain rigidity, the joints creaking and grinding with every motion. The hands were little more than blunt instruments, capable of gripping but not of the delicate manipulation required for finer tasks. The crossbows they carried were rudimentary, capable of firing only the simplest of bolts, and even then, with accuracy that left much to be desired. The shields, too, were basic, more likely to splinter under a direct hit than to deflect a blow entirely.
Unlike the Seraphs, whose dexterous hands could carve, shape, and assemble with a craftsman's touch, the Valks were less refined. Their hands could grip and manipulate, but they lacked the delicate finesse needed for intricate work. Yet, in battle, they would be unmatched, their movements fluid and their strikes lethal.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the land in shadow, the village hummed with activity. The Seraphs, tireless in their labor, continued to build and fortify, while the Scorpio turrets stood silent and ready, their deadly gaze sweeping the perimeter. And in the final moments of daylight, the first two Valks stepped from the assembly lines, their eyes glowing with a cold, steely light.
They moved with purpose, taking their places near the Scorpios, their shields raised, crossbows primed. They were not built to create; they were built to destroy, to defend the village against whatever nightmares the darkness might bring.
Night fell swiftly, enveloping the village in a blanket of darkness. The torches on the ground flickered like dying stars, casting long, wavering shadows across the land. Kael could feel the tension in the air, a quiet, pulsing anticipation as the village floated above the unknown. He knew that the night would bring danger, but he also knew that he had done all he could to prepare.
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting the jungle in twilight. The downslope wind would soon begin, and with it, the dangers of the night. Kael quickened his pace, giving orders to the Seraphs to secure the village. The creaking of the masts faded into the distance as they prepared for the long night ahead. There was work to be done, and time was a luxury they could not afford.