The colossal searchlight groaned, grinding its rusted hinges before spitting out a blinding white light that sliced through the Ashfall dust. Zenith snorted, his visual sensors snapping into forced adjustment as his hand swiftly yanked Prince Elara’s drab cloak behind the shadow of a cracked concrete pillar. Before them, the towering walls of the Ancient Magitek military base loomed like a giant skeleton refusing to die, shrouded by a permanent magnetic sandstorm that roared like the thousand screams of dead miners. "Cover your ears unless you want your eardrums to shatter like cheap ceramic plates!" Zenith yelled, his voice barely audible over the wind’s roar carrying sharp iron particles. Marcus drew his sword, using his military veteran armor to shield Elara from the sand blast. "Is this Fort Aegis? This place should have been wiped off the map since the Unification War!" "Well, your map is trash, Uncle! Just like your sense of humor!" Zenith retorted, jogging toward a side gate

Gray dust still billowed thickly, clogging Zenith's air filters until the engine in his chest emitted a rough, grinding sound. He dragged his feet through the remnants of the sandstorm created by the Vesperus projectile explosion moments earlier. Beside him, Marcus gasped for breath, supporting Prince Elara, whose face was now the color of desert ash, pale and nearly lifeless. They had successfully escaped the siege outside Fort Aegis, but the price paid was Zenith's navigation system, which now flickered erratically. "Damn it, my cooling system is seriously about to blow," Zenith grumbled, pounding his chest plate to shake off the dust. "If I die here, please write on my iron tombstone: 'Died from being too extra.'" Marcus paused for a moment, regulating his breath, which felt like inhaling shards of glass. He looked at Zenith with an unreadable expression, a mixture of lingering old resentment and forced acknowledgment. "That audio tactic earlier ... and the way you positioned you

The scent of ozone, residue from the magnetic storm, still hung in the air, choking human lungs and tormenting Zenith's already half-shattered olfactory sensors. Ashfall’s pale sunlight began to pierce the remnants of the gray clouds, reflecting off the expanse of sand, which now gleamed like glass from the heat of last night’s lightning. Zenith knelt on the ground, his rusted hands scraping away the magnetic dust clinging to his knee joints, creating a grating, irritating metallic screech. "Damn, my joints feel like they were poured full of wet cement," Zenith grumbled, his head rotating a full one hundred and eighty degrees backward to ensure Marcus and Prince Elara were still intact. "Prince, if we run into any dwarves later, please tell them to prepare the most expensive oil. Strawberry flavored, if possible." Marcus snorted, wiping dust from his armor with a ragged cloth. "Dwarves are engineers, Zenith, not bartenders. And you don't have a tongue to taste strawberries." "Ug