The sky above the Western Ridge did not merely break; it dissolved into a flawless, geometric nightmare. The thousands of monolithic Reaper-Cruisers hanging in perfect, static columns across the upper atmosphere ceased their silent observation at the precise second the morning shadow touched the outer bastions of the Blackfang Fortress. There was no thunderous signaling horn, no dramatic drumbeat from the imperial vanguard; there was only the massive, synchronized thrum of a million gold clockwork gears locking into their final stabilization parameters.
Then, the heavens opened fire.
