OPERATION: RAGIN’ MOUSE

Lorian stood before the gathered Beastkin, his voice steady, though the weight of his memories was evident. "I was an officer in the 1st Elven Plains Army," he began, pausing briefly as if the words themselves brought the pain of the past back to life. "Our lives were peaceful, or so we thought, until the day the Golem General’s Army attacked Ki-Dra, the border city where my family lived. We fought them off... for a time."

His voice wavered, the memory still raw. "We celebrated, believing the threat had passed. But while we were distracted, a sneak attack was launched on the capital, Regulan." His gaze hardened, and he took a breath. "That’s when we heard it... the Doom Bell. It rang through the land—a sound we hadn’t heard in generations."

“Doom bell?” Lt. Tarfire asked, his brow furrowing. Before he could say more, Wellknife intervened, his voice low.

"It’s a bell that sounds only if the capital is under siege or falling, sir."

Lorian continued, the Beastkin listening intently as the gravity of his words sank in. "Our forces were divided. Most stayed behind to combat the Golem army, while our cavalry rode to the capital’s defense. But the enemy’s true strength was greater than we had ever imagined. As Ki-Dra fell under a secondary attack, we tried... we tried to defend it, but we were outmatched."

Lorian’s gaze shifted to the horizon, as though he could still see the city burning. "During our retreat, my unit was ambushed—golems rising from the riverbanks like demons. We fought, but... we were overwhelmed. The last thing I remember was the sight of my men—blasted away by Austorian battlemages."

He paused, his voice catching slightly as the weight of loss pressed down. "When I awoke, it was over. Ki-Dra was in ruins, overrun by slavers. I found Ellias there, and together we tried to free our captured kin. From the few slavers we caught, we learned of a royal decree—all captured Elves were to be relocated to the Austorian capital."

The gathered soldiers exchanged dark looks, the situation now clear. "I went to the capital to confirm the truth for myself, but what I found... the dead lined the entrance to the forest. There was no help. No army. No one left to defend us."

Lorian’s voice trembled slightly, but he pressed on. "An In-Den Spider rider I encountered confirmed my worst fears—most of the royal family had fallen. The Queen and her daughter had fled south with heroes from another world, seeking aid. But none was coming. So, I turned back. My mission became clear—to protect those who survived, and to free the enslaved."

His voice grew firmer, his eyes meeting those of the Beastkin soldiers. "I met up with Ellias and the survivors in Mya. Now, with your help, we’re trying to reach Loyta-Nal."

Ellias, who had been checking the wagons, glanced over, nodding in agreement. "Thanks to your kindness, we have hope again."

For a moment, silence settled over the group. Lt. Tarfire was the first to speak, his voice steady. "You’ll have provisions for your journey. We won’t let you go without help." He motioned to the other soldiers, who began distributing supplies to the Elves.

Lorian turned to the wagons, calling out to the Elves still huddled inside. "It’s safe. Come out now." Slowly, the Elves emerged, blinking in the light as they were led toward the Beastkin vehicles.

Elven children, their eyes wide with curiosity, approached the strange metal boxes with wheels. They stared in awe at the Beastkin soldiers, their fears giving way to fascination. The soldiers, initially imposing in their advanced gear, now appeared almost friendly—genuine smiles and warm waves breaking the ice.

Kael Swiftail, seeing a group of children gathering around him, knelt and began handing out MREs, water, and even some candy he had saved. The children, who had once been shy, now giggled as they accepted the treats, their laughter a stark contrast to the hardships they had faced.

Nearby, Sergeant Targzon, usually reserved, found himself surrounded by a group of curious Elves. He handed out rations with a gruff but kind demeanor, his usual tough exterior softened by their wide-eyed wonder. "Here," he muttered, "don’t eat it all at once."

Corporal Thessa Brightclaw was in her element, her nurturing side fully on display as she distributed water and snacks to the children, her words gentle and reassuring. Corporal Shara Stoneclaw, meanwhile, fielded questions from a group of teenagers, explaining the technology behind the Kongsberg Remote Weapons Station and the advanced communication gear.

Just as the two groups began to bond, a distant, rumbling roar filled the air.

Lorian sprang to his feet, panic etched across his face. "Dragon!" he cried, his voice cracking with fear. Instantly, the Elves bolted back toward their wagons, still haunted by the memories of Austorian raids.

Wellknife, ever calm, placed a firm hand on Lorian’s shoulder. "Relax," he said with a grin. "It’s not a dragon."

Lorian stared at him, confusion and fear warring on his face. "If it’s not a dragon, then what?"

Wellknife chuckled. "It’s the future."

As the rumbling grew louder, the Elves' gazes shifted skyward. There, descending from the clouds, were three enormous metal shapes—unlike anything they had ever seen. The roar of their engines filled the air as the tiltrotors descended, their rotors spinning like the wings of an enormous beast.

Lorian stood transfixed, his eyes wide. "The future..." he whispered.