TITAN SIEGE ENGINE

The plane screeched down onto the improvised runway, tires grinding against uneven tarmac hastily poured over dirt and stone. The airport, if you could call it that, was nothing more than a cleared field with a few prefab towers, tents, and modular hangars. It reeked of diesel, gun oil, and fresh concrete—newborn infrastructure birthed in the guts of a dying kingdom.

As the ramp hissed open, warm forest air licked inside the aircraft—dense, moist, tinged with the musk of pines and something fouler.

Alberto descended first.

His boots struck gravel with weight—the kind that made soldiers straighten their spines whether they liked it or not. Behind him came Carl, and Circe, her violet eyes dancing with contempt as she eyed the crude facilities.

"Ugh. What a charming little shithole," she muttered, stepping around a puddle of oil like it had personally insulted her bloodline.

They were greeted by rows of soldiers.