Chapter 53: A Peaceful Visit...Or Was it

The Black Hawk crossed the bay in minutes. Below, the landing craft were already beached along the shore, lowering their steel bow ramps to roll out heavy bulldozers, forklifts, and pallets of prefabricated materials.

The helicopter flared over a cleared patch of dirt just outside the settlement and touched down.

When the crew chief slid the side door open, the sharp stench of yesterday’s battle had already been overtaken by the smell of diesel exhaust, fresh sawdust, and overturned soil.

John stepped out first, followed by Hayes, Ritcher, and Elenore.

Elenore adjusted her headset and looked around, her eyes wide. "They are... working together?"

Across the settlement, US Army combat engineers in dusty ACUs worked side-by-side with wolfkin and bear-kin tribesmen. Massive armored bulldozers leveled the charred ruins of burned wooden huts, while beastkin warriors used their superior brute strength to haul steel I-beams into place alongside human mechanics.

Near the center of the village, a field hospital tent had been set up. Army medics were changing bandages and handing out clean rations to beastkin families, while young children curiously watched a diesel generator hum to life.

"Chief Lyra is approaching, sir," Hayes said, pointing ahead.

Lyra walked over from the command tent.

"Commander John," Lyra greeted, placing a fist over her chest. She then paused, her amber eyes shifting to Elenore. "An elf?"

"This is Elenore," John introduced. "She is an elf who was trapped in a crystal in a dungeon. I got her out there and here we are. Though she can’t recall much of her memories, she was our first contact. Elenore, this is Lyra, the new chieftain of the Ironclaw Tribe."

Elenore placed a hand over her chest and gave a respectful, graceful bow. "It is an honor to meet you, Chieftain Lyra. May strength and prosperity return to the Ironclaw Tribe."

Lyra’s sharp amber eyes softened slightly. She tapped her chest once more in a traditional warrior’s greeting. "And to you, Elenore. It has been many seasons since an elf set foot in our coastal forests. Welcome."

Lyra turned her attention back to John, gesturing toward the bustling perimeter behind her.

"Your soldiers work with the speed of mountain spirits, Commander," Lyra said, a hint of awe in her voice. "In less than three hours, they cleared the ash, erected heavy fabric barriers filled with earth, and set up giant lanterns that glow without fire. My warriors are trying to pull their weight, but your machines do the work of fifty oxen."

"They’re called Skid-steers and front-end loaders," John said with a slight smile. "We brought enough pre-fabricated shelters to house every surviving member of your tribe by tonight. The field kitchen will start serving hot meals at noon."

Elenore watched as a young wolfkin boy received a small juice box and a chocolate bar from a smiling Army medic. The child’s tail wagged furiously after the first bite, darting off to show his mother.

"Also, since we established diplomatic ties between our nations, the United States of America, I have something to share with you, it’s about our resources."

"Hoh?" John mused as his interests were piqued. "What might that be?"

"Our storehouses in the upper grove are filled with seasonal harvests. We call them sun-globes, ruby-pods, and crisp-melons."

She turned and signaled to one of her guards, who quickly jogged over with a woven wooden basket covered in fresh leaves.

Lyra lifted the leaves, revealing a vibrant assortment of produce. "We usually trade these with traveling merchants for salt and iron tools. As our allies, you are welcome to take as much as your ships can carry."

John stepped closer, peering into the basket. His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Resting inside were bright, plump oranges, deep red pomegranates with cracked rinds showing jewel-like seeds, and a bunch of crisp, golden apples that looked like they had been picked straight from a Washington orchard. Aside from a slightly higher vibrancy that might have come from the world’s rich soil, they were unmistakable.

"Oranges, pomegranates, and apples..." John muttered, picking up one of the apples and turning it over in his hand. He took out a clean utility knife, sliced off a small wedge, and took a bite. It was sweet, firm, and intensely crisp.

"Is something wrong with the fruit, Commander?" Lyra asked, her wolf ears tilting with slight concern. "Is it poisonous to your people?"

"Not at all. In fact, it’s identical to the produce from our homeland," John said with a genuine smile, slipping the knife back into its sheath. "Fresh produce like this is always in high demand. Having a steady supply of fresh fruit for the base mess halls and ship galleys is a massive morale booster."

"Then it is settled," Lyra said, a proud smile crossing her face. "Our gatherers will begin harvesting the groves immediately to load onto your metal watercraft."

"We’ll make it a fair exchange," John replied. "We’ll trade refined salt, sugar, medical kits, and farming tools for your regular harvest. It’s the reason why we established partnership after all."

"Come," Lyra said, gesturing toward the rising path behind the ruined village. "Let me show you our land properly so you can see where your supplies will go."

John nodded to Hayes and Ritcher, who fell into step behind them with rifles slung low, while Elenore walked quietly at John’s side, taking in every detail.

Lyra guided them past the central square, where military engineers were already bolting together the steel frames of weather-resistant modular barracks. As they climbed a gentle slope, the charred aftermath of the imperial raid began to give way to lush, untouched terrain.

"To the west lie our timber stands," Lyra pointed across a sweeping ridge lined with towering evergreen and broadleaf trees. "Dense, hard wood that resists the sea dampness. Further up is the iron vein our blacksmiths tap into."

They reached the crest of the hill, opening into an expansive, sun-drenched terrace. Thick groves of fruit-laden trees stretched toward the foothills, sheltered naturally by the surrounding peaks. Clear mountain water trickled down a network of hand-carved stone aqueducts, feeding small vegetable plots of cabbage, tubers, and vibrant herbs.

Elenore let out a soft breath, her pointed ears perking up. "The mana flowing through this soil is remarkably pure. It explains why your harvest is so bountiful despite the coastal winds."

"Our ancestors chose this valley well," Lyra said softly, looking out over the green expanse before turning back to John. "The Solarians tried to burn it, but your intervention saved the groves."

"And we’ll make sure it stays that way," John said, surveying the natural chokepoints of the valley.

A sudden screech echoed from the northern peaks, cutting through the quiet morning air.

John squinted, his gaze snapping upward toward the mountain ridge. Above the jagged canopy, nearly a dozen winged silhouettes crested the clouds, their reptilian bodies riding the thermal currents as large leathery wings beat against the wind.

"What the hell are those?" John asked, his hand instinctively resting on his sidearm while Hayes raised his binoculars.

Lyra’s ears flattened, her eyes narrowing with sharp wariness.

"Wyverns," Lyra replied, her tone dead serious.