The morning sun cast a golden hue over the fog-laden hills surrounding Port-Luthair. Inside the fortified hangar complex, a sense of anticipation hung in the air as King Bruno convened with his team of engineers, tacticians, and weapon specialists. Blueprints and sketches cluttered the drafting table, each depicting iterations of the Falcon II modified with top-mounted frames and side brackets near the cockpit.
"How do we arm the skies?" Bruno's voice broke the silence, his finger hovering over a schematic.
Silvain Hartwell, arms folded, scrutinized the drawing. "A modified crankshaft under the forward propeller won't give us enough clearance. We'd need synchronization, or the bullets will tear through the blades."
Amalia leaned over the table, her eyes alight with ideas. "We can mount it above the nose instead, offset, angled slightly to the right. The pilot compensates by aim—like archers learning to shoot from horseback."
