Three Weeks Later, Elysea
The cliffs of Dravonne had always been desolate—wind-beaten, isolated, and forgotten by most maps save for a faint dotted line that marked them "unfit for settlement." That had been true for generations.
Until now.
The region buzzed with unnatural life.
Convoys rolled through newly graded roads under heavy guard, ferrying crates stenciled with "ALCHEMY DIVISION" in bold paint. Scribes, actors, metallurgists, and former stage technicians now walked alongside soldiers and engineers. Dozens of smoke stacks were being erected where no real foundries would ever exist. Fuel tanks were constructed with no internal piping, just empty shells meant to echo with false resonance when tapped.
The facility's false name was stenciled in two-foot letters on the southern slope of the main tower: PHANTOM STATION.
And it was beautiful in its deception.
