Ascending Legend
The low hum of the Republic shuttle thrummed through Iandre's chest as it descended toward the icy plateau. Outside, the Frozen Spire rose from the snow like a jagged crystal, its lights flickering against the storm-darkened sky. The wind buffeted the hull, sending frost streaking across the viewport.
Iandre tightened her grip on the harness, her gaze steady. Beside her, Cora moved with quiet precision, checking her gear, blades strapped and ready. They exchanged no words; none were needed. Both knew the assignment: secure the Spire, assess the situation, and neutralize any threat.
The shuttle touched down with a hiss of hydraulics, snow swirling around the landing skids. Iandre led the way across the ridge, feet sure on the ice, eyes scanning for anomalies, while the Force whispered subtle warnings of the storm's hidden dangers. Cora followed, silent, lethal in every movement, a presence Iandre acknowledged but did not direct.
At the perimeter, the first sign of trouble revealed itself: an outer turret had been torn from its mount, power lines sparking across the snow. Tracks led into the shadows of the Spire's lower levels—too deep for any of the outpost's personnel.
Iandre adjusted her stance, senses alert. The storm pressed in, howling against stone and metal, and with every step, the Frozen Spire seemed to grow taller, darker, as if waiting. Whatever lurked within its frozen halls had already made its move. And now, together, Iandre and Cora would meet it.
Cora
Iandre tightened her grip on the harness, her gaze steady. Beside her, Cora moved with quiet precision, checking her gear, blades strapped and ready. They exchanged no words; none were needed. Both knew the assignment: secure the Spire, assess the situation, and neutralize any threat.
The shuttle touched down with a hiss of hydraulics, snow swirling around the landing skids. Iandre led the way across the ridge, feet sure on the ice, eyes scanning for anomalies, while the Force whispered subtle warnings of the storm's hidden dangers. Cora followed, silent, lethal in every movement, a presence Iandre acknowledged but did not direct.
At the perimeter, the first sign of trouble revealed itself: an outer turret had been torn from its mount, power lines sparking across the snow. Tracks led into the shadows of the Spire's lower levels—too deep for any of the outpost's personnel.
Iandre adjusted her stance, senses alert. The storm pressed in, howling against stone and metal, and with every step, the Frozen Spire seemed to grow taller, darker, as if waiting. Whatever lurked within its frozen halls had already made its move. And now, together, Iandre and Cora would meet it.
Cora