Remote

Nobody ever came to this remote outpost. Not the Empire of Berdacha or the other enemies of Norg, nor the forces of Ll or other enemies of her god. Gladia didn't know why this outpost even existed, but the archprelate had insisted it be built there, and insisted it be manned. So Gladia did, spending her mornings and evenings in prayer to Therqin and her days studying the monitors, knowing she would find nothing, and maintaining the giant missiles stationed outside the cathedral, knowing they would never be used.

Today was the same as always. The monitor's display was blank, save for a small white dot by the outskirts of— Wait.

She focused on the dot, adjusted the viewer to zoom in on it.

It was a fleet of heartships. An invasion force from the Gray Realm.

While Gladia had never done it, she knew exactly what to do. She fed the coordinates into the launcher, and she fired the missiles.

Praise to Therqin. Gladia would never doubt the archprelate again.