Mha Ships Fanart Novels & Stories

I ordered, backing away from the projection as the core’s glow faded. — Back on the bridge, the main screen revealed the newcomers: four ships, massive and angular, shaped like fractured arrows. They shimmered with the sheen of old alloy, designs unlike anything I’d seen. Kira stared. “They’re not broadcasting any ID codes.” “Open hailing frequency,” I said. The channel crackled to life, but no words came. Only a deep, vibrating tone. Then—another projection. This time, a woman. Pale, with silver eyes and a crest of radiant energy atop her head. She was beautiful. Terrible.

Some were green, like the banners of Haefest, others were gold, like the banners of Aeris, still others blue like those of Locrand and in the distance Doreon could also see some white and gray sails like Devian's sigil of arms. "Unbelievable, isn't it?" said Pix, leaning his back against the fence and his gaze towards the ocean. The light breeze ruffled his hair. Doreon, with his elbows resting on the fence, watched the men load huge wooden crates onto the docked ships. Pix was next to him, dividing them was the fence, while the lord breathed deeply. "It looks like a fleet too big for simple reconnaissance," Doreon commented as he looked at the ships.

Her Papa answered instead of her Mama. She just nodded even though she was totally against his parents' decision. This is probably the best thing to do so that her friend Merfie will not be harmed, she almost lost her friend earlier. She had an inference that someone knew she was His Majesty's Mate. She had been warned before that when this mating happens, bad things will begin, she will witness those and will go through.

CORALINA'S POV Standing on the high northern parapet of the Frost-Hearth, the wind from the sea whipa my silver hair across my face in tangled, icy ribbons. Down in the bay, cutting through the thick grey fog of the coastal gates, a massive naval fleet rides the heavy swells. Nearly thirty iron-hulled warships, their pre-Pulse engines groaning with a low, mechanical growl that shatters the silence of the cliffs, sit anchored in our waters. They fly no pack banners—only the ragged, black-and-silver colors of the Western Coalition.