Sans Au Ships Novels & Stories

In its place descended a shadow that blotted out the aurora borealis. It was the Fenrir’s Fang. I had seen Council warships before. They were sleek, corporate, efficient. This was not that. This was a floating cathedral of gunmetal and hate. It was shaped like a jagged spearhead, bristling with enough heavy ordnance to level a small continent. The engines hummed with a frequency that vibrated the fillings in my teeth. "That's not a ship," Ben Carter yelled, clutching his briefcase to his chest. "That is a capital asset depreciation nightmare! Do you know the fuel costs for hovering something that mass in atmosphere?"

The morning after Inquisitor Vane’s ultimatum, the Blackwater River looked like a graveyard of iron. Three massive Southern warships sat anchored in the center of the flow, their steam vents huffing rhythmic clouds of grey smoke into the pristine mountain air. They were "teeth" of a different kind—not bone and sinew, but coal and steel. ​Rhea stood on the battlements, her fingers tracing the rough stone of the manor. Beside her, Elias was a statue of suppressed fury. The grey-gold veins on his neck pulsed in time with the thrumming of the ships' engines.

Jago ran toward us, his face grimy with oil and sweat. "Zora! We’ve got the 'Void-Mines' set in the water, but they’ve got 'Pulse-Burners' on those ships!" Jago yelled over the roar of the ocean. "We're holding a knife to a gunfight!" "Then we change the rules of the fight," I said, stepping off the shuttle. I looked up. The clouds were parting, revealing the massive, white-gold hull of the South Spire flagship, the Ascension. It was beautiful and terrible, a floating mountain of corporate arrogance. And I knew she was on the bridge. Elena.

Panni replied, her golden gaze shifting to the sky. Above them, the Vane fleet descended. Massive iron-clad dirigibles, held aloft by heated gas and humming with internal brass rotors, blocked out the moon. The lead ship, the Aurelius, lowered its docking claws. A platform descended, carrying Alistair Vane. He was bleeding from the clockshop explosion, his silk suit ruined, but his eyes were filled with a terrifying, religious fervor.

“Somewhere that teaches you to look without looking. Embassy clubs. Private floors. Or someone who used to be something like us.” Stacey looked at the card. The ghost’s embossed grin caught the light. “Either way,” she said, “she’s a door.” PORTSIDE — 15:47 P.M. The river had the colour of old coins. Cranes moved in long, slow gestures like patient predators. Lisa parked the van behind a row of shipping containers the colour of rusted hope. Don screwed his camera to the tripod and set the aperture like a ritual. “Vessel San Medardo just cleared customs,” Ty said. “Two containers flagged: numbers ending 4-1-7 and 9-0-3. Our Colombians.”

Tristan and Saoirse entered. The conversation stopped. Tristan walked to the head of the table. He wore a new coat—black leather reinforced with Aether-resistant lining, designed by Helena to dampen his emissions. He looked like a general. A very dangerous, very unstable general. "Report," Tristan said. "The fleet is fueled," Thorne said. "We have fifty ships combat-ready. Another twenty support vessels." "The Sovereign’s main cannon is online," Vane added. "Though we only have enough charge for three shots. After that, we’re throwing rocks."

On the horizon, ships were approaching. They weren't the sleek, geometric destroyers of the Architect. They were ugly, rusted, and trailing black smoke. A flotilla of scavenged vessels. Fishing trawlers welded with armor plating. A container ship mounted with old artillery cannons. A cruise ship painted in camouflage dazzle patterns. "The Free Fleet," Silas identified them, peering through a pair of binoculars. "The remnants of the Atlantic Navy and the coastal survivors. They’ve been hiding in the fog banks for years." "Are they friendly?" I asked. "They're human," Mom said, checking the load in her pistol. "So... probably not." The lead ship a converted frigate named the Goliath sounded it

Their numbers were enough to make Andrius feel overwhelmed. It seemed like the entire ship would be engulfed in shadows, surrounded, and enveloped by them the next moment! Swoosh! Andrius instinctively jumped up and rushed toward the control room. Coincidentally, Noir and the others also sensed something wrong. Everyone hurried over. Sure enough, Andrius saw ‘unknown creatures’ marked on the navigation display. While the ship was advanced, its technology was not precise enough to detect their numbers or location. It could only provide a vague range.

"We're out. We're actually out." "Look," Jun whispered. Elara wiped her eyes and looked at the long-range Aetheric-Scanner. They weren't alone in the dark. Emerging from the shadow of the moon, and rising from the far side of the planet, were hundreds of other White Ships. They were of different shapes and sizes—some looked like floating cathedrals of glass, others like jagged shards of obsidian—but they all shared the same Architectural-Lineage. "Are those... survivors?" Mina asked, her voice trembling.