Chapter Nineteen.

Sharax stepped down the ramp of the Thunderhawk, his power-armoured feet making contact with the Atlesian airships open-hangar deck. He was escorted by an honour guard of four warriors. All were Raven Guard, all veterans of the Great Crusade and Isstvan.
Nellis, the elder, a mohawk of hair giving colour to his porcelain face. Varath, the shield bearer, one hand gripping his power axe, the other his storm shield. Kye, examining the welcome committee with cold eyes. Sheed, an Apothecary, stood with his face bare, the most human of them all.
'Ironwood,' the Legion Captain greeted the general.
'Sharax, it is good to have you with us,' the Atlesian General replied.
An Atlesian, the one named Winter Schnee, stepped forwards and presented her blade. The other soldiers stepped back and presented their rifles to the heavens. After three seconds, they let out a three volley salute.
'Please, Sharax. The bridge is this way,' the general ushered the five legionaries inside the ship proper. The route they took was not a long one. The Atlesian airships were short by comparison to Imperial vessels. Just shy of a third of a kilometer, the distance from the bridge to the hangar was less than twenty meters. Though that was extended in parts by the staircases.
However, due to the bulk of the legionaries, they were forced to take a longer secondary route. This route brought them alongside the weapon batteries of the airship. They were much smaller than the lance cannons on Imperial vessels, even this powerful that their size would have suggested.
'Tell me Ironwood,' Sharax said, halting to examine the weapons. 'Have you considered implementing the changes I and Atrex recommended.'
Ironwood turned on his heels. 'We are making those changes to reserve vessels that we can test in a shorter base of time. Alongside those, my personal ship will be upgraded. Then, if we are happy with the results, we will implement similar upgrades to vessels such as this. Though with the work and resource requirements, I doubt we will even manage to fully upgrade those vessels.'
'I understand. But if you follow Atrex timetable, that should not be a problem for you. But tell me, how goes the fortification of Atlas?'
The general let out a heavy sigh before he spoke. 'The ground-to-orbital missiles proceed as well as they do in Vale. However, the problem is with mantle. The people are in uproar, they don't understand why we are rationing everything. Already, two upstarts have made themselves known to us. Salisa DeTroy, a Faunus in the White Fang, and Robin Hill, a sudo-terrorist.'
'Sudo-terrorist?' Sharax asked, unfamiliar with the classification.
'She has stood for a position on our council prior to our upcoming one. She has also instigated several riots in mantle. As well as hampering my forces on numerous cases. Due to a technically, a single sentence in one of our anti-terrorist laws, she both is and is not a terrorist. Therefore, some of us have coined the term sudo-terrorist.'
'I see, I may be able to help with the DeTroy situation. Speaking of which, expect a second Thunderhawk to arrive shortly. Consider it's contents a gift.'
Ironwood nodded, then continued onto the bridge.

Atlas, several years ago.

The Grey Giant, the Angel of Ashes, the Pilgrim. In the north of Atlas, a tail had begun to spread. Month's after the crash reported by Laxin, the small town of Maiden's Peak, it was said that in the dead of night, that a wanderer did pass through. Undisturbed by the locals, it did go unseen from mortal sights.
But not a week later, reviewing security footage from his dust stores front camera, the owner saw the blurry silhouette of a giant.
Somehow, the footage was spread across the northern lands and eventually the capital itself. As was common with blurry footage and pictures, myths and tails were woven.
Some said that it was the ghost of a dead knight, slain long ago. Others say it was a wanderer. Others refuse to even accept that there was anything, claiming it was nothing but a distortion at the footage's edges.
But one thing ignored by all was a simple sigil, others marked it's armour. But only one was clear enough to be made clear; an eight pointed star.

Vale, now.

Korphall marched through the bridge's blast doors, in his hands was one Roman Torchwick. 'Your gift, general,' Sharax said. 'Roman Torchwick, along with a cell of White Fang and one of your paladin's.'
Ironwood chuckled. 'My thanks, captain.'

Second to last prep-chapter. So close to the fighting. Not long now.