Flight of the Dying Sun

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War had returned to Cyre.

She had only just begun to recover from the last series of battles, and the Karrnathi invasion had devastated the proud nation once more. Homes and villages lay in ruins. What had once been green fields were now rendered desolate. It was as if all the color in the land had been drained. Even the afternoon sky was polluted with greasy smoke. The sun was little more than a slightly brighter smear in a field of gray. Across the tortured earth, a line of dimly shining yellow stones marked the path of a lightning rail. A cloud of shimmering sparks erupted from the line as a coach sped on its way west, towing a line of cars on a path out of Cyre.

The scattered citizens and wounded soldiers glanced enviously as the coach sped on its way to a better place, then continued to trudge across the land. Suddenly a dash of unaccustomed color turned their gaze heavenward. A splash of flame pierced the gray, burning brightly and moving swiftly through the pallid sky. At first it seemed as if the sun had returned, but the fire glowed green in a solid ring. It was the elemental flame that marked the passage of an airship.

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