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He mounted his hoverbike and sped across the rust-colored plains. The air tasted of ozone and refined ore. Halfway there, his sensors picked up two other signatures converging on the same coordinates: a sleek Cora skiff and a heavy Accretian logistics walker.

As dawn broke over Novus, the three groups withdrew to their own lines. The Cora mystic paused, glancing back. “You Bellato are still fools,” she said. “But you’re not savages.” rf online helper

Kaelen arrived first. Echo-7—a nervous Bellato engineer named Lise—stood beside her disabled MAU. But she wasn’t alone. A Cora mystic knelt nearby, tending to a wounded soldier in silver-and-black robes. And behind them, an Accretian combat unit—its chassis dented, one optic flickering—had planted its massive frame like a shield between the group and a sinkhole full of radioactive crystals. He mounted his hoverbike and sped across the

Kaelen lowered his weapon. He pulled a stabilizer field generator from his pack—standard Bellato field medic gear. “Nobody fires a shot. Nobody claims this sector. We get the wounded out, then we scatter. Agreed?” As dawn broke over Novus, the three groups

The Accretian unit turned. “Conclusion: This sector remains contested. But this unit logs an anomaly: assistance received from biologicals. Marking for review.”

Lise pointed. “The sinkhole collapsed while I was patrolling. That Accretian—designation ‘Anvil-3’—pulled me out. But the Cora soldier got caught in the crystal fallout. The mystic says without a stabilizer field, he’ll crystallize from the inside.”

He was a veteran of the Bellato Federation’s mechanized corps, now serving as a field guide—someone who kept new recruits from getting their brains melted by a Cora psychic or their limbs crushed by an Accretian war machine. The request came from a rookie callsign: .