(STORY OUTLINE)

Stepping inside, we were greeted by a guard in a flight jacket, who immediately stood at attention and saluted. Sharpwing returned the salute, speaking up. “At ease, I’m bringing the Vanhoover Five up to talk with Serene. They say it’s urgent business.” The guard stood down, giving a small grin before waving his hoof along.

“Aw, heck, I remember you guys. Beating out Turbine in that race was pretty impressive, that bastard got what was coming to him… Uh, apologies for my language, Air Marshal. Serene is in the command room, you can head on up.” We headed up the stairs he was standing post at, looping back and forth for what felt like ages as we climbed the control tower. Yeesh, I’m not even sure the Lighthouse was this tall… then again, I guess it would be kind of hard to see approaching aircraft from the bottom of a valley. It thankfully wasn’t too long before we finally reached the top room of the control tower, where we found Serene leaning over one of the old radio equipment, polishing his sword.

He looked up as we entered, giving an exasperated sigh. “For goodness sake, Sharpving. Ve agreed on svitching posts at exactly zhirteen-hundred hours and it’s already past two zhirty! I’m going to go mad if I have to stay up here while my Valker lies rusting in the vorkshop for anozher day! Wizout regular maintenance and training all of its gears are going to stick, und I’d be better off piloting a sled into combat!” He stood up, holstering his sword as Sharpwing rolled her eyes.

“Oh, stuff it, ya spoiled prince. Your walker isn’t going to rust just ‘cos you leave it unused for one extra hour. Besides, if you were too busy tendin’ to your fancy show-sword to notice, we’ve got visitors.” She stepped aside, allowing all of us to enter the room. Thank you, standing on the stairway was starting to ache…