White clouds fled through blue skies. The sea chanted
fearfully below. Waves crowded shoulder to shoulder and
shoved each other. Gray land crouched at the edge of
Dominaria, hiding itself in veils of yellow steam.
Evil hung in the heavens. Something was coming,
something horrible, and it would emerge without warning
It came. The thing carved a sudden line in the sky. The
trough it cut deepened. It tore water from the air and
hurled it outward in white flames. This was no meteor, no dumb stone from heedless heavens. This thing clove the
Air streamed away from a lancing prow and saw-
toothed keel. It drummed gunwales of living wood on its
way into roaring intakes and across wide-swept wings. This was a ship, a skyship — the sort that had ruled Thrannish skies. Loose tongues told of new fleets built by Urza and secreted away to fight Phyrexians, but who believed in
Urza? Who believed in Urza’s bogey men? Who had ever
seen even a single skyship?
It was a sleek and glorious, horrible thing, this
Weatherlight. Nature cringed away from it. Still, it was not the dreamed-of evil. Something else was coming,
