The Crown Tournament 3 [Chapters 5-10]

Hey peeps!

This one is nearly done. Lots of edits. Sorry if there are typos, but hopefully not!

Shami

Chapter Six

We entered the port together, crossing the swaying bridge that spanned the distance between the stadium cloud and the terminal. The exterior of the port was marked by a towering blue edifice, its surface emblazoned with stylized depictions of elongated, oval-shaped airships blasting skyward in plumes of shimmering light.

“That looks exactly like my flying form,” Wren said, eyes wide with self-satisfaction. “When I tuck my arms and legs in. I knew it made me go faster. More proof that I’m a secret genius—and a secret genius is exactly what we need to get out of this mess.”

“Set Elias down with me before you go in,” Hyperion said. “We’ll join you once you’ve secured a ship. But I think it’s better if he stays close to me for now.”

I knelt and gently set Master beside Hyperion, who coiled his warm tail around him with unexpected delicacy. Seeing Master so frail, so stripped of the strength he once commanded, cleaved something raw inside me. Whoever the Falcon was, I only hoped she could help us put him back on his feet.

Inside, the port was a sprawling wooden platform segmented into multiple smaller docks.

“This looks just like the port in Sellix,” Luna whispered, her voice tinged with familiarity.

“Well, airships are modeled after seafaring vessels,” Sage replied with a shrug. “So I guess that tracks.”

But unlike seaports, these docks didn’t lead to water. Instead, long metal chutes jutted through the atmospheric barrier, guiding airships through the skies. A single glance told me that affording passage would be no easy feat. These vessels were masterworks, clearly expensive to build and maintain.

The airships gleamed, each one made of wood and metal, forged into long, cylindrical bodies that reminded me of crossbow bolts, or perhaps cannonballs made for the heavens. As Wren had pointed out, maybe this really was the most efficient shape for flight.

Unlike traditional ships, most of these lacked open decks. Only a handful—larger, more luxurious models—featured observation platforms for skybound sightseeing. The majority were enclosed, their hulls smooth and windowed with polished glass. I figured the thick shell was to protect passengers from thin air and harsh conditions, much like the dome shielding Shenkantin.

Each vessel was imbued with flight magic. Just as in any sea-bound crew, arcanists manned key positions, their robes fluttering as they directed teams or made last-minute enchantments.

The skies above bustled with mystical creatures of every kind—sphinxes, simurghs, even a stately syrocko drake whose reserved demeanor made Wren look like a wildfire. Countless other mystical birds wheeled overhead, including one shaped like an ostrich yet gliding with uncanny grace.

The ships were as diverse as the creatures. Some were enormous, rivaling oceanic galleons in size—a breathtaking feat for something built to fly. Others were small and nimble, clearly meant for personal use or small groups.

“Those over there look about right for us,” I said, pointing to a cluster of mid-sized ships with streamlined hulls and practical designs.

Porters bustled about, hoisting crates and barrels into cargo holds. An eldrin could have completed the work in moments, but mystical creatures were rare—and there was still a place for good old-fashioned labor.

“Let’s check the departure board,” Finlay said.

“Yeah,” Luna added, “maybe one of these is heading toward the Lightning Straits. Could be our best shot at a discount.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Sage muttered. “The Lightning Straits are practically uninhabited. You can fly there, sure, but no one's interested in trading. Like the name implies, it’s a maze of constant lightning storms.”

The more I heard about it, the more the Lightning Straits reminded me of the Sunset Desert—dangerous to everyone who was unfamiliar. I didn’t know much about the Falcon, but if she had ties to Master, perhaps his legacy had shaped her choice to live in such a place.

Hyperion had once said they shared a complicated relationship. I wondered what that really meant.

Finlay pointed toward the far corner of the port. “Those ships look like they take private commissions. We’ll have to go there if we want to charter one—but it won’t come cheap.”

“Can we even afford that?” Luna asked, biting her lip. “Maybe we could contact Valdo or something. We barely scraped together enough gold just to get up here.”

She nodded toward a blue platform at the far end of the dock, where a transport tube launched small pod-like airships back down to the surface. A parallel tube beside it hummed with incoming vessels.

In all the chaos, I hadn’t really thought about how we’d gotten here, but it made sense that shuttles would be required—unless you could fly or manipulate wind on your own. Sinsidius, for example, could fly under his own power, but his elemental magic revolved around decay, not air currents.

“Well,” Sage offered hesitantly, “we could check Master Elias’s pack. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind…”

Her voice faltered. Even the suggestion felt like theft, though I had little doubt Master Elias would want us to use his resources to save his life. Still, the awkward conundrum resolved itself.

I turned to Dario and nodded. “He says he can help.”

Dario gave a small nod. “Yeah. I’ve got a gift Yumi gave me. Amir said it’s worth a fortune—it should cover our passage, right?”

“It will,” I said confidently. “That thing’s worth a lot.”

Finlay raised an eyebrow. “And how can you be so sure—?”

His words trailed off the moment Dario flashed the gold bar from within his coat. Solid. Heavy. Sparkling.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Finlay said, eyes wide. “That’ll do!”

Sage and Luna laughed, but Dario didn’t smile. His expression remained tight, troubled. I caught the shift in his demeanor and gave the others a look before falling into step beside him.

“What’s bothering you?” I asked.

“That man from earlier. The guard.”

“Ming-Sheng? The raiju arcanist?”

Dario nodded. It was obvious he hadn’t bothered to learn the names of Yumi’s guards—something that probably hadn’t helped endear him to them.

“What about him? Did something he said get under your skin?”

“He told me I was using Yumi,” Dario whispered. “And he was right.”

He fell silent, his gaze fixed ahead. I didn’t say anything either. Dario and Yumi’s relationship had always seemed... strange. But I’d never felt it was my place to comment.

Eventually, Dario continued.

“We met in a city. I don’t even remember which one. After that, she just started following me around. I told her I could build a team of arcanists on my own, that I didn’t need her help, but she insisted on coming with me. She’d book us rooms in expensive inns even when I was perfectly fine sleeping on the ground. No matter what I said, she truly believed we were destined to be together.”

He paused again.

This time, I sensed he was waiting—expecting me to say something. But I had no idea what to offer. The thought of a merchant princess trailing after me, funding everything, convinced fate had bound us together... it was alien. Not just to me, but probably to almost anyone.

“What did you think?” I asked at last. “Did you believe it too? That you were meant to be with her?”

Dario gave a bitter smile. “No. I didn’t believe I was meant to be with anyone. I told her that. I told her I didn’t see a future for myself, not in the way she did. I said I had no time for human connections, that the only thing I wanted was a world where mystical creatures could live in peace.”

His eyes gleamed as he spoke. Dario had changed over time, but that fervent dedication—the almost obsessive devotion to protecting magical beasts—had never wavered. If anything, Aziel’s destruction and the loss of both Lux and Yumi had only deepened the fire in him.

“Ming-Sheng said you wished you’d rejected her,” I said. “But it sounds like you did.”

In truth, it wasn’t just Yumi he’d turned away. The way Dario spoke, it was as if he’d rejected himself. If anyone else had said such things, I might have brushed it off as melodrama. But Dario wasn’t pretending. Every word came from the bone.

“I think what he really wanted was for me to condemn Yumi,” Dario said quietly. “And he wasn’t the only one. Her family disapproved, too. Most of the guards were there just to keep an eye on me. But Yumi…” He let out a bitter laugh, a sound threaded with both regret and longing. “She always said that if it wasn’t about her, she would wait and see.”

“So they wanted you to say something cruel?” I asked. “To drive her away?”

“Yes. But how could I? Even if I manage to return the world to its natural state, we’ll still need arcanists who deserve their eldrin. People like Yumi.” His voice grew fiercer with every word. “Just look at Mika—she achieved true form, something even I haven’t. In my ideal world, only people like her would be granted the right to wield that kind of power.”

By the end, tears traced down Dario’s cheeks. It was an unfamiliar sight. From the moment I’d met him, Dario had responded to every setback with defiance, with fury. But now... grief had overtaken the fire. This loss cut deeper than he’d let on.

“You’re right,” I muttered. “Yumi is a great arcanist.”

Dario pulled three Crown Pieces from his pocket and rolled them through his fingers.

“We’d just finished the Shenkantin bout before the party. And afterward, even though she was bruised and exhausted, she still healed the eldrin on the other team.”

“She healed me too. And Roux.” My voice cracked as her name left my mouth. The pain surged back like a wound torn open. “You know what? We’ll get her back. Yumi. Roux. Lux. All of them. I swear—we’ll do whatever it takes.”

“I know we will,” Dario murmured. His fingers clenched into a fist so tight, his nails dug into his palm. “We’ll bring them back—no matter what I have to sacrifice.”

“My arcanist…” Haoyu’s deep voice rumbled beside us. “You always speak of sacrifice. But would Yumi want that?”

“She gave herself up for me,” Dario snapped. “So yes. I think a little sacrifice on my part would be the least I could do.”

“My arcanist,” Haoyu said again, the repetition heavier this time—almost like a reprimand. “You are the bravest man I know. You will stop at nothing for the greater good. But sometimes… you must think of yourself. Forget your mission, just for a moment. It would bring you happiness to live on with Lady Feng.”

Dario didn’t blush—he never had. Instead, he reacted the way he always did when the truth hit too close: with irritation. “Haoyu. It would be nice to live on with Yumi. But in case you haven’t noticed, she’s not here right now. And that’s my fault. I wasn’t strong enough.”

He turned sharply and pointed toward the far side of the port.

“Enough of this. Let’s stop fantasizing about the ideal future and start making it happen. The sooner we get a ship, the sooner we find the Falcon. The sooner we find the Falcon, the sooner we heal Master Elias.”

With that, Dario marched away, his boots echoing against the wooden dock.

Haoyu lingered beside me. “Speak with him, if you get the chance,” he said, watching Dario’s retreating form. “My arcanist respects you. Yumi said the same. Though… when he’s like this, I’m not sure even your words will reach him.”

Then he drifted after Dario, leaving me alone.

I turned toward Master Elias and Hyperion. Maybe Master would know what to say right now. I didn’t. So I swallowed the ache in my chest and followed Dario to the far end of the port.

Chapter Seven

At the far end of the port stood the private airships. Though they shared the same general architecture as the grand cargo vessels docked nearby, these were scaled-down versions—sleeker, faster, built for more intimate commissions. In front of each ship stood its captain, flanked by their bonded eldrin.

The first two arcanists had companions I recognized.

The first was a harpy—bird-bodied, woman-faced—a familiar sight from Crescent City, where they were often employed as elevator operators. I guessed this captain had partnered with one for the same reason: speed and agility in the vertical skies.

Next was a female sphinx, regal and powerful, her lioness body anchored beneath a serene, intelligent face. I remembered her kind well. When we faced the Geniuses in the Crown Tournament, Sage had cleverly outwitted a sphinx arcanist using her tanuki stone form, faking a ring-out and winning the bout.

But the third eldrin was something I’d never seen before.

It had the upper torso of a man and the lower half of a pegasus—broad equine haunches, a long tail, and massive eagle wings stretched proudly from either side of its pale, muscular body.

“That’s a pteracentaur,” came a familiar voice from behind me. I turned to see the rest of our group arriving. “Pretty much what it sounds like—a flying centaur,” Sage explained.

“It’s probably a coincidence,” Wren said, grinning, “but these guys remind me of the Half-Breeds!”

I chuckled. “Yeah, they do.”

The Half-Breeds had been one of the themed teams in the Crown Tournament. Every member had an eldrin that was half one creature and half another. I suspected that for the rest of my life, I’d keep spotting those tournament patterns in the real world, especially anytime I saw a lineup of mystical beings.

Dario moved between the three captains, tilting his head thoughtfully as he studied each eldrin. Though his glances were brief, he returned to me with complete certainty.

“We should pick the harpy arcanist,” he said. “All three are strong, but the harpy’s in peak condition. Their synergy is probably excellent.”

“Sure.” They all looked capable to me, but Dario understood mystical creatures better than anyone I knew.

He approached the harpy arcanist, a man with a polished gold badge gleaming on his chest: Captain Joshua.

“Hello,” Dario said, direct and firm. “We’d like to commission a trip to the Lightning Straits. Have you flown there before?”

Captain Joshua raised an eyebrow. “The Lightning Straits? Yeah, me and Sara have flown that way before. But that’s a rough trip. Dangerous air currents, unpredictable storms. It’ll cost you.”

Dario reached into his coat and produced the gold bar, holding it out plainly. “Will this cover it?”

Joshua blinked, stunned. The rest of us were clearly arcanists—but young, scrappy ones. No one expected a wild-looking guy like Dario to casually offer something that could fund a small estate.

“That’s… more than enough,” Joshua stammered. “Honestly, I don’t even think I have enough on board to give you proper change.”

“We definitely don’t,” said Sara the harpy, flapping her wings once in exasperation. “Our last customer ditched us—hired the flight, made us fly all the way to Tranceport, then vanished before paying.”

Joshua frowned. “Well, maybe we could work something out—”

“It’s fine,” Dario cut in.

He shoved the gold bar into Joshua’s hand like it was burning him. “Just take it. I never should’ve had it to begin with. Use it for your family or something. You seem like a decent guy.”

“I—uh—what?” Joshua stuttered, glancing at the weight in his palm. “And how do you know I’m a decent guy? I mean, I hope I am, but—”

Dario waved him off and stepped aboard the ship without waiting for a reply. Under normal circumstances, a captain might take offense to that kind of behavior. But with the authority in Dario’s stride—and the amount of money he’d just dropped—Joshua likely assumed he was some eccentric noble in disguise.

“Well… I suppose we could use the money back home,” Joshua muttered. Then, turning to the rest of us, he gestured toward the gangway. “Come aboard, then.”

When we stepped inside, the interior of the airship greeted us with an air of order and quiet precision. The corridors were clean, the furnishings simple but well-maintained, and glowstones had been carefully embedded along the walls, casting a soft, even light that made the space feel warm and secure.

The ship was divided into three levels. We had entered on the second floor, which featured a modest but functional seating area, along with a kitchen and mess hall. From the look of it, the cooking was handled through magical implements rather than flame—likely a necessary precaution. No one wanted an open fire burning thousands of feet above the earth.

The lowest level served as the brig, though it currently sat empty—no cargo, no passengers, nothing stored.

The top deck held the living quarters, with the captain’s own rooms situated at one end of the hall.

Captain Joshua pulled out a ring of keys and began sorting through them, his fingers practiced and deliberate. One by one, he selected several and tossed them over.

“With a group your size, there’s enough for everyone to have their own room,” he said. “Smaller eldrin can stay with you, but the larger ones will have to remain in the cargo hold.”

He cast a glance at Haoyu and Hyperion. There was no arguing it—they were far too large to fit in any of the private cabins.

“If our room ends up too small, you can stay there too,” I told Wren. “It might be cramped, but you’d probably have more fun with Haoyu and Hyperion anyway.”

“We’ll see,” Wren said, glancing toward the open hold. I could tell he didn’t want to leave me.

I nodded toward Elias, still cradled protectively in Hyperion’s coils. “Could we set something up for him? A cot or pallet, maybe. We’re heading to the Lightning Straits for medical attention.”

Joshua nodded. “I can arrange that.” He turned to Sara, his harpy companion, who immediately took flight to retrieve the necessary bedding. “But I’m not sure what you’ll find at the Lightning Straits. There’s a House Tellia training facility there, but they’re known more for warriors than for healers.”

I didn’t know much about House Tellia, but I trusted Roux wouldn’t lead me astray. And if she was wrong, well, Sylvester had confirmed that Master Elias’s body was preserved. If the worst came to pass, we’d take him elsewhere.

“I’ll stay down there too,” Dario offered, handing his key back to the captain. “I’ve never been fond of small spaces.”

“Uh… alright,” Captain Joshua said, accepting the key. “Well, the rules are simple. Don’t touch my equipment, don’t disturb my eldrin, and above all, don’t cause chaos on this ship. A mistake at sea is bad. A mistake in the skies? Fatal. We’ll reach the Lightning Straits within the week.”

I glanced around the common area. “I take it there’s nowhere we can train?”

“What?”

“My arcanist is a tournament fighter!” Wren announced, wings twitching with pride. “He has to be prepared. And this is bigger than any tournament!”

The captain hesitated, fingers fiddling with the gold bar Dario had handed him. I could see the conflict playing out behind his eyes—his wariness wrestling with the sheer weight of the bribe.

“Fine,” he said at last. “No duels, no sparring, nothing that shakes the walls. But if you're in your room and want to practice magic—carefully—I won’t stop you.”

“Thank you,” I said, offering a polite nod. I turned to the others. “Alright. Let’s find our rooms.”

Dario had already disappeared below, walking alongside Haoyu. I caught a glimpse of him still rolling the Crown Pieces in his fingers, his scowl shadowing his face. He was still thinking about Yumi—that much was obvious—but I had no idea what to say that would help.

“Training on an airship.” Finlay offered a crooked smile. “You really are a desert bumpkin.”

I laughed louder than anyone. Somehow, that old insult felt comforting, like things might turn out alright after all.

The hallway branched out into several small cabins, each one marked by the number on our keys. I found mine and opened the door.

The room was broad and surprisingly comfortable—roughly the same size as my old one back in Master Elias’s home in the Sunset Desert.

 “It’s not too bad in here, Wren. You should be able to fit.”
Truthfully, I was halfway relieved. I didn’t want to be alone right now.

It seemed Wren felt the same. “Of course, my arcanist. It’s just us now—we have to stick together.”

With that, we stepped inside the cabin.

“So, I guess it really is just us now,” Wren said after a moment.

“Yeah,” I replied. “It is.”

Silence stretched between us as Wren flicked his tongue in and out, clearly searching for the right words.

“You know, it’s kind of funny. In a sad way,” he said. “Remember when you first met Finlay? He was so jealous of us. Said not everyone could be a kirin arcanist with a master who taught them elite martial arts. Well… I guess we’re just a regular arcanist and eldrin pair now. At least for the time being.”

“Yeah, I remember,” I murmured, trailing off. The memory was tinged with something wistful, and I immediately regretted how it sounded. “Not that I’m upset to have just you,” I added quickly.

“Hah! I know what you meant!” Wren chuckled. “What I meant to say is—Finlay and Sage got stronger without a fancy master or mythical sword. So we can too! And who knows what the future holds?”

“I wonder who this Falcon really is. Maybe she can teach us something. Roux seemed pretty confident she could help.”

“She must be strong if she can help Master Elias,” Wren said. “Dario said she’s the queen of all flying eldrin. Maybe she’ll teach us wind manipulation, or give us a new technique. Something big enough to blow these dragons off the face of the planet! Once we’re super strong, everything will work out!”

I laughed softly. “That would be nice. But it’s probably not that simple. Master Elias always said—if strength came from a few encouraging words, he would’ve made me the strongest person alive by now. Real strength takes training.”

“Well, speaking of strength… how about you take a look at Solarbrand? I know it’s your Master’s sword, but maybe it’s exactly what we need right now. Hyperion doesn’t seem to mind you carrying it.”

I hesitated.

Master Elias wouldn’t have minded—he was never sentimental. I was the sentimental one.

Growing up in the Sunset Desert, he’d never even mentioned Solarbrand to me. He kept it tucked away in his real home, the kirin village. And now that I knew what it truly was, his legendary weapon, it just felt wrong to touch it. Like I was trespassing on something sacred.

Elias had achieved all those great feats. Not me.

“Come on,” Wren groaned. “Just try it already!”

Reluctantly, I reached out. My hand bumped clumsily against Solarbrand’s scabbard, and even that brief contact felt foreign—unearned.

I inhaled deeply and drew the weapon.

The blade shimmered as I held it, forged from the spine of a twilight dragon. It caught the glowstone light, refracting it like polished crystal. I didn’t know how the process worked, but somehow, Master had imbued it with only the light aspect of the dragon’s power—no trace of shadow.

Even outside of combat, the weapon pulsed with restrained force.

It seemed to recognize the magic in my blood, my syrocko drake heritage, and it stirred faintly, hungering for it. I focused, trying to coax a flame into the sword, to awaken it gently.

Nothing.

I summoned fire in my palm, pressed it to the blade. Still, no response.

“That’s weird,” Wren said. “When your Master did it, it just went whoosh! Like it was alive.”

“It’s like it’s rejecting me. Maybe… maybe I’m just not good enough.”

Frustration welled up in my chest. I focused harder, willing my aura into the sword. Heat surged through my body, sweat forming on my brow.

Still nothing.

Knock knock.

“Hey, Amir?” Luna’s voice came through the door, soft and uncertain. “Um… can I come in?”

Chapter Eight

“Oh! Um…”

I blinked in surprise. I hadn’t expected Luna to come knocking so soon. Weren’t she and Marik still settling in? And honestly, I was surprised she’d come knocking at all. This was awfully forward for quiet, reserved Luna.

“I mean, it’s okay if you don’t want me to come in,” Luna said quickly. “I can, um… leave.”

“No! That’s not what I meant,” I replied, flustered. “Yeah—come in!”

As the door creaked open, I realized I was awkwardly holding Solarbrand aloft in my hands like some ceremonial offering. I looked over at Wren and mouthed, Should I put this away?

“Nah, keep it out! Makes you look tough!” Wren said—very much not mouthing. He practically shouted it.

By then, Luna had stepped inside. Her eyes settled immediately on the blade.

“Um… did Wren tell you to pull that out to look tough?” she asked, arching a brow.

“No,” I said, shooting my eldrin a look as I returned the sword to its scabbard. “I was just… looking at it. Don’t be intimidated or anything. Master always said it was rude to draw a sword without using it.”

I didn’t mention that the sword hadn’t let me use it at all.

Luna laughed. “Amir, I don’t think I could ever be intimidated by you. You’ve always been so kind.”

I felt my face flush. “I, uh… thank you. So, why come visit me?”

“I just wanted to check on you. With Roux gone and Master Elias unconscious… all in one night—it must be a lot to take in.”

“It is,” I admitted, my voice low. “It’s hard to believe. Back at the orphanage, every day felt like surviving a nightmare. Then Master Elias and Roux took me away from all that. They gave me a future. And now that they’re gone, everything feels uncertain again.”

“I understand,” Luna whispered. “And that’s why I came. You were my shining hope, back when I was trapped with the East Sea Raiders. You saved me, Amir. I just wanted to make sure I could do something—anything—for you. I don’t want to sound presumptuous saying I want to save you, but… like I said earlier. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

She stepped inside and shut the door behind her. That’s when it hit me… Marik wasn’t with her. Wren noticed, too.

“You know what?” he said, stretching. “I’m going to see what Hyperion and Haoyu are up to down in the brig. Nice open space. Perfect for a young drake’s afternoon stretch.”

“Oh, let me get the door for you,” Luna offered.

“Ah, don’t worry about me,” Wren said, already swaggering toward the exit. “Focus on making my arcanist feel better! He looks very happy to see you.”

With that, he nudged the door open with his snout and gave it a gentle swish shut with his tail on the way out.

“Um… do you mind if I sit next to you?” Luna asked, gesturing to the edge of the bed.

“Of course,” I said, scooting over slightly.

She sat beside me, her cloak brushing lightly against my hands. The warmth of her presence settled over the room like sunlight after a storm.

“Amir,” she said, “even though Master Elias and Roux aren’t with us right now, everything they taught you is still here. You’ve grown so much since the orphanage. When I saw you again, it was like seeing a different version of you—a shining version. And it’s because of them.”

A shining me, huh?

Coming from her, that meant more than I could say. I didn’t know how to respond, so I just sat there, blushing, the silence between us growing warm instead of awkward.

For a while, we simply looked sideways at each other, eyes meeting and holding.

“And because of what they gave you,” Luna continued, “you were able to pass it on—to so many of us. Finlay. Sage. Me. Marik talks about it all the time. About how much I’ve changed since we escaped the East Sea Raiders. He says I’ve become a lot bolder now.”

“Bolder, huh?”

I hadn’t meant it as an insult. Still, I’d never really thought of Luna as particularly bold... Then again, if she’d started out with no boldness at all, even the smallest growth would feel like a big leap forward.

Maybe she caught the doubt in my tone.

“I have become bolder!” she insisted, a flash of indignation in her voice.

“Well, I didn’t say you hadn’t. I just meant more like—”

“Shush,” she cut in, cheeks flushed. “You’re going to make me lose my nerve! I practiced this, okay?”

She sounded nervous. Anxious, even. But the way she interrupted me? That was new. That was bold.

“What exactly were you practicing?” I asked.

“Just this little trick.”

She raised her right hand and gave a wide, dramatic flourish. Her fingers moved with grace—quick, nimble, and precise—the lingering finesse of her time with the East Sea Raiders evident in every motion.

Something glinted in the light.

Before I could react, the Kitsune Quickdraw Ring I’d given her flashed into view, as if conjured from nowhere. And then, with a delicate, deliberate gesture, she slid it onto my finger—taking care not to point the hidden dagger edge toward me.

“Wha—What is this?” I stammered, my voice catching as her fingers lingered against mine.

Luna giggled. “Oh, just a bit of revenge. I was so embarrassed when you gave it to me in front of that whole crowd. So I thought it’d be funny to sneak it back onto you.”

“I… uh…”

Words evaporated in my throat. My thoughts jumbled, my heart hammered like I’d just faced down a hydra. After everything that had happened—Master Elias, Roux, the horrors at the Feng household—I hadn’t expected this. And yet here she was, bringing warmth back into the room, into me.

“Amir,” she whispered.

The way she said my name sent a chill down my spine.

“I really like being with you. You make me feel… reckless. Like I can act on instinct. Like the past doesn’t define me anymore. When I’m with you, all the bad things—what happened with the Raiders, and everything since—they don’t feel so heavy. I don’t know what’s going to happen with your father, or Roux, or Master Elias… but I do know I want to be with you through all of it.”

Before I even realized it, I was leaning in.

Our lips met.

It was clumsy. I’d never kissed anyone before, only imagined it, heard stories from the older kids in the orphanage.

But it felt right.

My heart pounded harder than it ever had in battle, and every part of me felt lit from within, as if I were burning with some new kind of fire. Luna laughed softly into the kiss and pressed herself closer, her lips deepening the moment.

I had no idea how long we stayed like that. Time blurred. Maybe it was seconds. Maybe minutes. It felt like magic had taken hold of me.

And even as my thoughts spun wildly out of control, one thing became perfectly clear:

Luna was right.

With her here, beside me, choosing me, I did feel like anything was possible.

____

The remaining week en route to the Lightning Straits was, without question, the strangest stretch of time in my life.

It felt as though time moved both too quickly and too slowly. Days blurred into one another, yet each hour stretched thin by anticipation. When I was with Luna, everything became a haze of warmth and quiet joy. Her presence made the minutes fly.

Sage and Finlay did their best to support me too. The four of us trained together each day. As Captain Joshua had warned, there was no room for dramatic spellwork or flashy combat techniques on an airship. Instead, we focused on the fundamentals: meditation, controlled calisthenics, and meticulous magical refinement. Our goal was precision, not power. I concentrated on improving my wind manipulation, striving for the same deft control Dario exhibited with his own magic.

Working alongside them helped keep my mind steady—anchored to something real.

But when I was left alone with my thoughts, the enormity of the task ahead overwhelmed me. The mission loomed like a stormcloud, dark and impossible. Every morning, I had to remind myself of Wren’s words: Perseverance is everything. And on the days I forgot, Wren was there to remind me.

I lost count of how many times he brought up peeling prickly pears, but I never stopped appreciating it.

Each day, I checked on Master Elias. Hyperion remained faithfully by his side, curled protectively around him. Though Sylvester—the ijiraq arcanist—had done excellent work preserving his body, my anxiety refused to fade. It coiled tighter every time I laid eyes on him.

When I asked Hyperion about Solarbrand, he only rumbled in quiet apology.

“I’m sorry,” the great drake said. “Whenever Elias used the sword, it lit immediately.”

No matter what I tried, the blade refused to respond.

And it wasn’t for lack of effort. Despite Joshua’s repeated warnings, there were moments when I poured so much syrocko flame into the weapon that I nearly ignited the room. But still, Solarbrand remained cold—dormant. When Master had wielded it, it did more than burn; the blade lived. It shimmered with an inner light and sliced through dragon-scale like silk. In my hands, it was just a relic. A reminder of what I wasn’t.

Still, I persisted.

Every day, I practiced. Every day, I tried to uncover the blade’s secrets.

As for Dario, we barely saw him.

He spent his days in the brig with Haoyu. Occasionally, I’d pass him in the halls as he retrieved food, but his face was unreadable—blank as stone—and he answered all my questions with clipped, one-word replies.

And even then, I didn’t know what to say. After Yumi and Lux… well, words alone wouldn’t fix anything. All that mattered now was getting them back.

Sometimes, I would press my forehead to the glass and watch the world drift by.

According to Wren, the Lightning Straits lay just beyond New Norra—a desert city famous for its rare eldrin, species so unique they hadn’t even been seen in the Sunset Desert. On the sixth day, I felt the airship grow warmer as we passed overhead. The city came into view, bathed in golden light, its sandstone homes carved straight into the dunes. It looked peaceful, like a gentler version of my homeland.

For a moment, I imagined a future. If we survived all this… maybe Luna and I could make a home there.

But on the seventh day, everything changed. The weather shifted in an instant, violently and unnaturally. I knew then that we’d reached the edge of the Lightning Straits.

Chapter Nine

“This is it,” Captain Joshua announced. “The entrance to the Lightning Straits.”

Beside him, my friends and I pressed our faces to the narrow porthole, crowding in for a better view. Even Dario had emerged from his solitude, which was a shock. Aside from the occasional glimpse in the hallways, this was the first time I’d seen him since we’d boarded the airship.

And what we saw below left me breathless.

The Lightning Straits were two huge cliffs with a narrow strip of water between them, the jagged rocky heights filled with glowing rocks.

The entrance to the Straits yawned beside a storm-ravaged sea. The skies were pitch black, cloaked in thick, churning clouds that poured torrential rain in sheets so dense it looked like a waterfall suspended in midair. The sea below roiled endlessly, blackened by the lack of light and swelling far beyond its boundaries. Waves crashed against jagged black rocks with a ferocity that sent sprays of foam flying into the wind.

Thunder rolled without end, loud enough to shake the bones. It wasn’t the roar itself that unnerved me, but the absence of silence. The brief pauses between thunderclaps were so rare they became jarring.

Yet despite all the noise, no lightning struck the water below.

Instead, it forked and danced through the air, storming sideways like serpents of raw energy. Massive glowing currents arced through the sky, twisting and unraveling with a mind of their own. Some bursts repelled each other violently, exploding outward with blinding force, while others spun together in intricate, magnetic spirals—forming shapes and loops so narrow that only the most masterful pilots could hope to navigate them.

Captain Joshua stared at the lightning and let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his head. “You just needed us to bring ou here, right? You’re not expecting us to fly through that?”

“Yes, this is fine,” I assured him. “We just needed passage to the Lightning Straits to meet someone. Right, Dario?”

He nodded, repeating what he’d told me before. “Yes. Just like the thunderbirds said. The Falcon lives at the mouth of the Lightning Straits, in a stone nest by the endlessly stormy sea.”

The description fit—ominous, mysterious, and almost impossibly inhospitable. And yet… somewhere down there, she waited.

“I’m just glad you’re not asking us to go in,” Sara the harpy exclaimed, her feathers bristling as if the storm itself had tickled her nerves.

Joshua chuckled. “Yeah, it’s been years since we tried that. We flew through the Straits once, back when we’d first bonded. A challenge to prove ourselves. But I’m older now—and definitely wiser.”

Sara snorted. “You forgot the part where we had to go back through it the other way.”

As the ship began its descent toward the storm-blasted shoreline, I caught fleeting glimpses of mystical creatures prowling the region. Tentacles slithered just beneath the waves, likely kraken. The gleaming, serpentine body of a sea wyrm flickered between swells. I even glimpsed the outstretched wing of a roc and the heavy tail of a wyvern vanishing into the clouds.

Despite the abundance of magical life, there were few signs of civilization. Just one structure stood out—a mansion carved directly into the craggy cliffs. Bleak and defiant, it jutted from the stone like a fortress against the sky.

“That’s it,” Dario said, pointing. “Can you bring us down there?”

Joshua gave a sharp nod and returned to the helm to guide us in for a careful landing.

“Dario… you’ve been here before?” Sage asked, watching him with curiosity.

“On the far side of the Straits,” he replied. “There was a thunderbird nest there. They taught me how to fly. They always spoke of the Falcon with reverence.”

With practiced hands, Joshua landed the airship on a flat stone outcropping just before the mansion. The wind howled, but the ship held steady.

“Thank you for your patronage,” he said, stepping away from the controls.

“Thanks for getting us here,” I said sincerely.

We disembarked into the gale, cloaks whipping in the wind, and began the long, uncertain walk toward the mansion carved into the storm-ravaged cliffs.

The entire structure had been carved directly into the stone cliffside, its layout strikingly similar to the training center in the Sunset Desert—only much larger and more refined. Most of the living quarters lay deep within the cavern, but the front of the mansion opened into a sprawling courtyard, clearly designed for training.

A vast canopy of stone stretched overhead, shielding the grounds from the relentless downpour. Some enchantment must have been woven into the rock itself, because the rain simply vanished upon contact—repelled as if the stone rejected the storm’s intrusion. No matter how fierce the rainfall, the space beneath remained dry and temperate.

“This is just like Master’s home in the Sunset Desert!” Wren exclaimed, wings fluttering with excitement. “Built right into the stone!”

Hyperion’s tail twitched, and his eyes widened slightly. “Ah… so they moved here.”

“Hyperion, you recognize this place?” I asked.

“I’ve never visited it myself,” he rumbled, his voice low with meaning. “But you’ll understand once you’re inside.”

We picked up our pace, hurrying across the rain-slick stone as Hyperion lumbered above us, his tail shielding Master Elias’s body from the storm. Just beneath the first rocky overhang, we emerged into the enormous courtyard.

Despite the ever-present thunder and the flood of rain beyond, the courtyard was warm and brightly lit, illuminated by four massive glowstone lanterns at each corner. The space buzzed with energy. A line of young warriors moved in practiced unison, their motions sharp, fluid, and purposeful.

“They look just like you did, Amir!” Wren laughed, eyes sparkling. “Back when you first picked me up!”

The trainees wore the same simple tunics and loose-fitting pants that Master Elias had favored for practice. They even wielded the same carefully carved wooden weapons I remembered from the Sunset Desert racks.

At the head of the groups stood two men, clearly instructors, both leading with authority and precision. And both, shockingly, bore an uncanny resemblance to Master Elias. They had his stiff black hair, his tanned skin, his muscular frame. Even their expressions—calm, focused, yet tinged with that familiar, quiet satisfaction after executing a difficult technique—were the same.

The first man wielded a pair of daggers, one in each hand, his movements sleek and lethal. Poison shimmered faintly on the curved blades. His eldrin flew overhead: a majestic bird with bright purple feathers and a peacock-like tail that fanned behind it like a jeweled veil.

A zhennaio. I recognized it instantly from one of Master Elias’s rare books on flying eldrin. Most of his collection focused on Sunset Desert creatures, but a few covered foreign species. The zhennaio—an avian eldrin whose feathers carried natural toxins—was a creature I’d only ever read about until now.

The second instructor caught my full attention the moment I laid eyes on him.

He had a drake, but not a syrocko like Wren, but a bright aquamarine variant. And his fighting style was unmistakable. Aggressive, fluid, razor-sharp. Each swing of his blade was powered by magic, his strikes amplified by practiced surges of force.

The Ginza Aggression Fighting Art!

I broke into a run, unable to hold back my excitement. As I neared, both men noticed us and stepped forward, pausing their instruction.

Up close, the resemblance to Master Elias was even more jarring.

The one with the zhennaio was slightly leaner, and the drake arcanist’s eyes were a piercing blue rather than the familiar brown—but still, they looked like younger versions of him. Not similar. Uncannily alike.

“Two of them,” Finlay muttered behind me, voice filled with disbelief. “Unbelievable.”

“I think there are more like him among the kids too…” Sage muttered, eyes scanning the trainees. “This place is like a Master Elias factory or something.”

Before I could respond, the zhennaio arcanist leveled his daggers at us. “Who are—?” He didn’t finish.

The drake arcanist nudged him and pointed toward Hyperion. “Look.”

Both men froze.

“Wait… are you… you’re Hyperion, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am,” Hyperion rumbled. “We need your aid. Bring out Orwyn.”

“Wait—where’s—” the zhennaio arcanist began.

But then they saw what I was carrying. Their expressions changed instantly.

“Right away.”

The drake arcanist spun on his heel and sprinted toward the mansion, shouting over his shoulder. “Orwyn! Orwyn! Someone get Orwyn immediately! It’s an emergency!”

Students broke formation, scattering in every direction with remarkable discipline.

“She might be in the observatory! She always watches the storms around this time!”

“Did Master Akiva return from New Norra? Maybe she’s with him!”

“I’ll check the library! If she’s not outside, that’s usually where she is!”

Without argument or confusion, they split the task cleanly, vanishing into the stone corridors like lightning finding its path.

The zhennaio arcanist remained behind with us, his face pale as he stared at Elias. “Master Orwyn can be a little… unpredictable. We never know exactly where she’s run off to. But she should be home. And once she realizes what’s happened, she’ll come.” He swallowed hard. “But what in the world could have wounded the Red Wind so terribly?”

“Foul trickery,” Hyperion growled, voice rumbling with restrained fury. “An ambush in the dead of night.”

He didn’t get a chance to explain further.

From the archway of the mansion, a woman drifted into view—drifted being the only appropriate word. The wind didn’t fight her—it seemed to carry her, gliding her forward with a strange, gentle reverence.

She was stunning.

Her strawberry-blonde hair flowed like silk, catching the stormlight in strands of rose gold. She was slender, smaller even than Luna, but her presence was immense. Every step she took felt as if it was being lifted by the air itself.

Behind her loomed a thunderbird—massive, regal. Its head was stark white, like a bald eagle, but it possessed four enormous wings that rippled behind it like storm clouds given form. The feathers shifted colors even as I looked at them, swirling with the hues of a tempest—blue, silver, violet, black—forever in motion, like a storm caught in mid-breath.

On the woman’s chest, partially visible beneath her open tunic, was a large, circular scar. It resembled the arcanist’s mark on my forehead, but it was far more intricate. It was massive, with branching points. I only glimpsed it briefly, but in that moment, I could have sworn I saw the outline of a kirin etched into her skin.

Her face wore a curious expression: warm but distant, as if smiling at a memory only she could see. But the moment her eyes fell on Elias, her entire demeanor shifted.

Her smile vanished. Her eyes widened.

“Oh, Elias. Elias, my son!” Her voice trembled, full of heartbreak. “What did they do to you?”

Chapter Ten

A gentle, caring wind lifted Elias into the air, cradling him with a tenderness no human hands could match. The breeze bore him into the stone mansion with reverent grace, as if the very air mourned for him.

The strawberry-haired woman glanced back over her shoulder before stepping through the archway. “Thank you, Hyperion. I’m sure you did everything you could.” Even in this tense and heartbreaking moment, her voice retained an ethereal, melodic quality, like a song half-whispered to the wind. Her tone was distant, almost dreamlike, tinged with something sorrowful and faded.

Hyperion bowed his great head. “It’s good to see you, Orwyn. I’d like to think I did.”

As the woman—Elias’s mother!—carried him inside, Hyperion’s immense shoulders slackened with visible relief. The sight of him, usually so composed, letting go of that weight made a knot in my chest loosen too. If she could make even Hyperion feel safe, then perhaps Elias was truly in good hands.

Behind me, Finlay gawked in disbelief. “Wait… that’s Master Elias’s mother? But she looks younger than he does!”

“She’s an arcanist,” Sage reminded him. “Bonding with a mystical creature slows aging dramatically. Many arcanists live hundreds of years.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Honestly, if anything, it’s Master who looks too old for an arcanist.”

“It took him a long time to bond with me,” Hyperion said, his voice low and thoughtful. “As for the rest… perhaps it was simply the stress of raising you.”

Orwyn let out a musical laugh. “Oh, stop it, Hyperion… You know Elias was happy raising Amir. He had to be, to leave the family.”

There was a slight edge to her words, despite the airy tone. It struck me then—Master Elias had been gone for over a decade, training me in the Sunset Desert. And before that, he’d spent years searching for Roux’s lost partner. He hadn’t just drifted away. He’d chosen to.

“It was a difficult decision,” Hyperion whispered.

Orwyn’s face softened. Whatever bitterness had surfaced vanished like a breeze through the room.

“Yes. I’m sure it was. Akiva and I have come to terms with it over the years. And… he truly seemed happy training Amir.”

She turned to face me fully now, her gaze focused, piercing through the haze of grief.

“Wait. You’re Amir, aren’t you?”

I nodded.

“He was so proud of you, you know,” she said, smiling. “But… where is your kirin?”

The question was innocent, but it struck like a blade.

“Yeah,” I murmured. “She was taken. The same night Master Elias was injured.”

By then, we had reached the central living room. Like our home in the Sunset Desert, the furnishings were all carved from the surrounding stone—solid, timeless, and immovable.

Orwyn winced as she lowered Elias onto a stone bed, the wind around her momentarily still. She knelt beside him, her fingers brushing the caladrius amulet resting on his chest. She turned it over, studying it.

“This wasn’t nearly enough,” she said. “His injuries are far worse than I imagined. What happened?”

So I told her.

Even though she looked nothing like Elias, something in her manner—her calm, her attention—reminded me of him. It made it easy to speak, even as each word felt like a dagger driving deeper into my heart.

I started with the nighttime ambush, how my father, Aziel Theano, had stormed into the Feng household like a force of nature.

Her eyes widened at the name. “Aziel Theano? He had a kirin, didn’t he? Kismet?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

She glanced at her thunderbird, and the great creature looked back, sharing a dark, knowing look. Whatever she had believed, it was clear that like Elias, she too had thought Aziel was long dead.

I continued, telling her how Yumi had tried to heal Master, how we’d brought him to the arena, how Sylvester the ijiraq arcanist had preserved his body with ice magic.

She listened to all of it in silence. The storm outside raged on—but in that room, everything stood still.

“Yes, I recognize the technique,” Orwyn murmured, her eyes still studying the glimmering residue of the caladrius amulet. “A rare form of magic—healing through ice. You must have encountered someone particularly skilled.”

She turned to me then and offered a faint, wistful smile. “My son raised a remarkable student. Brave, and gifted in magic as well. If you had fought off a dragon and brought him here alone, then you’ve already done more than most.”

Though her words were addressed to me, her gaze didn’t quite meet mine. It drifted past me, distant, as if she were staring into the ghost of some memory I couldn’t see. She wasn’t distracted so much as elsewhere, like part of her still wandered among storms and recollections.

“Miss Orwyn,” I said, “are you alright?”

She smiled again, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You remind me of people I once knew. Old allies, comrades from battles long past. Akiva and I think of them often when times grow difficult. It’s a reminder that nothing stays the same forever. Not loss. Not even pain.”

Before I could reply, she blinked in surprise, as if suddenly remembering herself, and turned behind her. “Oh! Apologies. This is Stryker,” she said, gesturing to her towering thunderbird. “How rude of me. Where I come from, everyone already knew each other, introductions were never necessary. But tell me your names?”

Dario, Luna, Finlay, and Sage introduced themselves in turn, along with their eldrin. Like Dario, Orwyn seemed almost more fascinated by the eldrin than the people—especially Sinsidius, whose dusky wings and grim aura piqued her curiosity.

“I’ve never seen a grave moth before,” she said, intrigued. “A very rare affinity.” She also noted quickly that, like me, Dario was a kirin arcanist whose partner was absent.

At first, I’d thought Orwyn bore no resemblance to Elias.

But the longer we spoke, the more I realized she didn’t act like him either. There was a softness to her, a drifting, ethereal quality that felt nothing like Master Elias’s fierce discipline. I caught Wren’s eye, and he clearly sensed it too. Of course, being Wren, he blurted it out.

“You know, Grandmaster Orwyn—you’re nothing like Master Elias at all!”

She laughed, waving a hand airily. “No need to call me Grandmaster. I’d like to think I taught Elias a fair bit of magic, but he always took after his father, Akiva.”

“Elias’s father?”

It came out before I could stop myself. I shouldn’t have been surprised—obviously he had a father—but somehow I’d always imagined Elias simply appearing one day, already stern, already wise, already in his fifties.

Orwyn smiled and giggled. “Yes, your Master has a father. Akiva’s in New Norra at the main family home. I was only here to watch the sky for a while. The lightning storms are particularly strange this time of year.”

Her gaze returned to Elias, her expression sharpening. “But enough of that. I know someone who can help. A healer. One skilled enough to repair this damage.”

Hope ignited in my chest. Roux had been right—again. The Falcon had known how to save Elias after all.

“Who is it?” Sage asked. “Not even Yumi, in her true caladrius form, could heal him.”

“She could have saved him,” Dario interjected. “She was just interrupted. She didn’t have enough time.”

Orwyn studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. “Perhaps. Regardless, this healer can save Elia,s too. Though, like Yumi, he will need time.”

“Who is he?” I asked. “How do we find him?”

“He’s the current leader of the kirin village,” Orwyn explained. “He’ll be more than willing to help. Elias was close to the village for many years. He grew up there, you know.”

“Right. Roux said you’d know where it was.”

“Of course,” she said. “I was a kirin arcanist too, once upon a time.”

Her voice trailed off slightly, and her eyes clouded with some distant sorrow. She glanced at the large, circular scar on her chest and traced it lightly.

Sage let out a soft gasp. “You… So that’s why they called you the Falcon. You were one of the God-Arcanists. Each of you had a title.” She giddily shook her hands out, her eyes bright. “This is so amazing!”

Orwyn nodded. “Yes. But that was long ago. Now I’m just a mother trying to save her son.”

She rose smoothly from the stone chair, her movements like wind gliding over water, and with a careful wave of her hand, Elias’s body lifted gently behind her. “Come with me. We’ll be there in moments.”

“Moments?” I asked. “Is it close?”

“Not exactly,” Orwyn said, turning back to glance at us. “It lies deep within a forest, far beyond the Lightning Straits. But with help from an old friend… I can get you there quickly.”

We followed Orwyn deeper into the mansion, passing room after room filled with young adults and children. While the warriors outside had reminded me of Elias—disciplined, intense, battle-hardened—these students felt more like Orwyn herself. Some stared pensively through tall windows, watching the storm in thoughtful silence. Others sat cross-legged with magical objects in hand, twisting and studying them with meticulous care, the kind of focus I’d only ever associated with martial training.

Orwyn noticed me observing and offered a soft smile. “Warriors are well and good, and House Tellia is known across the land for our warriors. But we want more than that. We need scholars, researchers, builders of knowledge. House Tellia is still young—only three generations since Akiva and I—but I believe we’ll grow deep roots. We’ll become part of this land, as though we’ve always belonged here.”

We continued until we reached a long, steep spiral staircase carved into the cliff itself. It wound downward in tight coils, descending deeper than I’d expected. At the base stood a simple black door, marked by a rough hieroglyph of a four-winged bird.

Orwyn placed her hand against the symbol and murmured, “Old friend... we have need of your strength.”

The hieroglyph pulsed with a pure, silvery-white glow. With a soft hum, the door slid open, revealing a cavernous chamber beyond.

Inside was a vast airship, easily larger than the massive cargo ships we’d seen earlier, but this one shimmered with an ethereal transparency.

“Is that made of glass?” Sage asked, frowning. “That can’t be right…”

Dario shook his head. “It’s a creature—or... it was.”

He was right.

The ship wasn’t simply transparent; it was almost invisible, as though woven from the air itself. Its form shimmered with gossamer threads—silvery filaments that held the vessel together like strands of a spider’s web. As I tilted my head, I could make out the faint outline of four wings, just like the emblem on the door.

Sage gasped. “Wait. That can’t be—”

“It is,” Orwyn confirmed gently. “Welcome to Westerlies, my airship, crafted from the remains of the sky titan, my companion from the God-Arcanist War.”

She stepped forward, laying a hand on the ship’s side. The way she touched it was reverent, like one might greet a beloved friend who had long been asleep.

“You remember Elias, don’t you?” she whispered. “You were there when he was born. He needs you again.” With that, she stepped aboard and gestured for us to follow. “The sky titan was master of the wind. Westerlies can fly faster than any vessel in existence.”

Orwyn raised her hand, and with a deep rumble, a stone panel on the far wall of the chamber began to shift—grinding open like the hidden doors beneath our old home in the Sunset Desert. Beyond it lay the storm-lashed beach, waves crashing violently against the base of the cliff. I realized then that the spiral staircase had brought us to the very roots of House Tellia’s domain.

“Launching,” Orwyn sang.

The silken strands of the airship flared with light, and then—without a jolt, without a sound—we were airborne.

She hadn’t exaggerated.

The ship was impossibly fast. Reality itself blurred as Westerlies tore through the skies, weaving between rivers of sideways lightning with effortless grace. The storm swallowed us whole, yet the ship danced through it like a falcon riding the winds.

Except, the wind didn’t really hit us. It swirled around us, as though we were in a bubble. Not even my black hair moved as we shot through the sky.

Every so often, Orwyn would glance at the ship’s wheel and adjust it with the barest motion, though it was clear that Westerlies did most of the flying on its own. Soon, the jagged cliffs and storm-dark roof of House Tellia disappeared behind us, fading like a memory.

As I sat in quiet awe, surrounded by the heirs of legendary power, my thoughts turned to hope.

Maybe, just maybe, Master Elias’s family could help us defeat Aziel. Their strength was beyond anything I’d ever seen. And while it might be bad form to ask an entire family to intervene in what was supposed to be a tournament match, this was no longer a game. As Master had said, existence was on the line. We’d take the crown peacefully if we could, but if not, we’d use everything we had.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour, but soon we passed beyond the edge of the storm. Ahead lay another rocky outcropping filled with birds and mystical beasts, but beyond that was a sudden, lush green forest.

The shift was staggering.

One moment, lightning flashed and rain pounded the roof above us. The next, sunlight streamed down through the translucent ceiling, warm and golden. The storm had vanished as if it had never been. Orwyn piloted the ship a little longer, circling above the trees with a thoughtful look. Then her eyes lit with recognition.

“Ah. It’s right here.”

The ship descended gently, revealing a breathtaking city nestled within towering trees—homes built into the trunks and branches, connected by bridges of light and vine.

Orwyn turned to us with a smile. “I wish it were under better circumstances, but... welcome to the Kirin Village, Amir. Dario. I’ll make your introductions when we land.”