The airship flew through the night and reached the altitude of Albion by early the next morning.
Sora left the room and leaned against the deck railing, taking in the rare sight of sunrise.
Clouds stretched both above and below the ship, while a massive red sun rose slowly in the distance, painting the endless sea of clouds in warm shades of red and orange.
Ahead of the vessel, an enormous shape gradually emerged from the haze—Albion, the floating island, larger in area than all of Tristain and ten kilometers thick.
High-altitude gales whipped relentlessly, billowing the sails and stinging Sora's cheeks with sharp gusts.
"Nice weather," Sora said, stretching his arms and feeling refreshed. He turned to head back below deck.
"Rumble—boom!"
A thunderous roar echoed from afar. A massive gray-black cloud drifted slowly from the western sky, its fierce winds laced with rain battering the airship and knocking it off course.
"What's that?" Sora tensed, sensing trouble, and rushed straight for the captain's cabin.
When he dragged the bearded captain out by force, the man grumbled irritably, "What danger could there possibly be? You're overreacting, sir. My sleep is precious."
"Whoosh—"
The wind howled, snatching the captain's cap and sending it tumbling into the abyss below.
The bearded man's eyes bulged. He stared at the approaching gray-black cloud, mouth agape, pipe dropping from his lips to clatter on the deck.
"W-Wind Spirit!!" he yelped, dropping to his knees in terror, body shaking.
More and more crew and passengers noticed the anomaly and poured onto the deck.
Panic spread among the passengers, while the crew knelt like the captain, kowtowing frantically toward the cloud.
"Great Wind Spirit, have mercy on us! We offer you a sacrifice to your liking," the crew chanted desperately.
Sora glanced at Wardes, who leaned calmly against the cabin door.
"What's happening, Wardes?" Sora shouted over the wind as he approached.
Wardes glanced at him and explained with a hint of smugness.
"We've run into the Wind Spirit. The crew's praying for mercy. Wind Spirits roam unpredictably at high altitudes over Halkeginia—encounters like this might happen only once a decade. Good luck or bad? Who knows."
"I see. The Wind Spirit," Sora murmured, eyes fixed on the distant cloud.
It hovered about ten kilometers away, spanning tens of kilometers wide. Deep within, lightning crackled and thunder boomed, while surrounding winds tore other clouds to shreds, feeding them into the gray-black mass to make it grow stronger.
Having spoken with the water spirit before, Sora better appreciated the terror of the four great spirits.
Ordinary people and mages alike stood no chance against them.
"Can we handle this?" Sora asked, worry creeping in.
"Who knows?" Wardes shrugged indifferently.
After their prayers, the crew rushed between the deck and the cargo hold below, hauling out massive piles of wind stones. They hurled stones of all sizes overboard nonstop.
The lifeform within the gray-black cloud seemed to notice the tiny insects in its path.
The tossed wind stones glowed pale green and, instead of plummeting, drifted toward the cloud.
For about ten minutes, the crew shuttled back and forth, dumping roughly ten tons of wind stones—all of which were swept into the swirling mass.
The captain and crew waited in tense silence for the Wind Spirit's judgment.
From past experience, if the quantity and quality satisfied it, the spirit would pause and let them pass. Ships that failed to offer enough were swallowed whole by the gale, their wreckage occasionally washing up on the continent below.
The passengers stifled their sobs, staring anxiously at the wind mass.
It seemed to halt.
After more than ten seconds with no movement, cheers erupted from crew and passengers alike. Some even boasted loudly about turning the ordeal into a novel.
Sora and Wardes, however, both frowned at the cloud. As the two strongest aboard, they alone spotted the issue.
The gray-black mass began to stir again—the prior sacrifice insufficient. Its brief pause had merely been a wait for more tribute.
The moment it resumed advancing, the cheers cut off like a snapped string. Louder wails and cries filled the air.
"Everyone! The Wind Spirit isn't satisfied. Throw out all your cargo and luggage—perhaps the great one will spare us!" the captain shouted, staggering to his feet.
Chaos erupted. Some rushed to grab their belongings, others yanked off magical jewelry to offer as tribute, while a few screamed at the crew not to touch their goods.
Life in crisis revealed its raw, ordinary truths.
Louise, exhausted from the late night with Sora, had been roused by the commotion.
Rubbing sleepy eyes, she poked her head out in her pink pajamas.
"What's going on, Sora?" she yawned.
Sora's expression froze. "Louise, go back and get dressed. We're in trouble."
"Oh? O-okay." Louise nodded and ducked inside.
"Wardes," Sora said, turning to the man he disliked.
"Hmph?" Wardes snorted, glancing over.
"If—if this ship goes down, you can still make it to Albion on your own, right?" Sora stared him down.
Wardes nodded curtly. "Of course."
"Then… can you take Louise with you?" Sora pressed.
Wardes caught the implication, arching a brow with a mocking smirk.
"You want me to take her and leave you behind?"
"Yes. Please," Sora said, nodding firmly.
Wardes' lips curled into a cruel smile.
"Why should I? I despise you."
Sora met his gaze coldly. "Feeling's mutual. But…"
"Thud."
Sora dropped to his knees and bowed his head low to Wardes.
"Please… save Louise."
Wardes blinked in genuine surprise. To him, pride and dignity outweighed life itself.
Sora's act baffled him, stirring irritation as if he'd been outmaneuvered. Yet noble honor prevented him from ignoring such a plea.
"Since you've begged like this… fine," Wardes agreed.
"Sora, what are you doing?!" Louise burst out, now fully dressed.
"Nothing—just tripped," Sora said with a smile, rising smoothly.
"Hmph." Wardes snorted but said nothing.
A jumble of goods rained from the ship: those pleasing the Wind Spirit glowed cyan and drifted toward the cloud, while the rest tumbled away on the wind.
Still, it did nothing to halt the spirit's advance.
The massive cloud loomed closer, its gales yanking at the airship. Enormous raindrops pelted everyone.
Lightning flashed, black clouds blotting the sky, turning dawn into stormy night.
Passengers fled in apocalyptic panic, but tens of kilometers in the air left nowhere to run.
The sturdy hull began to warp under the relentless pull. Masts snapped and spun away, iron nails popped loose, wooden planks lifted and vanished.
Some passengers on deck were swept off too, screaming as the wind carried them high before hurling them downward.
The petite Louise couldn't hold her ground and began to lift off.
Sora jammed Delflinger's card into the deck, gripped it tight with his left hand, and clutched Louise with his right, slowly reeling her back into his arms.
Wardes handled it with ease, murmuring a brief chant. Cyan light bloomed from his body, repelling the wind as he stood unmoved.
Fouquet, blended among the passengers, flattened herself to the deck and crawled toward cover.
"Sora… are we going to die?" Louise asked, finally grasping the peril. She clung to his shirt, tears welling as she looked up at him.
"It'll be okay. We'll be fine," Sora said hollowly, hugging her tight.
The cloud closed to within a thousand meters off the ship's side. Most remaining passengers and crew who hadn't escaped in time were snatched away, their howls fading as they vanished into the cloud or plummeted from the sky.
Wardes eyed the cloud, sensing the overwhelming magic power dwarfing his own. His face grew grim.
"Familiar. Time to flee."
The implication: Hand her over if you want me to save her.
Sora's lips trembled. He looked down at Louise.
"I love you, Louise," he whispered, leaning in to kiss her forehead.
Then, with his right arm, he hurled her toward Wardes.
"Sora!!!" Louise cried, reaching out desperately.
Wardes caught her, ignoring her struggles and holding her close. His lips moved in incantation as cyan light from his body gathered behind him into a pair of two-meter wind-element wings. [Third-tier wind magic: Wind Wings].
Battling the omnipresent gales, Wardes clutched Louise and soared from the crumbling airship, veering away at a tangent from the spirit's path. Even his Square-class power strained, but he finally escaped the cloud's grasp.
Seeing Louise away safely, Sora felt a weight lift. Now it was his turn to survive.
"Delflinger—any ideas?" Sora asked.
"I'm just a sword. What do you expect? Tough luck, partner," the blade lamented without its usual pep.
Over half the cabin's planks were gone, the hull tearing apart. Nearly everyone had been swept away by the Wind Spirit's onslaught.
Sora hunkered down on what remained of the deck. Fouquet huddled deep within the fracturing structure.
The cloud engulfed the ship, plunging vision into gray-black murk.
Curiously, the fierce winds outside calmed within—replaced by eerie stillness.
Sora noticed the shift and peered around, eyes narrowed.
Rain began to fall—heavy drops the size of basic water bomb spells hammered down, battering the ruined ship. They struck Sora's back like punches.
Can't last like this—I'll be pummeled to death.
Steel resolve hardened. Sora yanked Delflinger free from the deck, fell backward through a shattered bulkhead, and slammed into the rear wall.
The downpour chilled the air sharply. Fist-sized hail followed, punching holes in the deck and rolling across it—often bashing into Sora.
He raised his sword to shield his vitals, but dozens—hundreds—of bruises and cuts bloomed across his face and body. Bandages tore open, wounds bleeding anew; his left eye swelled shut, forcing him to squint.
After the hail, the wreckage burst from the pitch-black cloud into open sky. Vision cleared.
Though dim, the view was wide.
Sora pushed himself up. No wind or rain for a thousand meters around—just soft breezes flowing inward from the edges, lifting debris toward the center.
Peering ahead, Sora spotted a distant glow: a massive cyan orb floating at the heart of the cloud-space.
The immense, heart-stopping magic radiating from it was unmistakable.
The Wind Spirit. Though he'd never seen it, Sora knew.
Countless wind stones orbited it, along with other flotsam—clearly illuminated by the spirit's light.
"Free Wind Spirit, I am Gandálfr. Will you let me pass?" Sora struggled to his feet, sword in hand, shouting.
The familiar rune on his left hand shone bright white.
"Hummm…" The Wind Spirit rotated—though whether it was truly spherical was unclear. It seemed to face him. Winds vibrated around them.
Sora waited anxiously.
"You… are Gandálfr," the surrounding air vibrated rhythmically, forming words—the Wind Spirit spoke.
We can communicate! Sora's eyes lit up.
"Yes. I am Gandálfr."
"And I'm Delflinger. Remember me?" the sword chimed in.
"Delflinger? Sword of Wisdom." The spirit's voice grew smoother. "You and that man… visited before. I remember."
Sora exhaled in relief. "Then… can you let me leave?"
"No."
"What?" Sora blinked.
"Stay. Play with me," the Wind Spirit said unexpectedly.
"Huh?! Play?!" Sora gaped.
Winds wrapped Sora and the sword, gently lifting them toward the spirit.
Up close, its scale dwarfed him—a glowing orb fifty meters across, with Sora a mere speck upon it.
Sora alighted on its surface, looking around.
Ahead, a humanoid luminous figure rose from the orb.
"Come. Play," it said.
Sora understood: an avatar of the Wind Spirit.
Better go along for now—don't know what'll happen if I refuse.
"What should we play?" Sora asked, calming himself.
The Wind Spirit smiled and extended a hand. Countless orbiting objects drifted closer, hovering above Sora's head. "You choose."
The assortment was eclectic: airship tributes, spirit-collected oddities. Sora scanned them. "Let's play a game—Gomoku."
Per his direction, the spirit summoned a Gomoku set, placing it between them. "Gomoku? How?"
Sora explained the rules: first to connect five stones in a row wins. Simplest chess there was.
The Wind Spirit's intellect rivaled humanity's. After losing over ten straight games, it grasped the basics—learning patterns like double short threes and short fours.
Sora's skill outmatched the novice spirit, but he held back, alternating wins and losses once it seemed hooked. The spirit had a patient temperament: no anger in defeat, pure joy in victory.
Nearly a hundred games later, its enthusiasm hadn't waned. Sora, however, was exhausted. As the spirit beamed after three straight wins, he said, "Wind Spirit, I'm sleepy. Let me rest a bit?"
The spirit considered, then nodded. "Very well. Wake and play more."
Sora sighed in relief and closed his eyes. What a day.
Louise should be safe. Need to find a way back. Sleep claimed him.
Once Sora slumbered, the Wind Spirit's avatar played both sides—black and white—against itself, thoroughly engrossed.
A truly playful spirit.