Part 1: The Blind Eye
Twenty-four hours after the ambush, the atmosphere inside the Obsidian Leviathan's conference room was suffocating.
Elian sat at the head of the table. The room felt dangerously empty without Seraphina, Luna, or Caelum. They were sequestered in the Cloud Palace, fighting a desperate battle to keep King Zephyr's heart beating.
"Report," Elian said, his voice scratching against the silence.
Sylvia Rain stood up, activating the holographic projector.
"I can't get you in," Sylvia admitted, frustratingly tapping the console. "I sent three Specter-class drones to the perimeter. The moment they breached the cloud layer... static discharge."
ZRRRT. The hologram cut to black.
"The island spews high-voltage lightning every three seconds," Sylvia explained. "It's a natural EMP field. Viper is sitting inside a fortress protected by nature itself. If we fly in blind, we'll be shot down before we see the landing zone."
"We can't tank the lightning forever," Valen noted, looking at his shield. "And without Seraphina... damage is permanent."
Part 2: The Old Paper
Knock. Knock.
The heavy timber door creaked open. Prince Thal'dor stepped inside. He wasn't wearing ceremonial robes; he was in full combat gear, his eyes red-rimmed but dry.
He walked to the table and unrolled a large, weathered scroll made of dragon-skin parchment.
"This is the Thunder Peaks," Thal'dor whispered. "Or... it was."
Elian looked at the map. It detailed safe passages, wind tunnels, and lightning intervals.
"Where did you get this?" Elian asked.
"Volcanis gave it to my father fifty years ago," Thal'dor said, his voice breaking slightly. "So Zephyr could visit him safely."
"Fifty years ago?" Roger scoffed, tipping his hat back. "Prince, with all due respect, weather changes. A storm cycle from fifty years ago is useless today. We follow this, we fly into a cliff."
"The terrain hasn't changed," Thal'dor argued. "Only the lightning."
Elian stared at the map. He looked at the faded ink markings of the lightning patterns.
Pattern A... Pattern B... Pattern C...
Elian's eyes narrowed. He grabbed a piece of charcoal and started drawing over the map.
"The storm isn't random," Elian muttered. "It's a dungeon mechanic. It runs on an algorithm."
He looked at Thal'dor. "Your uncle was a creature of habit. The lightning strikes follow a 12-step cycle. If this map shows the cycle from fifty years ago... and the storm shifts by 0.5 seconds every year..."
Elian did the math in his head.
"We don't follow the map," Elian declared. "We invert it. Where the map says 'Safe', it's now 'Deadly'. Where it says 'Deadly', it's now the 'Eye'."
He traced a terrifyingly narrow ravine on the south side.
"We fly through the Weeping Cut. But we have to fly it sideways."
Part 3: The Hummingbird Protocol
"That gets us through the storm," Jax pointed out. "But what about the mines? Isara said Viper rigged the place."
All eyes turned to Isara.
The assassin stood in the corner. She stepped forward, placing a finger on the map.
"Viper doesn't use standard magic mines," Isara said. "He uses Void-Mines. They are invisible to the eye and to mana-sense."
"So we're flying blind," Valen groaned.
"No," Isara corrected. "We're flying deaf."
She tapped her ear.
"The Black Lotus uses a specific frequency to disarm their own traps so they don't blow themselves up. It's called the Hummingbird Protocol. It's a low-frequency pulse, barely audible."
Isara looked at Elian.
"I can't disarm them. But I know the sound. If I stand on the prow... I can hear the hum before we hit the trigger radius."
"You'll be our sonar," Elian nodded. "Roger, when she points, you shoot. Can you hit an invisible target?"
Roger chambered a round in his rifle, grinning. "If she points at it, I'll hit it."
"Kael," Elian turned to the dwarf. "We need speed. Plate the hull with the Aether-Glass.
We're going to use the lightning we do hit to fuel the engine."
"It's risky, Boss," Kael grunted. "One overload and the keel snaps."
"Then we don't overload," Elian said, standing up. "We ride the edge."
Part 4: The Empty Seat
The meeting broke. Elian went down to the Keel Room.
Caelum was sitting there, his hand on the wood, transferring mana into a bank of stones. He looked pale.
"I cannot go, Elian," Caelum said before Elian could speak. "The King's soul is fraying. I need to be his anchor."
"I know," Elian said.
Caelum pointed to the glowing stones. "Take these. It is all I have."
Elian looked at the stones. They were pulsing with a violet light so deep it looked like Caelum had carved out pieces of his own soul.
"Caelum," Elian whispered. "Don't burn yourself out."
The Blind Elf smiled—a sad, knowing smile.
"We all burn eventually, Captain. Just make sure the fire is worth it."
Part 5: The Weight of Wings
Three days later. The launch deck.
The party stood ready. No healers. No second chances.
"All aboard!" Elian shouted.
"Wait."
The voice was a wheeze.
Supported by two attendants, King Zephyr stood at the palace gates. He looked like a skeleton wrapped in silk. His wings were dragging on the floor.
Thal'dor dropped his spear and ran to him.
"Father!"
"I... I cannot stop you," Zephyr gasped, looking at his son. "But you cannot face Viper as a Prince. You must face him as a King."
Zephyr grabbed Thal'dor's shoulders.
"Take it."
WHOOSH.
A pillar of blinding white mana erupted from Zephyr's chest. It flowed directly into Thal'dor.
"ARGH!" Thal'dor screamed.
It wasn't a graceful level-up. It was violence.
Thal'dor's back arched. His armor groaned and snapped as his muscles swelled. Bones cracked and reformed.
RRRIP.
From his shoulder blades, four wings of pure, unstable mana burst forth. But they weren't calm white feathers. They were jagged, vibrating with raw power, crackling like electricity.
[System Warning: Entity Unstable.]
[Mana Overflow Detected.]
Thal'dor fell to his knees, gasping, steam rising from his skin. The power was too much; it was leaking out of him, scorching the ground.
Zephyr collapsed.
Thal'dor caught him.
But as the new, massive Prince held his father, he froze.
Thal'dor looked down. In his hulking, vibrating arms, Zephyr looked incredibly small. Frail. Like a dried leaf that would crumble if he squeezed too hard.
The realization hit Thal'dor harder than any weapon.
He isn't a God, Thal'dor realized, his hands trembling. He's just a dying old man.
There was no victory pose. No cheering.
Thal'dor gently passed his father to the attendants, terrified he might accidentally crush him.
He stood up. He felt powerful, yes. But he also felt like he was holding a grenade with the pin pulled.
He turned to Elian. His eyes were glowing with dangerous, uncontained light.
"Let's go," Thal'dor whispered, his voice sounding like grinding thunder. "Before I burn this whole city down by accident."
Elian nodded, drawing his sword.
"To the storm."