Chapter 11 – War Is Looming

The Fortress City of Albius looms ahead, its towering stone walls catching the glow of the afternoon sun. Smoke curls lazily into the sky from several chimneys — but one stands out above all others: the Albius Grand Forge. The sound of metal striking metal rings out like a heartbeat, echoing through the air.

Inside, the heat is immediate. The air is thick with the scent of molten iron, oil, and sweat. Sparks burst in the air like fireflies with a death wish.

Randy’s jaw practically hits the floor.
“Whoa… this place is… massive!” His voice echoes in the vaulted space, where enormous gears, pulleys, and bellows hiss and groan in mechanical harmony.

Kline, ever the alchemist, ignores the spectacle and crouches near a smelting vat. His eyes dart across the machinery like a scientist examining a rare creature.
“The alloy ratio here… incredible. That flow regulator— Wait, are they using drakebone as a heat stabilizer? Genius!”

Meanwhile, Seraphina, her serpent tail already shifted into human legs for easier movement, drifts toward the weapon racks. Her fingers trail along the hilts of swords and hafts of spears, eyes gleaming with a predator’s appreciation.
“These aren’t just weapons… these are works of art. Balanced. Sharp. Deadly.” Her voice carries the tone of someone imagining how each would feel in battle.

At the heart of the forge, a hulking figure works the main anvil — a man with forearms like tree trunks, hammer swinging with the confidence of decades of experience.

Elowen strides up without hesitation. And then—
BONK!
Her hammer comes down on the man’s head with an audible thunk.

“Dumbass dad!!!” she barks.

The man stumbles, clutching his skull.
“Ow—?! What the heck was that for?!” His deep voice carries both shock and the kind of gruffness only years of shouting over roaring furnaces can produce.

His eyes focus on her for a moment. They widen.
“…El?”

“EL!!!” He sweeps her into a crushing hug, soot and sweat rubbing off on her armor.

Her reply? Another BONK — this one harder.
“Die!!!”

He drops to his knees, groaning, while Elowen crosses her arms.
“What are you doing here?” she demands.

“Well, Dad, I need help!” she says without missing a beat.

Randy leans toward Kline and mutters, “They’re… uh… loud for a family reunion.”

Before Kline can reply, he straightens, puts on his most polite smile, and steps forward.
“Greetings, father,” he says formally, bowing low.

WHAM!
Elowen’s hammer slams down onto his head.
“Don’t ‘father’ me, you weirdo! And stop bowing in a forge!”

Kline staggers backward, dazed, rubbing the forming lump on his head.
“Geez… that’s one way to greet people…”

In the corner, Seraphina hides a smirk behind her hand.

“A wonderful family, to be exact…”
Elowen says it with a grin, arms crossed, but Randy and Kline both tilt their heads in unison, sharing the exact same look of utter confusion.

“Uh… was that sarcasm or…?” Randy whispers to Kline.
Kline just shrugs.

Elowen turns to her soot-covered father, her hammer resting lazily on her shoulder.
“Hey, Dad. Could you tell Lord Fu Xi we need an audience with him?”

Anduril Stoneforge blinks at her.
“Huh? Er…”

Elowen narrows her eyes.
“Well…?”

“Well what!?” she snaps.

Her father scratches the back of his neck, visibly uncomfortable.
“You see… he…”

“What!!!?” she practically roars, the entire forge going silent.

“…He’s disappeared. Right now. No reason. No warning. Just… gone.”

The words hit like a hammer blow. Elowen’s brow furrows.
“That’s… funny. I don’t think Lord Fu Xi’s the type to not be around. Especially in a border city like this.”

Anduril exhales through his nose, clearly uneasy.
“Well… there’s been an uproar in the palace. Seems like a serious matter. In fact—”

Before he can finish, two armored guards rush into the forge, accompanied by a tall man in fine travel-worn clothes.

“Anduril Stoneforge! May I speak with you!” the man calls out.

Elowen’s head whips around.
“Hey! What’s going on here!?”

The man blinks, then brightens in recognition.
“Ah! Lady Elowen! It is an honor to finally meet you—”

“Enough with the formalities!” she snaps, stomping forward. “Where is Brother Fu Xi!?”

The man glances at the guards, then lowers his voice.
“That… is something we should speak about in private.”

Elowen gestures at the blazing forge, the hammering blacksmiths, and the thick stone walls.
“This is the safest place in the city to talk in private! Every man in here is the most trusted in town! You know that! The palace isn’t even safe anymore!”

The man hesitates. The guards exchange a look, then he finally signals for them to step outside.
They post themselves just beyond the forge doors, their hands resting on their weapons, eyes scanning the busy streets.

Kline steps up beside Randy and leans in.
“Let me handle this,” he murmurs. “You and Seraphina—act like you don’t know a thing. Got it?”

Randy nods and quietly makes his way toward Seraphina, who stands near a weapon rack, pretending to examine a halberd while her eyes track every movement in the room.

She speaks without looking at him.
“That man… the one talking to Anduril… that’s Lord Gindol. Lord Fu Xi’s right-hand man.”

Randy frowns. “And?”

Seraphina finally turns her gaze on him, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“But… why does he look Hume?”

“Human? What’s he supposed to look like?”

“…A harpy,” she says flatly.

Randy blinks. “Uh huh… so maybe he’s just hiding his wings?”

She smirks. “Nope. I’m sure of it. The magic Luna gave me—lets me see through any illusion or disguise.”

Her eyes narrow, tail twitching.
“And right now? That man isn’t just hiding something… he’s lying about what he is.”

Fortress City of Albius — Grand Forge Office

The forge’s main heat fades behind them as Elowen, Kline, Anduril, Lord Gindol, and two armored guards step into the cramped stone-walled office. The air smells faintly of steel dust and ink.

Elowen slams the door shut.
“Alright, spill it. What’s going on?”

Anduril’s voice rumbles low. “Yeah, Gindol. You came all this way looking like you’ve swallowed a lump of coal—so talk.”

Lord Gindol shifts uncomfortably, his gloved hands tightening on his cane. His eyes flick to the guards, then back to Elowen.
“…Lord Fu Xi is… actually… in a deep sleep. For some reason. It happened right after men from King Lozla’s court sought an audience with him.”

The words hang heavy in the air.

Kline narrows his eyes. “A deep sleep? Not… unconscious?”
Gindol shakes his head. “No. It’s… different. His breathing is steady. His mana feels… sealed.”

King Fu Xi’s Chambers — Hours Earlier

The throne room smells faintly of oil and polished steel.
Lord Fu Xi—tall, broad-shouldered, and a living wall of muscle—sits lazily on a reinforced throne. The scar-lined planes of his face tell a history written in war and blood. His teal eyes, bright yet piercing, shift with boredom as strands of hair the color of burning embers tumble over his brow.

“Lord Fu Xi!!!” A voice cuts through the air, too sharp to be respectful.

He exhales slowly. “Yeah, yeah. What do you want?”

“How dare you speak in that tone!” barks a messenger draped in the gold-embroidered cloak of King Lozla’s court.

Fu Xi’s lips twitch into a faint grin, one that says he’s too tired for this game. “I’ve had enough of the way you treat my people. Speak, or get out. I don’t have all day.”

The messenger puffs up like an offended rooster. “The King requests you send a list of supplies—by today. The items are marked urgent.”

Fu Xi’s patience snaps. His palm slams down on the armrest of his throne with a BOOM, the sound ringing through the hall like a war drum.
“We are allies, not slaves!”

The messenger leans forward, voice dripping with smug arrogance. “Careful. We have heroes at our side.”

Fu Xi leans forward too, teal eyes narrowing to a predator’s glare. “Whatever. Leave my chambers and wait until it’s done. And if I hear so much as a rumor of you stepping into my forge—” his tone turns cold enough to freeze steel “—I’ll throw you into the smelter myself.”

The messenger scoffs, turning sharply on his heel.
“You forget your place.”

Fu Xi smirks. “And don’t forget to bow.”

King Fu Xi’s heavy boots echo across the marble floor as he turns to leave his throne room.
But halfway through the step…

THUNK.

A sharp pain lances through his skull. His vision blurs, edges melting into darkness. His breath grows heavy.
“…Tch… damn it…” He sways on his feet, clutching the side of his head.

“Lord Fu Xi?!” Gindol steps forward, alarm flashing across his face.

Fu Xi forces his voice out, rough and low.
“Gin… dol… find… Anduril… and… Lu… na…”

The last word drips from his lips like it weighs a ton. His body slumps forward, crashing onto the floor. The hall goes dead silent except for the faint scrape of his armor against the stone.

Back in the forge’s office, Elowen’s expression is unreadable, her arms folded tightly.
Anduril exhales through his nose. “We’re blacksmiths, not soldiers…”

“Yes,” Gindol agrees grimly. “Lord Fu Xi’s orders were clear—do not engage. Do not offer ourselves as pawns.”

Anduril’s eyes shift to his daughter.
“El… seems like I’m going to need your help after all.”

She raises a brow. “What kind of help are we talking about?”

He glances toward Kline. “You’ve got a party of adventurers with you… and if I’m not mistaken—”

“I’m Kline’s father,” Kline interrupts with a casual shrug.

“…Father?” Gindol tilts his head, clearly baffled.

“Funny…” Elowen mutters—then WHACK—smacks Kline on the back of the head with the flat of her hammer.
“Stop fooling around!”

Anduril leans forward, his voice dropping.
“There’s a cure for this—an ancient remedy called Miraculum.”

Gindol’s eyes widen. “That’s a legend.”

Anduril shakes his head. “Legend or not, it exists. But it comes from a flower that blooms only in one place…”

“The Sky Island of Nesiia…” Elowen finishes for him.

“Exactly. And getting there is impossible. The island only passes within reach once every cycle, drifting above the Horn Mountains.”

Elowen taps her chin, her mind racing—then her gaze flicks toward the forge’s workshop floor, where Randy is still gawking at a display of gears, and Seraphina is running her fingers over an ornate spear rack.

A slow grin spreads across her face.
“…Actually… maybe it’s not impossible.”

She turns to her father. “I have a friend here with very good ideas for this sort of job…”

Downstairs, Randy is in the middle of inspecting a strange rotating gear system.
“This… this could totally work for—”

“RANDY!!!” Elowen’s voice cuts through the clang of the forge like a warhorn.

Randy jerks upright. “What?! What did I do?!”

“Get over here! You too, Seraphina!”

Seraphina sighs, giving the spear rack one last longing glance. “If this isn’t worth my time, I’m feeding you to my kin.”

The two follow Elowen upstairs, unaware they’re about to be pulled into a quest that could decide the fate of a king… and maybe the balance between kingdoms.

Grand Forge — Private Office

The heavy wooden door creaks open as I step inside.
The air smells faintly of hot iron and coal dust.

Seated around the broad, scarred table are Elowen’s father, Anduril Stoneforge, Lord Gindol, and—of all people—Kline, who for once looks completely serious. Their gazes lock onto me the moment I enter.

“So…” Anduril leans forward, eyes narrowing under his thick brows. “You must be Randy.”

“Uh… yeah.” I give a short nod.

“Please,” Gindol gestures at the chairs, “sit. Both of you.”

Seraphina slithers—well, walks now, given she’s in her human form—past me, flicking her hair over her shoulder before settling in beside me. The wood under my hand feels warm, almost like it’s absorbing the tension in the room.

Elowen wastes no time. “Alright, Randy. Tell us about that invention you were ranting about earlier.”

“Ranting?!” I glare, but she just smirks. “…Fine.”

I reach into my pack and pull out the carefully folded floor plan, laying it across the table. The parchment unfurls with a whisper, revealing the smudged charcoal lines.

“This,” I say, tapping the largest sketch, “is called an airship. A craft designed to fly using a container filled with heated air—or gas—that lifts the ship into the sky. Combine that with reinforced hull plating and magic-assisted propulsion, and…”

I can feel the shift in the room—eyebrows raising, jaws tightening.

“And,” I continue, flipping to another page, “with magic in this world, it’s not just possible—it’s easier. I’ve already drawn up a full list of the required components.”

Gindol leans forward, scanning the page. “Half of this… we already have in Albius.”

Anduril grunts, crossing his arms. “The rest can be forged here in the Grand Forge.”

I grin. “Then we can start now.”

Elowen’s hammer clinks against her belt as she shifts, eyes shining. “Now?”

“Yes,” I say firmly. “We need it urgently. And the longer we wait, the harder it’ll be to reach the Sky Island.”

Gindol exchanges a look with Anduril, then finally nods. “Then… show us.”

Kline adjusts his gloves. “If you need any synthesis work, call me. I’ve got the alchemy handled.”

“Got it.” I give him a thumbs up.

Elowen is practically bouncing in her seat, her braids swaying. “Finally, something exciting! I get to work with my forge and build history.”

Seraphina leans back with a slow smile, her bladed spear resting against the table. “Something new, hmm? Then let’s see it soar, little human. Just remember—if this thing crashes, I’m blaming you.”

I can’t help but smirk. “Then I guess I better make sure it flies.”

The room feels heavier now—not from dread, but from the unspoken understanding that this project could change everything.

Grand Forge — The Birth of a Skybreaker

With Lord Gindol on our side, the whole operation shifts into overdrive.

Soldiers arrive by the dozen, hauling crates, steel beams, and enchanted ores. The clang of boots mixes with the rumble of wagons rolling in from the marketplace. Even the gruff old smiths inside the forge—men who normally wouldn’t lift a finger for anyone—are hammering and shouting orders like their lives depend on it.

I glance up from my notes. “We need to build a hangar.”

“Hangar?” one of the soldiers repeats, brow furrowed.

I blink. “…Right. Different world, different words.”

I hold my hands apart, trying to mime it out. “A large enclosed space where we can store and maintain the airship safely—kind of like… a house for ships.”

“Oh!” Gindol snaps his fingers. “A dock! But in the air!”

“Yeah, close enough.”

“Then I’ll build it,” he says without hesitation. “Show me the design.”

I sketch quickly, my charcoal flying across the parchment. As soon as he sees the scale, his eyes widen. “This is massive! Bigger than the entire forge!”

“Exactly. We’ll need the size so that the next airship—yes, I’m planning more—can fit inside without rebuilding everything from scratch.”

Gindol laughs like a man who hasn’t had a challenge in years. “Very well. MEN! WITH ME!”

At his command, workers and soldiers surge into motion, their tools ringing like war drums. The sound of saws, hammers, and shouted measurements fills the air outside.

Meanwhile, Kline and I get to work on the airship’s frame. My design doesn’t look like the fragile Hindenburg from my old world—no, this one’s a warship in the sky. Imagine an American Zumwalt-class destroyer with sleek, angular armor… then give it the sharp, almost predatory lines of Thunderbird 1. A ship that screams don’t mess with me.

The engine will be its beating heart, and I need it perfect.

Anduril steps forward, dropping two shimmering stones onto the workbench. One glows faintly white, the other a shifting silver-blue. “Wind Stone… and Cloud Stone. These will keep her afloat.”

Perfect.

We start building the engine core, every piece reinforced with alchemically treated steel. Sparks dance around us as metal meets metal, the forge’s heat wrapping us like a suffocating blanket.

“Kline,” I say, not looking up, “you and Seraphina handle the outer frame. Keep it light but strong.”

Seraphina smirks from where she leans against her spear. “You give the orders like a captain already. Fine—I’ll make sure your precious ship doesn’t crumple in the wind.”

Hours pass. Sweat drips, muscles ache, but the skeleton of the Skybreaker takes form. Massive ribs of steel rise into the air, curved like the bones of a sleeping giant.

Outside, Gindol’s hangar is already taking shape, walls rising high, guarded by soldiers posted at every corner. Word of the project has already started to spread—too fast for my liking—but Gindol’s men are keeping the curious at bay.

We’re building something the world’s never seen before.
And if anyone found out too soon… they’d try to take it from us.

The Skybreaker’s Heart

Gindol leans over the workbench, his massive arms crossed, eyes sharp.
“Randy… I just need to know—are you with them?”

I blink. “Huh?”

“I mean King Lozla’s people.”

The name alone sends an unpleasant chill crawling down my spine. Images flash—being teleported into the wild without warning, without help, left to die like I was disposable.

“Like hell I’m with them!” My voice cracks, anger bubbling. “They kicked me out without lifting a damn finger to help me!”

“That’s a relief…” Gindol exhales heavily, as if he’d been holding it in.

“Luckily… Luna helped me,” I add.

His brows shoot up. “Lady Luna? Then… I can trust you without hesitation.”

Before I can respond, a faint pulse comes from the jewel around my neck—Luna’s voice echoing in my head.

“What are you building?”

“An airship,” I answer without thinking.

“Huh? Air… ship?”

“Yeah, something that can fly. King Fu Xi isn’t well. We need medicine from an island in the sky.”

There’s a sudden flare of light—and before I can even blink, she’s here. Teleported.

“Lady Luna!” Gindol bows deeply.

She ignores the greeting, her eyes sharp. “What happened to Uncle Fu Xi?!”

Gindol leans close, whispering quickly. Luna’s expression hardens, then—shockingly—her eyes glisten.

“How dare they… Even someone as strong as Lord Fu Xi—brought down by a curse…”

“Curse?” Kline steps forward, pushing up his sleeves. “Let me check on him. No curse can take me down.”

“You can?” Gindol raises a brow.

Kline grins. “Watch me.”

Without another word, Gindol calls two guards. Together, they escort Kline toward the castle.

Luna turns to me, determination in her gaze. “Randy… I’m going with them. Got it?”

I nod. “Got it.”

Then, without warning—she leans in and presses her lips to mine.

“Thanks,” she says softly, before running off.

“Oi! That’s cheating!” Seraphina shouts from across the room, her tail flicking in irritation.

With Kline gone, I throw myself back into work alongside Anduril and Elowen.

“Hey, Randy,” Elowen calls over the hammering. “We’ve got the frame—now you go build the engine!”

“On it!”

Since I can’t use magic, I call Seraphina to help. The engine will house the Wind Stone and Cloud Stone—a massive heart to keep our ship alive in the sky.

Hours later, sweat dripping, my hands blackened with soot, the final piece slides into place.

A sharp burst of light erupts from the core. The hum of energy fills the air. It’s… alive.

“Engines done!” I yell. “Let’s test it!”

I flip the release mechanism. Slowly—almost hesitantly—the engine lifts from the table, floating in the air.

Anduril grins like a proud father. “Amazing… what this boy can do.”

Elowen slaps me on the back hard enough to make me stumble. “Hey, that’s something, Randy!”

And for the first time since this all started, I let myself smile.

The frame is already taking shape.
From a skeleton of beams and plates, it’s starting to look like an airship.
Now comes the body.

I glance at Anduril, who’s wiping sweat from his forehead.
“Hey, Anduril—since Kline’s out, do you know how to make this material?”

I pause before saying it. “Titanium… well, something like it.”

He blinks, then bursts out laughing. “Titanium? Hah! You mean Mithril.”

“Mithril…?”

“That’s something that’ll make your ship shiny enough to blind your enemies. But—how about this instead?”

He reaches under the workbench and drags out a metal plate unlike anything I’ve seen—smooth, dark, with an odd shimmer. It reminds me of a submarine hull from my old world.

“What’s this—?”

I lift it. It’s light. Too light for how solid it feels. I pull out my gun and fire a single test round at it.

PING!

The bullet ricochets, not even leaving a scratch.

“Oi! This is insane!”

Anduril grins like a madman. “Kelinite. Discovered by mixing Mithril with Black Stone from the Black Mountains. Tougher than dragon hide, and easy to find around here.”

“Then it’s perfect!” I grin back.

We get to work immediately—building the hull with this miracle metal.
I pull together a makeshift welder from scraps, using tricks I learned from my uncle back home. But before I can show off, Anduril snatches it from my hands.

“You’re welding like that? Step aside, boy.”

Even Elowen joins in, swinging her hammer with wild precision. Sparks fly in the forge, illuminating their determined faces.

“Well then!” Elowen’s grin is feral. “You keep making the fancy parts, we’ll handle the muscle work! This project’s making my blood pump!”

The heart of the ship is already complete. Now it’s time for the propulsion system.
I take the Wind Stone and Fire Stone—natural opposites—and carefully fuse them into a single chamber.

The result is a raw, swirling powerhouse of compressed energy.
The forge’s advanced equipment makes the build effortless—if you don’t count the part where the testing blast nearly knocks my eyebrows off.

FWOOSH! A wave of heat and air bursts from the engine, rattling every tool in the room.

Elowen shields her face. “I’ve never seen anything like this! Keep going!”

I nod, my hands trembling—not from fear, but from excitement.

Next is the ship’s brain. The weapon system, navigation, and command controls.
This… this is where my old world knowledge kicks in. My mind races with blueprints I thought I’d never use again—skills from building computers in my old bedroom, now reborn into something far greater.

I find quartz crystals, copper wiring, and the perfect metals to create a magical-computer hybrid. As I work, Elowen leans over my shoulder, brow furrowed.

“What are you even making?”

I smirk. “The brain of the ship. The computer that’ll control everything from weapons to steering.”

The more I work, the more my imagination surges—schematics, designs, improvements I never dared to dream of before. It’s like the knowledge in my head is spilling out all at once, too fast to stop.

In just a few hours, the brain of the ship is complete.
It’s nothing flashy—no glowing holograms or futuristic monitors. Instead, it’s a rugged control console with crystal dials and rune-lit meters that read navigation, hull integrity, and engine health.

Simple. Efficient. Unbreakable.

With the ship’s mind done… I turn to the most dangerous part.
The weapons.

“…Yeah, I’m gonna need Kline for this,” I mutter.
But he’s not here, so I start on my own.

First—the main guns.
In my mind’s eye, I see a railgun—long, sleek, spitting pure destructive energy. Instead of steel slugs, I’ll fire raw magic. Electricity channeled into a single, devastating shot.

Then, missile pods—because in my world, nothing says “keep your distance” like a guided payload.
And, for the close range… turrets.

Except… I’m out of bullets.
Which is fine, because this world has something far nastier.

I grab a Fire Stone, a Wind Stone, and a Cloud Stone, fusing them together inside a carved obsidian chamber. The result is unstable—electric arcs snapping across my hands as I slot it into the turret mount.

The moment I pull the trigger—

FWOOOM!

A blinding beam of searing light tears through the air, slicing a scorch mark across the far wall of the forge. The sound isn’t a gunshot—it’s a deep, resonating BANG followed by a hiss of ozone.

Elowen ducks, shielding her face. “WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!”

I grin sheepishly. “Uh… the fang of the ship?”

Seraphina appears from behind a stack of armor crates, eyes sparkling. “Looks powerful. I like it.”

“Powerful’s an understatement,” Elowen mutters, but she’s smiling.

Within hours, I have ten of the energy turrets mounted—each one capable of firing a blast that would make a Star Wars fan cry tears of joy.

All that’s left now is the most important piece—not the heart, but the lifeblood.

The power source.

I wave over Anduril and Elowen.
“I need something to fuel all of this. Something strong enough to keep the engines and weapons running without shutting down mid-flight.”

Anduril scratches his beard. “Hmm… not sure what you’re thinking, but what do you have in mind?”

I list off everything from my old world—solar, nuclear, hydro, oil—watching their faces twist in confusion.

Finally, Anduril snaps his fingers. “We have something like that.”

He reaches into a locked chest and pulls out a glowing, pulsating crystal—warm to the touch, thrumming with life.

“This is a Dragon Stone. Rare, but not impossible to get. We use smaller ones to power knight-forged weapons.”

I lean closer, eyes wide. “…Do you have a bigger one?”

Anduril smirks. “No. But we have many smaller ones.”

That’s all I need.
I start sketching the design immediately—a container chamber lined with rune-conduits, each slot holding a Dragon Stone. The magic from each feeds into the others, amplifying the output exponentially.

The installation is meticulous—one wrong rune, and the entire thing could detonate. By the time I’m done, I’m staring at a crystal engine that hums like a sleeping beast.

It’s compact. Elegant. Deadly.
And just from the feel of it… I know it can power the Skybreaker without breaking a sweat.

Awakening of the Battlemaster

The forge is alive with noise—boots stomping, gears turning, men shouting orders.

Looks like we finally have everything. The last rivet, the last rune, the final plate bolted into place.

One of Gindol’s guards bursts in, breathless.
“The building is complete!!!”

We rush outside.
The hangar towers before us, freshly built, perfectly sized for the Skybreaker. Sunlight gleams off the smooth frame—our ship’s new home.

“Perfect,” I grin.

With a casual flick of their wrists, Anduril and Elowen weave a gust of magic under the airship’s frame. The giant vessel groans and floats forward, sliding into the hangar as if it’s weightless. The onlookers gasp.

From the crowd, someone mutters, “It looks… powerful. The zealous faction won’t be happy about this.”

“Yeah,” I murmur, half to myself. If I’ve just opened Pandora’s box… they’ll drag this world into the same kind of war mine went through.

Once the Skybreaker rests inside, I climb aboard for the first test.
The engines hum to life. The propulsors spin with a steady rhythm.

I grin wide. “Purrs like a kitten!”

“YEAH!!!”
The entire forge erupts in cheers. We’ve done the impossible—in just days, we’ve built a warship of the skies.

But I’m not done.

I glance at Anduril. “Hey, I need your help with… something else.”

His brows rise. “Something else?”

“This one’s personal. The Skybreaker’s for you—your business, your city. But this? Only for me.”

A spark flickers in my mind—a design, part Iron Man, part Gundam, part Macross. A flight suit. One-man strike armor. Something that can fight and fly without a crew.

Anduril smirks. “…Alright. I’m in.”

Meanwhile — Palace of Fu Xi

The King’s chambers are dim, lit only by the glow of runestones. Fu Xi lies motionless on a massive bed, his chest rising shallowly.

Luna bursts in with Kline, followed by healers and guards. “Uncle!”

Kline plants his staff at the bedside. “Díchódáil.”
A soft, blue light spreads over the king’s body. His eyes narrow. “…Right.”

Luna leans in. “What is it?”

Kline scratches his head. “Uh… hahaha, seems he’s fine—”

BONK! Luna smacks the back of his head. “Quit joking!”

Gindol steps forward, voice trembling. “My king…”

Kline’s expression sharpens. “He does have something. And it’s feisty… Demon magic.”

A ripple of shock runs through the room.

“Yep,” he continues, “someone wants him dead in his sleep. And I recognize this—Sompallteilgean. A high-tier assassination spell. Rare. Nasty.”

Luna frowns. “I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never seen it.”

“Watch closely,” Kline says, rolling up his sleeves. “Ākharṣaṇa nirmāṇa apasāraṇa!”

A glowing magic circle blooms under the bed, rotating with complex sigils. Kline pulls a vial from his satchel and uncorks it. “This is an elixir from the Hol Mountains. Old healing magic. Let’s see if it bites.”

He pours it into the king’s mouth.

Fu Xi groans—his body twitching, muscles straining. The circle flares brighter. Kline moves his fingers like he’s dragging something across invisible glass, as though rearranging a holographic display.

From the king’s chest, a sphere of light rips free—shaking violently, emitting a distorted wail.

“Vinasha nirvāsit!” Kline commands.

The orb trembles, then slowly calms, its malevolent aura fading.

Kline raises a hand. “Mudrā guānbì.”

The circle collapses in a flash.

Fu Xi’s eyes snap open. “Ugh…”

Gindol falls to one knee, tears in his eyes. “My king!”
“Uncle!” Luna throws her arms around him.

The king coughs but manages a chuckle. “It’s alright. I’m here.”

Kline grins smugly. “See? Told you—nothing can stop me.”

Luna squeezes him in a sudden hug. “Thank you!”

His cheeks turn crimson. “…Hehe.”

The Battlemaster swings his legs off the bed, his voice returning with a deep authority. “Gindol. Gather the council. We cut ties with King Lozla—effective immediately.”

Luna blinks. “Uncle—?”

“That kingdom is lost. We liberate it.” His gaze darkens. “Everything that’s happened… was planned long before today. The so-called ‘calling of heroes’…” He clenches a fist. “…was just a distraction.”

A heavy silence fills the room.

Kline breaks it with a smirk. “Well, in that case… I can’t wait to see what Randy’s been building.”

The forge is quieter now, save for the steady clang of hammer on metal and the hiss of steam.
Anduril and I work side by side at the central workbench, surrounded by scattered plates of kelinite, mithril wires, and dragon stone fragments.

Sweat rolls down my temple as I tighten the last joint on the frame. “This… this is something I’ve been dreaming about for years.”

Anduril studies the half-assembled structure, his brows furrowing. “Something, huh? More like trouble wrapped in armor. You sure about this, boy?”

“Yep,” I answer without hesitation. “I need it compact—streamlined—but still powerful enough to keep me alive out there.”

“Uh-huh…” He folds his arms, smirking. “I’m pretty sure certain people won’t like what you’re making.”

I glance at him, grinning. “They didn’t like me before. Why stop now?”

The frame is complete. I step into it, the runic locks hissing as they seal around my torso and arms. The armor molds perfectly to my body—sleek, plated like a falcon’s feathers, yet light enough to move freely.

And then—whump!—a rush of energy surges through the back unit. Panels shift open, and metallic wings unfurl from my spine with a shuddering gleam.

Each feather glows faintly from the embedded wind stones, thrumming with barely restrained power. The forge’s torchlight dances off the polished edges, casting jagged shadows along the walls.

I flex my shoulders. The wings spread wide, and the air around us whirls into a miniature storm.

Anduril raises an eyebrow. “You planning to fly into trouble, or fly away from it?”

I smirk, the visor sliding down over my eyes. “Depends on who’s asking.”

A sudden silence falls over the forge. Even the guards nearby pause to watch, the air charged with expectation. Somewhere deep in my chest, I can feel it—the rush, the weight, the danger of what I’ve just built.

This isn’t just armor.
This is a statement.

I take one step forward, the floor beneath me trembling. The wings flare. The roar of compressed wind fills the room—

—To be continued.