Chapter 39 – Drake Stroud… The Pirate and a New Waypoint

The world is… wrong.

The deck beneath me creaks, but it’s not the Stroud. The sea is endless, the sky black, the horizon swallowed by mist.

And sitting there, like he owns the abyss itself, is a man with one golden eye and a grin too sharp to be human. He drinks from a bottle as if the ocean around him were his tavern.

“Sit down, boy,” he says, gesturing to a barrel across from him.

“…Right. Okay. Let’s just roll with it.” I plop down, arms crossed. “So, lemme guess. I’m dreaming. You’re some weird manifestation of pirate guilt or maybe too much grog fumes in the air, and now my brain decided, ‘Hey, let’s toss in a dramatic ghost pirate, that’ll be fun!’”

The man chuckles, low and rumbling. “Name’s Drake Stroud. Pirate of the Flying Dutchman.”

My jaw drops. “…Hold up. Drake Stroud? The Drake Stroud? The guy Uncle Griffith always ranted about? No way. Nope. Can’t be. You’re supposed to be long dead. So unless I’m sleepwalking into some bizarre cosplay convention, I’m calling it—this is a dream.”

Drake smirks, taking another swig. “Arrrgh, ye yap just like her. Never stoppin’ fer breath, always overthinkin’. Lilith was the same.”

I blink. The name hits me like a punch to the gut. “…Lilith? You—you know her?!”

He leans back, bottle dangling from his fingers. “Aye. Sharp tongue, eyes like fire, always cuttin’ straight through a man. She never spared me ears a moment’s peace. Reminds me o’ you, lad.”

My chest tightens. I can’t breathe. “Wait… What do you mean by that? Who exactly was she to you? To me?”

He just grins wider. “Questions, questions. Ye got her spirit alright.”

“Stop dodging!” I slam my hand against the barrel. “If you know something about Lilith, tell me! Who the hell is she?!”

Drake doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he tilts his head toward the misty horizon. “Yer path’s not here, boy. It lies north. To Aurorvyr—land of ice and fire. Beyond it, Valkoria—city o’ Valkyries, where the bravest of lasses wield their blades.”

Aurorvyr. Valkoria. The names sear into my brain like brands.

I grit my teeth. “You’re changing the subject! Why are you giving me directions all of a sudden?!”

Drake finally stands, towering over me, his shadow stretching long across the mist. His golden eye gleams like a star.

“Because ye need to hear it. The frozen seas hide paths no man dares tread. Lilith knew them. If ye’ve got the guts to follow, ye might just find yer way home.”

“…Lilith again.” My voice cracks. “You keep saying her name like she’s… like she’s important. Just tell me straight—who is she to me?!”

For the first time, Drake’s grin falters. Just a flicker. He sets a heavy hand on my shoulder, the weight crushing, familiar.

“Overthinkin’ again,” he mutters. Then he pulls me into a sudden embrace, fierce and unshakable. His voice drops to a whisper that rattles my bones.

“Blood o’ me blood… me own soul standin’ tall. Yer storm’s just beginnin’, boy. Thanks to Xorvath, ye got yer wish. My son…”

The words freeze me. My world shatters. “S-Son?!”

But already his form is breaking apart, dissolving into mist.

“Wait! Don’t vanish on me now! Who is Lilith?! What does she have to do with me?!”

His laughter echoes, fading into the darkness. “Haah… Yer wind be better spent sailin’, lad. Don’t waste it here…oh you may find my loot where is was summon”

“DRAKE!!!” My scream tears the fog—

–––

I wake up, gasping. My heart’s pounding. My face is wet.

“Bad dream?” Elowen’s voice is calm, but her eyes sharpen when she sees me trembling.

I touch my cheek, realizing I’m crying. “…Not sure if it was a dream.”

She tilts her head, studying me. “You’ve been out for hours. We’re on Altar Island now. The others are already searching the ruins.”

“…Aurorvyr. Valkoria…” I mutter under my breath.

Elowen’s ears twitch. “Those places… I’ve heard the names. Far north. Deadly lands. Why?”

I clench my fists. “…not sure…but it maybe another clue…”

The mist of the dream lingers, and with it, Drake’s last words. My son…

I shake my head hard, like I can knock the dream out of my skull.
“No. That was just a dream. Just… a dream.”

But deep down, where denial can’t reach, I know better.

Elowen walks beside me as we descend from the Stroud. The sand crunches under our boots, waves lapping against the blackened shore. Her gaze lingers on me longer than usual.

“I heard you mutter something,” she says softly. “You said… Drake.”

I flinch. “…You wouldn’t believe me. It was just a dream.”

“Dreams,” she replies with that faint Elven calm, “are not always illusions. My father used to tell me the same. He would talk with my mother sometimes, when she’d already passed. Usually to ask if he was doing something stupid.”

A tiny smile tugs at her lips.

“…Yeah, well,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck, “believing that Drake Stroud in my dream was actually my dad? That’s a stretch.”

“Who knows?” she says simply, brushing her fingers against the old runes carved into a fallen stone.

Her words stick to me like burrs. Who knows.

My mind flashes back to the giant silver bird from before, the one that granted us wishes. Tch. No way. That’s not real. Wishes don’t come true like that.
…Except, what if they do?

We keep walking until the jungle thins, and the world opens up.

The altar.

Except… it isn’t.

I stop dead in my tracks.

“This… this isn’t an altar,” I murmur. “It’s a crater.”

The ground is gouged out as if struck by something colossal, a hollow scar in the earth. At the center, crumbled stones jut out like broken teeth. The air is heavy, almost reverent, as if even the wind dares not disturb this place.

Elowen kneels, brushing dirt away from the stone. “Wait. Look here—remains.”

I crouch beside her. The rock is smooth, carved deliberately. My pulse spikes when I see it—letters. Not Elvish. Not runes.

English.
Old English.

I trace the engraving with my fingertips, my throat dry.

“Ye be I, Drake Stroud, traverse here… alongside Lilith, my love.”

My heart stops.

Lilith.

The name is carved deep, like a brand across centuries. My dream, his words—my son—all crash into me like a wave.

If Drake was telling the truth… if Lilith was with him…

That means…

“…Mom?” I whisper under my breath, eyes wide, chest tight.

I clamp my mouth shut instantly. No one else can hear this. Not yet.

Elowen tilts her head. “Did you say something?”

“N-No.” I force a laugh, scratching my cheek. “Just, uh… commenting on his handwriting. Guy’s got nice penmanship for a dead pirate.”

She narrows her eyes, unconvinced, but doesn’t push.

Behind us, voices break the silence.

“Loot! There’s gotta be loot!” Eira and Arin are already poking around the crater’s edges, practically tearing rocks apart.

“Seriously? At a holy site?” Luna snaps, arms crossed.

“It’s only holy if ye worship dust, lass!” Arin grins, swinging a half-broken lantern.

Seraphina, more serious, runs her fingers over the altar stone. “The mana here is… restless. Like it’s waiting for something. Or someone.”

“Creepy…” Harmonia mutters, though her eyes sparkle with excitement.

I stay silent, fists clenched, staring at the words carved in stone.

Drake Stroud. Lilith. Both names tied here. Both names tied to me.

The crater feels less like an altar and more like a grave.

And somewhere deep inside, I know this isn’t just history carved in stone.

It’s the beginning of my storm.

Another clue. Another weight.

I crouch near the altar ruins, brushing aside dirt and broken stone. Something glints faintly beneath the rubble. I dig it out—a pendant, cold and heavy, with a tiny portrait sealed inside.

I freeze.

It’s Drake himself, younger, his grin sharp and reckless. But beside him… a little girl. Wide-eyed, smiling, clutching his arm.

“…Did he have a family before?” I mutter under my breath. My chest tightens. A shard of jealousy? Or fear?

I shove the pendant into my pocket quickly. No one would understand. Not now. Not until I understand it myself.

Even if Drake told me to search for another way, I need to find out how he was summoned here. How he carved his path into this world.

At the altar’s center, my hands unearth another relic. A dagger, buried under grass and stone. Its grip is plain, unadorned, and yet—

“This is…” I whisper.

Luna crouches beside me, eyes narrowing. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Nah. Just your imagination,” I force a grin.

But she catches my trembling hand as I wipe dirt off the blade.

“This dagger…” I murmur. “…It’s not from this world. It’s from mine. Just a kitchen knife, really. Pirates back home used them for cutting potatoes.”

Luna tilts her head, curiosity glinting. “From your world? That makes it… interesting.”

Before I can respond, Seraphina’s voice cuts across the ruins.
“HEY! Over here! I found something!”

We hurry to the cliffside where shattered stones are scattered like bones.

“This must’ve been a powerful shockwave,” Elowen breathes, tracing the jagged edges. “Something destroyed the altar itself.”

“Not just destroyed,” Luna adds, her gaze sharp. “Erased.”

Among the debris, Harmonia kneels, eyes glowing faintly as she reads the ancient inscriptions. “It says… to summon one must find the catalyst, and to return the summoned one…” Her voice trails off. The rest is shattered.

“Damn,” Seraphina growls. “We were this close.”

But deep in my chest, I already know.
Aurorvyr.
That was the place Drake spoke of. The path forward.

Elowen glances at me knowingly. “You… mentioned Aurorvyr, didn’t you? In your dream?”

“Dream?” Luna’s eyes snap toward me. “What dream?”

“…Tch. Nothing,” I wave it off too quickly. “It was just a dream. Don’t go making it bigger than it is.”

Of course, Elowen’s big mouth ruins it. She blurts out the details anyway.

“So this Drake Stroud… you said you spoke to him. Personally.”

Now Seraphina’s staring at me like I’ve grown two heads. “You’re telling me you had tea with a legendary pirate ghost? And you’re not insane?”

“I told you—it’s just a dream.” My laugh comes out strained. “That’s all.”

But Luna isn’t laughing. Her eyes stay fixed on me. “Dreams can be clues. Sometimes more than clues.”

I grit my teeth. Not yet. Not until I know for sure.

Then, Harmonia gasps. “Another engraving!” She points at a slab half-buried in rubble. The carving shows a monstrous figure devouring the earth itself. Beside it—a strange cube, etched with impossible symbols.

“The World-Eater…” Elowen translates slowly. “It speaks of the arrival of a being that devours worlds. And the one who summons it…”

She falters, eyes narrowing.

“…is tied to this box.”

“Strange markings,” Luna mutters. “A box?”

“More like Pandora’s box,” I say before I can stop myself.

“Pandora?” Luna and Elowen echo.

“Yeah. A tale from my world. Pandora was the daughter of a god. She opened a forbidden box that unleashed… everything. Hope, despair, disaster, miracles—all of it, scattered into the world.”

“That’s not curiosity,” Elowen murmurs. “That’s suicide.”

“Maybe. But it’s just a legend…” My voice trails. Or maybe not.

Before the weight of the revelation can settle, Eira bursts in with her usual cheer.
“Arrgh! Any booty down here, me hearties?”

Elowen sighs. “Clues. We found clues.”

“Clues, bah! A clue don’t fill a pirate’s belly. Treasure’s what counts!” Eira waves dismissively.

Her words spark a memory. Drake’s words, whispered in my dream. The loot is hidden where the mark lies.

My eyes sweep the clearing. And there, half-hidden behind vines, is a tree. On its trunk, carved deep… an “X”.

I smirk. Classic.

“Do you guys have a shovel?” I ask.

“Arrgh! Grab a spade fer the swabby!” Arin cackles, tossing me one.

The others stare as I dig like a madman.

“…Randy, what the hell are you doing?” Elowen deadpans.

“Randy’s gone full pirate!” Harmonia cheers, practically dancing.

“I swear, if you’re digging up a corpse—” Luna warns, hand twitching toward her rapier.

Then—THUNK! Metal against metal.

I grin and dig faster, dirt flying. Finally, I haul it out: a massive, rusted chest.

Everyone’s eyes go wide.

“SHIVER ME TIMBERS!” Eira howls. “TREASURE!”

“Ye got the eyes of a true sea dog, lad!” Arin is practically foaming with joy.

The lock is thick, complicated. But I don’t bother. I raise my rifle and—
BANG!

The padlock shatters.

Inside, gold coins gleam, jewels spill out like rivers of light, and on top—scrolls, a map, and a delicate music box.

“Holy…” Seraphina mutters, momentarily forgetting her composure.

I twist the music box’s key. Its gears whir, and a hauntingly beautiful melody spills into the air.

Luna’s eyes soften. “That sound… it’s beautiful.”

Harmonia sways, humming along, her voice blending seamlessly with the tune.

And me… my breath catches.

The melody unlocks something buried. A memory.

A soft voice singing to me.
“Don’t cry… let me sing you a song…”

The warmth of someone’s arms. A lullaby in the dark.

“…When I sang my songs… on the stage on my own…”

The words slip from my lips, unbidden.

The crew stares. Luna’s gaze sharpens. “You… know this song?”

“Yeah…” My voice trembles. “…I remember it. Faintly. Someone… someone was singing to me.”

The box plays on, the song of a ghost… or a mother.

And I can’t shake the feeling that this was left for me.

For her son.

I sing.

The words come unbidden, as if they’ve been etched into my bones all along. The melody from the music box carries me, fragile yet powerful. My voice trembles, breaking, but I don’t stop.

And then—

The altar glows.

At first, a faint shimmer. Then a radiant pulse, golden light spilling across the ruins like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. The ground trembles beneath our feet.

Harmonia gasps, clutches her chest, then—without hesitation—she joins me. Her voice rings out, clear and ethereal, harmonizing with mine.
The song… Eyes on Me. Faye Wong’s voice from another world, now reborn in this one.

I don’t even question it. I just… sing.

Tears streak down my cheeks. Every note feels like tearing open old scars, letting the memories bleed free. A lullaby I’ve heard before. A voice I thought I lost.

Luna steps closer, silent at first, then gently lays her hand on my arm. I feel her warmth steadying me, grounding me in this storm of emotion. Her eyes shine—not with pity, but with understanding.

Elowen whispers to Eira, almost reverent.
“…This is Randy. This is what I can’t explain. His power isn’t just strength. It’s… something else entirely.”

Eira’s eyes widen, caught between awe and excitement.
“Arrgh, he’s got the gift, matey! Not just treasure, but fate itself sings through him!”

Arin clutches his grog, for once sober. “Aye, matey… destiny’s dragged him into these waters for a reason!”

And then it happens.

The altar collapses. Not in ruin, but in rebirth. Stone crumbles, swallowed by roots and soil. Flowers burst into bloom across the crater. Trees unfurl like they’ve been waiting centuries for this moment.

Nature takes over. In mere heartbeats, the altar is gone—transformed into a mountain blanketed in green, swaying with wildflowers, alive with the buzz of bees.

Silence falls. The song ends. The only sound is the wind.

I exhale, staggering back, eyes darting over the miracle. “…It’s… gone.”

But the chest Drake left behind remains. Heavy, solid, gleaming with promise.

Eira’s face lights up like she’s staring at the gates of paradise. “By Neptune’s beard, it be a JACKPOT!”

We haul it back toward the Stroud. I tuck the music box carefully into my pack, alongside a scroll and something else that catches my eye—a worn medal. Its surface is scarred, but the design is familiar. Too familiar. I shove it into my coat for safekeeping.

On deck, Eira greedily digs through the chest.
“Shiver me spyglass! Another hidden compartment, matey! What devilry be this?!”

A panel clicks open. Something clatters onto the planks.

I freeze.

“…That’s… an iPod.”

Everyone stares at me.

Eira squints. “Arrgh… some strange talisman? What in Davy Jones’ locker kind o’ booty be this?”

“It’s not treasure. It’s… a device. From my world. For music.” My hands shake as I pick it up. The screen is cracked, the metal scuffed, but it’s unmistakable.

The questions roar in my skull.
Did Drake bring this here? Did he travel between worlds too? Or… did he leave it for me?

“Eira…” My voice is low. “Did Drake ever come back here? After… after the stories?”

Eira scratches her head, baffled. “Arrgh, I be as lost as a parrot in a storm, lad. Granny might know… aye, Granny Nu Wa knows more than she tells.”

Arin grins crookedly, already drunk again. “Aye, matey! If anyone’s got answers, it’s the Pirate Queen. She’s got more secrets than the sea’s got salt!”

The Stroud sets sail, leaving the now-peaceful crater behind. From above, the altar is gone—replaced by a quiet valley where flowers sway, bees hum, and two blossoms bloom side by side.

Peace, for now.
But in my chest, the storm only grows louder.

The Stroud cuts across the sea, her sails snapping with the wind. The wreckage of the Silver Fang fleet drifts all around us—burned hulls, broken masts, and drifting corpses. The smell of charred wood and salt hangs heavy.

One of the crew shouts from the rail, pointing at a floating body.
“Cap’n! Ain’t that… Grimgold?!”

Eira storms over, spyglass in hand. Her face hardens.
“Shiver me timbers… it is the traitor! Dead as a stone crab, floatin’ where he don’t belong. Blast it—what be he doin’ this far out?”

Arin swigs his grog, his usual grin gone.
“Aye… the dog sold his soul. Cahoots with demons, mark me words. Ain’t no natural death when the fiends be involved.”

Eira snaps the spyglass shut. Her voice is sharp, commanding.
“Hoist the sails! Raise the mast higher! We must make haste back to Granny Nu Wa. She must hear of this treachery at once!”

The Stroud leaps forward, catching the wind like it too senses the urgency.

But below… the ocean stirs.

Xylara’s charred body sinks into the abyss. Her eyes are closed, her lips parted, her once-proud form limp and broken. For a moment, silence reigns.

Then—

A crimson circle etches itself into the water. Chains of runes wrap around her corpse. In an instant, her body vanishes.

High above, in the shadow of storm clouds, an eerie airship drifts. Its hull gleams with obsidian runes, its sails stitched from hides of unknown beasts.

On its deck, a wizard with robes of black ash raises a feather shimmering in blood-red light.
“Here she lies. The Pirate King’s shadow… felled by another. Revive her. Demon Lord Heritos has commanded it.”

The feather dissolves into motes of fire, sinking into Xylara’s chest. Her body convulses. Crimson light explodes outward.

She gasps, clutching her throat.
“Haahhh! What… what happened?”

Two men stand over her. One, an elf with cold eyes. The other, the wizard, smirks knowingly.
“Someone bested you in combat. Someone dangerous.”

Xylara’s eyes narrow, venom burning in her tone.
“…Him.”

The airship turns, its runes glowing, vanishing into the stormy horizon.

Far away, beyond jagged peaks and rivers of ash, Thorgrim kneels in the black stone hall of the Northern Demon Kingdom. Before him, upon a throne carved of obsidian and bone, sits King Azrael. His presence alone makes the air heavy, suffocating.

Thorgrim bows low, voice steady.
“My lord. The reports are true. A man among the pirates… he tore through our fleet as though it were paper. His weapons—immune to magic. His strength… unnatural. If my eyes do not deceive me, he mirrors the power of the two heroes of old.”

The hall stills. Shadows writhe across the walls.

Azrael’s crimson eyes flare.
“…So. History stirs once more.”

Morwenna, seated at his side, leans forward. Her beauty is matched only by her cruelty.
“Mother’s murderer walks again… in that man. Then it must be fate. Let me take two legions. With Thorgrim, we will pierce the Mana Kingdom’s heart before they can gather their strength.”

Azrael’s lips curl into a dark smile.
“Very well. Go. But know this—if Thorgrim speaks true, that man may be the Hunter of Prophecy. He alone could tip the balance of this war. Such a threat must not be allowed to rise.”

Thorgrim clenches his fist.
“He will fall. I swear it.”

They both vanish in a storm of shadows, two legions marching behind them like an army of nightmares.

Azrael sits back, wine cup in hand, and stares into the flames of his chamber. His voice drops to a murmur, almost reverent.
“…A hunter immune to magic. Just like them.”

His mind drifts back—

He remembers himself as a lowly officer, trembling on the battlefield centuries ago. The sky black with smoke. The earth cracked beneath infernal fire. And there—standing defiant against Lord Xorvath himself—were two figures.

A woman, her golden hair aflame with light, wielding a sword of radiant fire. Lilith.
And beside her, a man cloaked in shadow and steel, cutlass flashing like thunder. Drake Stroud.

Together, they cut through thousands. Legions fell like wheat before a scythe. Azrael, cowering among the bodies of his comrades, never forgot the sight of their wrath.

He takes a slow sip of wine, lips curling into a grin.
“If fate dares to repeat itself… then this time, I shall be the one who devours destiny.”

The war drums thunder once more.

In the Kingdom of Mana, inside the academy’s hall, unease hangs heavy in the air. Students gather, murmurs low, faces pale.

Alfian slams his hand against the podium, his voice booming like a fanatic preacher.
“Who wants glory?! Who wants victory?! Who wants to become heroes?!”

His cry echoes. But not a single hand rises. Silence presses down.

Alfian grits his teeth, sweat dripping down his temple.
“I know I lost my path… but hear me out! If I can prove myself, if I lead us—please, join me! Randy’s dead! And it’s no one’s fault but his recklessness!”

The students shift uncomfortably. Some look down. Others glare.

“Alfian…” Raul’s voice cuts sharp. He steps forward, eyes like knives. “You’re delusional.”

Alfian’s head jerks toward him. “What did you say?!”

Raul doesn’t flinch.
“You heard me. Randy may have been reckless, sure. But he got things done. Not like you—standing here spouting nonsense.”

“SHUT UP!!” Alfian’s voice cracks, spittle flying. His fists tremble.

Before Raul can answer, a senior steps out—Kyle, hardened under Elysia’s training, arms folded with disdain.
“Pathetic. You’re ranting like a child. Randy died carrying us all, and now you want us to march to our deaths just to soothe your ego?”

“You don’t understand!!!” Alfian roars. “Randy was weak! I’m strong! I’m the one chosen for greatness!!”

“Shut up already!” Lilika screams, tears running down her cheeks. “Stop dragging Randy’s name through your filth!”

The crowd erupts.

“Alfian, you’re a disgrace!”
“All you do is pick fights—Randy fought for us!”
“You bullied him, mocked him—now you claim his death makes you worthy?!”

Alfian staggers back, veins bulging, his pride cracking under their words.

“Shut up… shut up!! RANDY THIS, RANDY THAT!! He’s gone!! This is our chance to prove ourselves!!”

But his voice quivers. He sounds less like a leader, more like a cornered animal.

And then—

“Enough.”

The air shimmers. Aethone steps forward, her smile serene, her presence like a gentle flame in the storm. Students hush, hope flickering in their eyes.

“With my magic,” she says softly, “I may be able to return you all home. But I cannot do it alone.”

Murmurs ripple—hope, fear, disbelief.

Alfian seizes on it, his eyes blazing.
“See?! Did I not tell you?! Randy’s sacrifice was worthless, but now—now we have true hope!”

Students gasp. Aethone lowers her gaze, feigning sorrow, but her lips curl ever so slightly.

Raul glares at her. “You’re feeding his madness.”

“Madness?” Aethone tilts her head innocently. “Or vision?”

But her game ends abruptly.

“Bullshit.”

The word lands like a hammer.

From the doorway, Elysia strides in, Oswald at her side, their presence instantly crushing the tension into silence.

Elysia’s eyes blaze like fire.
“Alfian. Aethone. Stand down.”

Aethone’s smile doesn’t waver. “My, my. Such hostility. Do you not wish to see your classmates safe?”

“Cut the act.” Oswald’s voice is cold, his hand resting on his blade. “We’ve seen through your trick. You whisper hope, but all you’re doing is twisting him further.”

The teachers rush in, panic in their voices.
“Alfian, please! Stop this madness! Don’t drag the others into your delusions!”

But Alfian’s laughter is wild, broken.
“Stupid! All of you stupid! Raul—you’re supposed to be a hero! And yet you hide in the shadows while I—I rise to the top! Can’t you feel it?! I’m chosen! I’m destined!”

Mana swirls violently around him, unstable and wild.

Fu Xi and Mina arrive, stepping into the hall like pillars of calm.

“Aethone.” Fu Xi’s voice is sharp. “Enough lies. You’re tired—return home.”

For the first time, Aethone’s mask flickers. Her smile tightens.
“…I’m not giving up.” Her whisper is almost venomous before she vanishes in a shimmer of light.

“Looks like the puppet’s strings snapped,” Oswald mutters.

“Shut up!!!!” Alfian howls, mana bursting from him like fire. “This is my moment! I can feel it in my blood—I AM THE CHOSEN ONE!!!”

The students recoil, fear written across their faces.

Elysia’s hand twitches to her sword.
“Don’t make me do this, Alfian.”

“Come and try!!!” Alfian lunges, a savage grin plastered across his face.

Oswald exhales.
“Sorry, teacher. I’m not holding back.”

He vanishes. In an instant, his fist buries into Alfian’s gut.

“Gghhh—!” Alfian’s body folds, saliva spraying as he stumbles.

Runes flare along Oswald’s arm.
“Cumhachd pŵer teorannú!”

The second punch lands, crackling with sealing energy. Alfian screams, his mana dispersing like smoke.

“Y-you bastard!!! EARTH SLASH!!!” Alfian slams his sword down—

But the magic fizzles. Pain rips through his arm.
“Arghhh!!! W-why won’t it work?!”

Oswald’s eyes are cold.
“Because it’s over.”

One final punch—Alfian collapses, unconscious, bound by shimmering chains Marlisa summons.

“Cadwyn séalaithe!”

The students slowly gather, silence pressing heavy.

“…So it’s true. Randy’s gone. No one’s coming to save us,” one whispers, tears brimming.

Elysia steps forward, her voice firm, steady, her eyes burning with conviction.
“No. Do not lose hope. Randy bore the storm for us all. Now it’s our turn. We survive. Together. No matter how long it takes.”

Oswald crosses his arms, looking down at Alfian’s bound form.
“This one won’t trouble us again. But make no mistake—he’s not the only danger among us.”

Fu Xi closes his eyes, whispering grimly.
“Aethone… she’s playing a deeper game.”

Mina nods, shivering.
“And Alfian… she was just him like a pawn.”

Elysia clenches her fist until her knuckles whiten, whispering as though her words might reach him across the sea.

“Randy… hurry back. We’re falling apart without you.”

The classroom of Mana feels suffocating. The students cling to hope like a raft in a storm—yet they don’t know. A greater storm, black and merciless, already brews on the horizon.

Sky Island – The Great Archive

The murals glow faintly under the torchlight. Nyx, her eyes sharp as a hawk’s, moves between ancient stone walls etched with forgotten prophecy. She freezes before one panel.

A man with wings, etched in flame and shadow. Armored in strange gear. Machines circling him like stars.

Her breath catches.
“…By the gods… you can’t be serious.”

She slams her palm on the stone.
“That figure—it’s him. The flight suit, the drones—it’s Randy! The Mad Priestess wasn’t raving, she was recording the future! The Child of Prophecy… is Randy!”

Her voice echoes through the Archive.

Kline, who had been meditating with eyes closed, cracks one open with an exaggerated sigh.
“…You’re telling me that goofball is the hero destined to save or destroy the world? Master, you’ve been reading too many bedtime stories.”

Nyx whirls, glaring daggers at him.
“You insolent brat! Do you think prophecy is written in fairy tales? That boy’s existence bends fate itself.”

Kline holds up his hands, grinning.
“Alright, alright. Don’t blow a gasket. I’m just saying—it’s hard to take the guy seriously when half the time he looks like he’s winging it.”

Before Nyx can retort, the sirens wail. The entire island trembles, gears grinding, lights flaring crimson.

Kline leaps to his feet instantly.
“Tch. Perfect timing.”

Nyx grips Randy’s detector tightly. The surface flickers with mana-light, streams of data weaving across its crystal pane. The map of the Kingdom of Mana pulses red—not a cluster, but waves upon waves of crimson dots swallowing the borders.

Her voice drops, heavy as iron.
“…This isn’t a raid. This is annihilation. A legion-level march. If this reading is true, the Kingdom of Mana could be erased before dawn.”

Kline’s smirk falters for a heartbeat, but he catches himself and sharpens it into defiance.
“Well… looks like I picked the perfect time to test my new ride.”

Nyx narrows her eyes, her tone sharp with suspicion.
“Such perfect timing… why now? Why would Lord Azrael move so desperately? What’s the scope here…”

Kline pauses, goggles dangling loosely from his hand. For once, the mask of cockiness slips, showing the weight pressing against his chest.
“…Better I meet with Fu Xi directly. If this is as big as it looks, he needs to know immediately.”

“I’ll join you,” Nyx says flatly.

Kline shakes his head.
“No. Just stay here, like Randy told you before. If you move, it’ll make things worse. You defected from the Northern Kingdom—if you show up now, panic will spread before the fight even begins.”

Nyx studies him for a long moment. The fire in his eyes… it reminds her of another reckless boy who once carried the weight of prophecy. At last, she exhales sharply, almost tired.
“Fine. Go. But remember this: you are not Randy. You fight with your mind, with strategy—not with blind courage. Don’t forget what makes you different.”

Kline’s grin returns—still cocky, but steadier this time, with a glint of sincerity beneath it.
“Relax, Nyx. Nothing’s going to get that crazy… not yet.”

Sky Island Hangar

The steel doors grind open with a deep metallic roar. Inside, the Skybike gleams—sleek alchemical armor, mana vents pulsing like dragonfire. Behind it, thirty Sky Golems rise in unison, their crystal eyes glowing like stars, wings of steel unfolding.

Kline swings onto the Skybike, the engine thundering as it drinks mana. The air trembles with power. The golems fall into perfect formation behind him—a mechanical flock awaiting their hawk.

Nyx crosses her arms, but her voice betrays unease.
“…Kline. Tell Fu Xi I suspect not one, but two legions. The timing is too perfect. Too clean. I don’t like it.”

Kline revs the Skybike, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Got it. Just ring me if something new pops up.”

“Kline,” Nyx calls, softer now.

He glances back. “Yeah?”

“…Be safe.”

For a moment, the grin softens.
“…Yeah. Sure. Thanks, I guess.”

With a blast of mana flames, the Skybike roars out of the hangar. The thirty golems take wing, spreading across the horizon like steel angels, their formation cutting through the night sky.

Nyx lingers alone in the Archive. Her gaze drifts back to the mural—the winged boy standing alone against the abyss.

Her whisper is quiet, almost prayer-like.
“…Iris… Xorvath… Is this what you meant? Is the time truly here?”

She presses her palm against a hidden sigil. The wall groans open, revealing a concealed chamber. At its heart stands a tall mirror, its surface rippling like water.

Nyx channels her power. The mirror flickers to life—like a scrying glass, like a god’s own eye.

Through it, she sees Kline streaking across the skies, the golems a flock of light behind him. She shifts her focus and sees Randy and the others aboard the Stroud, battered but alive, sailing onward.

A small smile touches her lips.
“…At least they’re safe. For now.”

Beyond the clouds, the war drums thunder—deep, inhuman beats echoing from the marching legions of the Demon Kingdom.

The storm has begun.

To be continued…