A few hours after midnight, Pirin’s hands finally stopped trembling.

They had been flying fast; all of the Featheflight’s sails were unfurled and filled with wind. After an hour, the coast had disappeared. After two, so had the banks of fog and smoke. The skies were clear, save for the crescent moons and sparse stars. From the airship’s top platform, Pirin had an excellent view of it all.

“There!” he called. He pointed at the ocean ahead. A tiny spit of rock breached the ocean. It was barely larger than the cargo ships in Greanewash’s port, but sharp shards of rock rose all along its surface, and waves crashed against its shores. An abandoned sandstone lighthouse perched on its northern edge, crumbling and abandoned. “We can set down there!”

Brealtod hissed in agreement. They climbed down through the airship, descending until they reached the gondola, where Alyus and Myraden stood. Alyus was interrogating Myraden. No matter how much Pirin assured him she was a friend, he seemed to want to find out for himself.

“…creature of yours, it keeps growling. Or bleating. Are you sure it won’t tear up my ship? Hey, antlers, are you listening?”

Myraden was bandaging her newly-sustained wounds with fabric from the ends of her cloak. She had already cauterized the shallow cuts. “Kythen has been my Familiar for two years. He is well-behaved.”

“Alright, now, you’re not an elf. Why should I trust you? Why do you want to come with us?”

“Sirdia is my home, too. They took me in when no one else—”

Brealtod cut her off with a couple hisses, then pointed out across the ocean at the tiny island.

“Indeed, it’ll be a good spot,” Alyus replied. He spun the rudder wheel, turning the ship. “Gotta get ‘er set up for an ocean crossing, anyways. And move your overgrown goat to the cargo hold, so it’s not perching on the balcony for dear life. But that’s only if we can land without ripping apart the Featherflight’s belly. I’ll need all hands for mooring.”

They ran up to the axial catwalk and tightened the ballonets, lowering the Featherflight closer to the island. Brealtod began furling the sails, and Pirin and Myraden cast the hooks out, latching the airship onto the ruins of the lighthouse.

Once the airship was locked in place, they lowered the platform from the cargo hold and dropped a rope ladder off the gondola. Pirin was the first down the ladder. When he reached the island’s ground, he ran back to the cargo platform. Gray huddled in her nest, preening her feathers and chirping softly, as if talking to herself.

When Pirin reached the platform, he pulled his Umberstone mask out of his haversack and put it on. For a few minutes, he pulled all his Essence back to his core and held it close, letting his channels relax and loosen.

While he prepared to activate his Reyad, Myraden approached from behind. She walked with Kythen across the barren top of the island, her boots crunching in the gravel. “Are you alright?”

“Just getting ready to reactivate my Reyad with Gray,” he replied, keeping his breaths restricted and tight. “You made sure those bandages you used were clean, right? Don’t need you getting infected with that dirty cloak…”

“I washed them,” she said. “You used to tend to my wounds, you know. You dropped me in a river once, trying to clean out my shoulder.”

He nodded, then offered a sad smile, even if she wouldn’t be able to see it beneath his mask. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember…”

“At least you are still painfully polite.”

“I’m…trying. Trying to remember. I had glimpses of you, y’know. Little visions, and bursts of…well, I remembered you existed.”

She nodded slowly, but she didn’t reply.

Pirin shut his eyes to help himself concentrate, listening only to the rustle of barrels and crates as Kythen settled down on the cargo platform. The creature nestled into a gap between the crates and barrels.

“Oh, yeah, just make yourself at home,” Alyus grumbled. “Oh, why am I doing this? I’m not even getting paid…I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?”

After five minutes passed, Pirin activated the runes in the back of his mask, flooding the powerful shapes with Essence. They glowed cerulean, warming his skin. He synchronized his blood and his Essence, and the Ichor blended. Golden light shimmered across his vision, and he fell to all fours.

This time, he only had to suck in a few deep breaths to stop panting.

“You’re getting better at that,” Alyus said. “Brealtod thinks so too, but he’s up in the sails, getting the ropes and rigging all sorted.”

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“Thanks…I suppose?” Pirin pushed himself up onto his legs. It felt like he’d been running all evening, but he had to agree—that was an improvement.

Once Pirin began to pass Essence back and forth between his core and Gray’s, he tended to her wounds. He carefully removed the arrow in her wing, then used a little bit of the Featherflight’s freshwater ballast to clean everything. It was an excellent opportunity to practice absorbing her pain and shielding her from it. With the innate pain-sharing of the Reyad, his Whisper Hitch technique worked even better.

Then, he bandaged her wings and all the little scrapes as best as he could. Once she had no more exposed wounds, he told her, “Alright, we’ll probably have to hold off on flying for a little while. Until you heal up.” The first time, he forgot to push his words across to her, carrying the proper intent they needed to. He tried again, and he succeeded in passing the message.

I didn’t plan on flying, Gray replied. Not while we have an airship to carry us! That’s what that thing is called, right? An airship?

Pirin snorted under his breath, then rubbed Gray’s feathery head. “Good to hear that you’re feeling alright.”

I’d be feeling better if we hadn’t gotten hit so much. You’ve still got all your cuts and scrapes and bruises, and that nasty burn on your side, and you’ve stopped blocking that pain from me.

“Sorry,” he muttered. He’d ended the Whisper Hitch as soon as he’d finished patching Gray’s wings, and now, the Reyad bond was letting them share each other’s pain. “Apologies, but I’m really running low on Essence, and my channels are tired…”

I will tolerate it, Gray said, her mental voice dripping with humour. She puffed out her feathers and chirped a little. Now, go relax, and take off that mask. I’ll be fine.

“You’re sure it’s not just that you’re tired and don’t want to feel my pain?”

Absolutely not! Absolutely…not…

Pirin took a step back and pulled his mask off his face. The runes deactivated, and the Ichor glommed together in his bloodstream again. He tucked the mask into his haversack, then walked over to the north shore. He climbed to the top of the lighthouse, scampering over the crumbling bricks and collapsed floors until he reached the top.

He glanced back east—at the Elven Continent, even though he couldn’t see it anymore. A wave crashed against the rocks in front of him, sending a spray of salty water splashing up. He wiped the mist away from his fast, then turned his attention north.

“Mr. Regos…” Pirin breathed. “I promise, I’ll come back. But first, we have a power to claim.”

After a few minutes, the ruins of the lighthouse shifted. A few pebbles of gravel rattled behind him.

Myraden climbed up to the top of the lighthouse, followed by Alyus and Brealtod. The three of them paused on a ledge slightly below Pirin.

“We’re ready to keep moving whenever you are, elfy,” Alyus said. “Antlers here, she got her Familiar all stowed and ready. Cargo bay is shut and tied tight, and the sails are ready to catch the strong easterlies. We’ll get you overseas in no time.”

Pirin slipped down from his perch. On the horizon, the sky was turning orange. The tip of the sun peered over the waves.

It had been that long? They needed to get moving sooner than later.

First, Pirin turned towards Alyus and said, “Thank you for coming back.” Then, he turned to Myraden. “I’ll learn to control the Memory Chain. I’ll master all of my abilities, and I will complete my Reyad with Gray. I’ll do everything I can to…remember.” He grabbed Alyus’ forearm, then held Myraden’s hand gently too. Brealtod placed his hand on Pirin’s shoulder.

“I have a continent to unite,” he told them. “And an empire to repel, it seems. Well, I can’t do that without getting stronger. I’ll earn my power, and I’ll get the strength to save our home.” He nodded, then took a step down from the ledge. “Let’s go.”

image [https://static.wixstatic.com/media/f3a882_5e221995337243e6a7d4250b55d3aeea~mv2.png/v1/fill/w_280,h_232,al_c,lg_1,q_85,enc_auto/embercore%20sigil.png]

The Red Hand found his first disciple, Khara, in the water. She was swimming back to shore from a departing passenger liner. Her clothes were soaked through, but otherwise, she wasn’t harmed. His second disciple, Nael, was wandering around the wharf.

Something was incredibly wrong with him.

The first thing the Hand noticed was his charred cloak and scalded skin. His Flare-stage body had protected him from the worst of the physical damage—whatever had happened to him—but his arm was still bent out of position awkwardly, and he limped. That could be fixed, given time…but something else was off.

“Disciple?” the Hand called, approaching the satyr. “Nael? Can you hear me?”

The satyr didn’t respond. His griffin nuzzled his legs, cawing and mewling in confused tones. A wind gusted across the harbour, scattering sparks and making the flames burn brighter. Nael turned toward him, staring with glassy, empty eyes, and the Hand understood what had happened.

There was nothing he could do to fix the meddling of a wizard-king.

Khara ran across the wharf and embraced Nael, and when she realized what had become of him, she fell to her knees and wept. She grabbed a handful of ash in her hands then threw it down and screamed.

The Hand allowed her a few minutes of solitude. When she had tired herself out, he stepped up to her side and placed his gloved hand on her shoulder.

“I want to hurt them,” Khara hissed angrily. “I want to make them pay.”

“I was hoping you would say that,” the Hand said. “Stand.”

Khara did as she was told. She clenched her fists, then faced the Hand. “But they’re heading to the Mainland. You can’t go there. You’ve been exiled!”

“For too long,” said the Hand. “We will pursue the heir no matter what. When we take his head, the Emperor will not not care that I violated my exile. I will have my life back, and you will have your revenge.”

End of Volume 1

To Be Continued…