The Red Dragon’s departure left a deafening silence in its wake, broken only by the distant groans of the Nautiloid’s failing structure. The bio-ship, on fire in multiple areas, shuddered violently, its semi-organic walls pulsating erratically as if it was writhing in pain. Shadowheart, her expression set in grim determination, reached out and plucked the control nerves, sending a ripple of energy through the Helm.

For a fraction of a second, everything seemed still.

Then, the Nautiloid lurched sideways as reality itself fractured.

A brilliant spatial rift of violet and silver colored light split the air around us, consuming the ship in its entirety. I barely had time to brace before we were flung into the void—a realm of swirling colors, where the regular laws of space and time became a mere suggestion. What was probably the Astral Sea stretched infinitely in every direction, an endless expanse of shimmering nebulae and drifting islands of stone. Tendrils of luminescent mist coiled around the ship, drawn to the dying vessel like scavengers circling a wounded beast.

The sensation was disorienting to say the least. The concept of Gravity was subjective and meaningless here, while time as we knew it also ceased to exist. I felt weightless, my limbs un-moored from the constraints of standard physics. My mind, somehow sharper than it had ever been, recognized the moment for what it was—a brief passage between planes, the Nautiloid tearing through the fabric of the universe, desperately seeking its destination.

The ship bucked again, a high-pitched keening reverberating through its corridors. I could feel the ship's death struggles, the way a body feels the final pangs of a mortal wound. The battle had taken too much of a toll -- even if we knew how to pilot this thing, I somehow knew -- with certainty -- that landing intact was out of the question.

Then—another violent jolt. A force like a giant’s hand gripping my chest. The swirling brilliance of the Astral Sea vanished, and with it, the fleeting sensation of weightlessness. I felt... smaller. Somehow diminished by the experience.

Through the impromptu "window" of the torn wall, I watched as we now glided through the sky of a more familiar world: Faerûn’s predawn twilight was visible through the torn walls, the coastal vista below us vast and indifferent to our impending demise. Below, the land stretched in breathtaking detail— though, I saw nothing resembling a soft landing zone. The Nautiloid, a ruin of torn organelles and shattered metal, was slowly picking up speed. More fires erupted across its body, burning the eldritch flesh-like hull and unknown alloys with unnatural hues, their light painting the evening sky with streaks of violet and green. To any casual observer from below, we must have looked magnificent—a celestial phenomenon, a falling star blazing with ethereal fire, carving a trail of otherworldly light through the dark, predawn sky. We were a thing of beauty... if one did not know better.

Naturally, for all the grandeur of our ride down, I was now acutely aware of its status as a burning wreck... A very dangerous burning wreck that was truly challenging my determination to protect my new companions from bodily harm.

Out of all the nearly endless, arbitrarily large contents of my Skyrim inventory, was it too much to ask for a single damn parachute!? How was I going to protect everyone from the impact?

Merely trusting the Astral Prism was a fool's gamble. Naturally, in the game, none of the major characters perished in the initial crash—safeguarded, as they were, by the convenient, unseen hands of narrative necessity otherwise known as Plot Armor... But this was no scripted adventure, but reality -- and real life didn't have preordained outcomes. With current life-and-death stakes, while I wasn't at all worried about my own survival... I simply could not afford to take chances with the survival of my companions. The mere thought of watching Karlach’s infernal glow flicker and fade, of seeing Lae’zel’s indomitable fire snuffed out, or watching Shadowheart’s piercing gaze become glassy and lifeless—

No. Unacceptable.

I would not allow it.

And... it would seem that I wasn't the only one who realized the sudden gravity (heh) of our predicament.

Stepping up to my side, Karlach let out a dry, mirthless laugh. "Well, Soldier, this is a hell of a way to go. Always thought I'd die on the battlefield, not falling ass-first out of the sky."

Lae’zel also stepped up, her movements fluid yet weighted, like a predator navigating uncertain terrain. The flickering light of the ship’s fires danced across her face, casting long shadows that exaggerated the sharp, almost sculptural contours of her predatory features—the high cheekbones, the imperious brow, the unyielding set of her jaw. Her golden eyes, reflective like molten metal, narrowed as she gazed out of the torn hull, watching the land below rushing up to meet us with cruel inevitability.

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Her fingers flexed around the hilt of her sword, an old instinct, a need for control in the face of chaos. "At least I shall not die as a filthy ghaik," she murmured, voice steady but threaded with something brittle, something raw. "I refuse to perish in their thrall, twisted into something unclean. If we must fall, let us do so with honor, as warriors, not as mindless husks."

Shadowheart, too, stepped close, exhaling sharply as her lips pressed together. Her hands trembled, just barely, before she clenched them into tight fists against her chest, as though holding something precious that the world was trying to pry from her fingers. The dim, flickering light of the fires cast an ethereal glow upon her face, highlighting the deep contours of her features—elegant, yet hardened by the weight of burdens she had carried alone for too long, yet now could not even remember.

Her dark violet eyes, like pools of storm-laden water, flickered between resignation and defiance, a struggle that played out across her delicate features. Strands of her raven-black hair whipped in the wind of our descent, the silken tresses catching the dying light of the ship’s destruction in a way that made them almost shimmer. Here and now, she looked otherworldly: a lone shadow standing defiant against the oncoming doom.

Her lips parted slightly, perhaps to whisper a final benediction to her Dark Goddess... but no words came. Instead, she turned her gaze toward me, her expression unreadable, yet filled with something raw and unspoken. A flicker of hope? Of trust? Or merely the quiet acceptance of fate?

The ship shuddered again, a violent lurch throwing embers into the swirling air. Below, the earth loomed—vast, beautiful, and utterly indifferent to our plight. The wind carried with it the scents of burning flesh mixed with the electric tang of something not meant to exist in this world.

I raised a hand, cutting through the tension. "We’re not dead yet. And I have an idea."

As one, the team all turned to me, waiting.

Without further hesitation, I reached into my inventory and decisively pulled out one of my 'good' Skyforge Steel daggers—one of the ones I had been hesitant to use or hand out for fear of accidental harm and, more importantly, due to possible... "catastrophic interactions" with local physics. The blade itself—while beautifully crafted—looked, in every sense, utterly unremarkable. Its steel surface bore the telltale signs of fine Steel Smithing, sturdy and reliable, yet devoid of too much unnecessary ornamentation. This was a weapon meant for utility, not for show. The handle was wrapped in rather plain leather, the grip comfortable but unassuming, designed for the pragmatic warrior who valued function over aesthetics. There was no gleam of enchantment, no hum of magic in the air—only simple, solid, well-tempered metal forged by skilled hands. It was, to any observer, just another dagger—nothing more, nothing less.

And yet, initial appearances could be quite deceiving. Handling the blade with extreme care, I used telekinesis to -- very slowly -- pass it off to Lae'zel.

"Cut a circular platform from the floor. Make it large enough for all of us to stand on."

She frowned. "A platform? What? But--"

Then, she noticed it.

As the blade moved through the air, it left behind a thin black line where the edge had passed. As it turns out, my earlier concerns weren't unjustified: the damn thing wasn’t just slicing through matter—it was cutting space itself. For a breathless moment, the edges of the cut seemed to shimmer, before it quickly, mercifully, sealed itself just as rapidly as it had formed.

Lae’zel’s eyes widened slightly as she stepped back, glancing at the weapon in her grip with shock. "This… is no ordinary blade."

"Nope," I agreed, shaking my head. "I would have preferred to avoid experimenting with such things until we were somewhere safe and not plummeting to our deaths -- but, right now, we really need something capable of cutting through that floor. And time is of the essence. Now, get to it, Lae'zel!"

Snapping out of her shock, Lae'zel, remembering her warrior training, quickly began cutting through the floor. The Nautiloid's reinforced hull provided no resistance whatsoever -- and, in just a few seconds, I was able to seize the resulting hovering platform with my Telekinesis.

"Now, everyone—step on. We’re not going down with the ship."

One by one, the group followed me, stepping onto our very own improvised airship made of Nautiloid hull. Not taking any chances, Lae'zel gently handed the blade back to me, watching warily as the dangerous artifact disappeared back into my storage space. With careful precision, I lifted us away from the bridge of the crashing Nautiloid, just as the ship's final death throes sent it hurtling in a wide downward spiral.

Liberated from the flaming eldritch wreck, we drifted in the refreshing, predawn Sword Coast air, and watched as what was left of the Nautiloid continued its descent toward the distant, rocky coastline below. The ship's flames trailed behind it like banners, the last embers of the great battle that had torn the gargantuan structure apart. The moment stretched, suspended between destruction and survival, between what had been and what was yet to come.

The gentle ocean breeze around us mixed the refreshing scents of the sea with the foreign smells of charred flesh and ozone, while the rising sun on the horizon painted the sky with delicate strokes of pink and gold. For the first time since this madness began, I felt fully in control.

We were flying.

It was beautiful.