King Tallerion and most of the sailors in the Velaydian fleet didn’t see a change, but the Stream, but even their miniscule, near-nonexistent spirits felt a pulse run through the water. Something changed, something resonated in the distance, and the runic markings on the chamber doorways along the nearby cliff face lit up with glowing blue light—even their mortal eyes could see the change.
It was done. The Mediator was calling them.
Standing at the railing of his flagship’s quarterdeck, he sucked in a deep breath, then said, “We don’t have enough.”
“A thousand ships is a large fleet,” stated one of his low-aides.
“We will be lucky to break their line of battle,” he said.
“Should I give the order to retreat?” the second low-aide asked. “We can still disband this venture and send the ships back where they came from. There would be time to shore up our defenses and—”
“No,” said King Tallerion. “Hold your heads high. We either die cowering behind our lines, or we die in our ships. On our knees, or on our feet.” He pushed away from the railing and marched to the ship’s coxswains and captain. A troop of navigators emerged from below deck, awaiting orders.
Their hands were trembling.
“You are men of the Royal Velaydian navy, and I am a veteran of the Royal Dragoons,” said King Tallerion softly. “We fight. Raise the flags and drop the sails. It is on the seas of the Shattered Moon that our fate will be decided.”
The coxswains swallowed, and the captain whispered an order to them. They spun the ship’s wheel, angling out toward the open sea and the Stream.
King Tallerion marched out in front of the wheel hub and plucked a brass cone from a hook. He marched to the ship’s main deck, then to the forecastle, and looked over the gathered Velaydian navy. “When I came of age, I swore an oath to this star-nation as a Royal Dragoon!” King Tallerion called. “I swore a second oath twenty three years ago, when I took the crown! Both oaths were to serve my people! Sailors and officers of my navy, you have all taken equal oaths to your ships, to me, and to your people. It is time to fulfill them. We sail to the Shattered Moon, and to immortal glory!”
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“And, with nothing left to lose but a broken heart, the last of my family dead, and my planet going up in flames, I set off to Harvest Sanctuary to see what I could make of the shreds of my life…I have no love for the bluecoats or Karmion, any more than they might love me…” Ameena slurred her words. She barely sat on the barstool anymore, and was more bent in half, leaning on the tavern’s main counter.
Glade and Ameena sat alone at a pop-up establishment near the base of the arena. The establishment was intended for mortal guests, but it was early in the morning, and no one was around to be threatened by their presence—except a single tavern keeper.
Glade nursed a single glass of milk. He couldn’t afford alcohol on the morning before the final fight of the tournament. When he wasn’t taking sips, he set his sword down on his thighs and sharpened it. Half the metal filings, he fed to the swordwyrm, which hovered above the stool on the opposite side of him, and the other half, he slipped into his pouch.
Every time he fed metal filings to the swordwyrm, he passed a loop of Arcara over to it, preparing to advance to Grand Admiral.
His Arcara channels were a spiderweb of hair-thin glass, now. One wrong touch, and they’d disintegrate. Worse, black char built up around the edges, restricting the flow and making each cycle excruciating.
The universe hated his advancement. If he’d been a God-heir pushing himself this hard, he’d have annihilated his spiritual system before now. The only saving grace was his naturally small well of mana, allowing him to stretch further.
But you could only stretch a sliver of butter over so much bread. Eventually, you’d sink the knife in too hard, and the bread would rip.
His Arcara system just had to make it to Grand Admiral, then he could rest.
“Sword-friend,” said the swordwyrm sullenly. Its hilt drooped and its tip angled toward the floor. “Hold together.”
“I will.” Glade reached over and patted it on the crossguard, then hung his head. “We are almost through. We win, we lose…it will be over soon.”
Ameena, who sat on a stool just beside him, leaned over and rested both her arms on his shoulder. Her breath reeked of rum, and she slurred, “I believe in you…he’s got no axe, and he’s got…he’s got you to deal with. You beat me, after all…”
She was only two drinks in, but apparently, lapins got drunk faster than most, not to mention the fact that she was lighter and smaller than most people.
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“Thanks,” Glade whispered back. “I will do my best, but Varion is still strong. And he will recognize my weaknesses. He will seek to exploit my stretched spirit, no doubt.”
The sun was rising. He’d only slept a few hours that night, and though he might have wanted—and needed—more, there was no more time. He pushed himself up, then tucked his sword into his sheath.
He’d almost reached Grand Admiral. He could feel it in his core, in his soul, in his spirit, but nothing happened. It was like a word was on the tip of his tongue, like he was lacking one final push.
“Thank you for the drinks,” he said, then downed the last glug of milk. “No matter what happens…I would not mind hanging out with you again.”
“Yessir,” Ameena slurred, then nudged his shoulder. “Say, you’re actually wanting to…meet me again? I better remember that when the hangover is done.”
“Indeed,” he said, then bowed his head and beckoned for the swordwyrm to follow him. “Thank you for your help and your time—in case we do not meet again.”
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Vayra and Myrrir sprinted back through the tunnels of the Vale Chambers, a horde of magmaspawn tight on their heels. The beasts wanted their Vale Core back.
“Phas, which way at the next intersection?” Vayra shouted. A pair of magmaspawn lumbered into the hallway ahead of them, but she shattered them with a Starlight Palm, sending their debris tumbling across the floor. Myrrir launched an arc of gunpowder backward, disintegrating the nearest magmaspawn, but it barely made a dent in their numbers.
‘Turn left!’ Phasoné said. ‘Then you’ll have a straight shot out to the open air.’
“The same entrance we came from?”
‘The very same!’
“Wonderful!”
Her boots skittered on the floor as she tried to make the turn, but she was moving too fast. She rammed her shoulder into the wall and halted for a second, then kept sprinting. Ahead, a rectangle of light beckoned to then, revealing the outside air. On Barra Secundus, it was hard to tell what time of day, but she guessed it was midday.
“Ready to jump?” she called to Myrrir. He was right behind her.
“Your ship better be where it was when we arrived!”
“We can hope!”
When she reached the final thirty paces to the door, she activated her standard Bracing technique, then sprang from the ledge and lifted the starlight in her channels.
The Harmony looked like only a tiny model in the distance at first, but she crossed the distance with great speed. It had drifted slightly from where they’d left it, and she had to push herself to the side slightly, then cushioned her landing when she arrived on the main deck.
Immediately, she poured a Ward into the boards, preparing for Myrrir to land with a heavy, uncaring impact, but instead, he splashed into the water a few ship lengths behind them, sending up a plume higher than the Harmony’s masts.
“Nice splash,” Vayra muttered.
‘Now’s not the time,’ Phasoné said. ‘Glade’s fight will be starting soon, and we need to get back as soon as we…can…’
As Phasoné trailed off, distant murmurs arose from the crew. Sailors looked up at the sky and pointed, and some began gasping unintelligibly.
A horde of void-borne beasts floated through the void, flying close to the Stream, but only as a general guideline. Most had bodies the size of a small moon, with uncountable eyes on an axehead-shaped head. Thousands of tentacles trailed behind them, whipping through a branch of the Stream and turning it to mist.
They were still hundreds of thousands of miles away, further than the orbit of Barra’s moon, and they were hazy in the sky, but they were there nonetheless, and they were approaching.
The Ko-Ganall—a Commodore’s core gone supernova, its raw strength turned to an aimless beast.
And they were heading straight for the Shattered Moon. Barra was just in the way.
Screams arose from the shoreline villages, and desperate ships sailed for the Stream with half their crew. The local defense forces aimed enormous planetary defense siege mortars up at Stream, as if it might help them. But you couldn’t destroy a giant with a toothpick.
“Myrrir will catch up!” Captain Pels shouted. “Everyone, to your posts! Raise the anchor, full sail! Once we’re on the Stream, we’re faster than them!”
Vayra sprinted back to the quarterdeck. When she arrived, she panted, “Captain, can we outrun the horde? The Harmony barely escaped a single Ko-Ganall last time, when it was Hammontor’s.”
“The Harmony wasn’t in top shape back then,” said Pels. “Today, it is. We’ll reach the Shattered Moon a few hours before they will. Your Velaydian fleet better be ready to lend a hand and evacuate the planet, though. Or we’ll just be postponing our doom, eh?”
When the Harmony reached the Stream, Myrrir caught up. He jumped over the stern railing and landed on the quarterdeck in a crouch. “The ship moved.”
As they ascended the Stream, Vayra clutched the railing. The steadily accelerated, and just in time. The Stream branched, leading away from the Ko-Ganall horde and the Barra System, and Pels directed the ship along it.
All the while, Vayra stood beside Myrrir at the stern railing, watching Barra Secundus. There was nothing they could do for the residents, but she still clenched her fists and shut her eyes when the beasts smashed through the planet like an asteroid hailstorm, tearing it to shreds in a few short seconds and continuing onward.
“When we get to the Shattered Moon,” she said, “we won’t have much time. I’m going to the Cardinal Arrant to steal Karmion’s weapon and free Nathariel. If you’re going to bail, now would be a good time.”
Myrrir snorted. “I…have an idea of what needs doing. But I’m not backing down now. We’ll split ways on the surface, but I imagine we’ll see each other again before the end.”
“Then…thank you for your help, Myrrir,” Vayra said.
“You don’t need to thank me. No amount of good actions can make up for all I’ve done in my life, but I’ll meet my destiny nonetheless.”