Sylvia broke the silence first. "What’s the state of things on your side?"
James exhaled shakily. "Bad. The Human Kingdom’s council is compromised. My master is investigating the Elven Empire’s sudden aggression, but even he doesn’t have answers yet. He said the god-beast might be the catalyst, but it’s not the only factor. Something else is moving the pieces."
"That lines up with what I’ve heard," Sylvia admitted. "The Dominion is mobilizing, but cautiously. No one wants to provoke the Elves into bringing their full force down on us. My master thinks it’s a distraction. A way to keep us focused on the wrong threat."
James felt a pang of guilt at how much he’d leaned on Sylvia’s strength during their journey. "Your master—do they have any idea how to deal with this? With the war, the god-beast, all of it?"
Sylvia hesitated. "Not really. She’s been tight-lipped, but I think she’s waiting for the Elven Avatar to make a move. And James…" Her voice faltered. "You can’t keep fighting like this. You don’t have the strength. None of us do."
"I can’t just sit here!" James snapped, the frustration spilling out. "The god-beast, the war, Thrain—everything’s falling apart, Sylvia. I have to do something."
"What can you do?" she asked, her voice tinged with desperation. "Against all of this, what can any of us do?"
James didn’t have an answer. The rune-stone’s glow flickered, its connection straining as their words hung in the air.
James stared out at the horizon, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. "I’m going back."
"Back?" Her voice was incredulous. "To the island? James, you can’t be serious."
"I am," he said firmly. "I’m not just going to sit here while the Middle Realms fall apart. You’ve heard the rumors, right? The Day of No Sun is coming."
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Sylvia’s breath hitched. "You’re not saying—"
"The Lord of No Sun," James confirmed, his voice grim. "The black dragon of annihilation. The one that can blot out the sky. If the seal weakens, if it rises again… we don’t stand a chance. Not like this. Not with the nations divided."
Sylvia’s voice turned urgent. "James, we don’t even know if that’s true."
"You think this war is a coincidence?" he shot back. "The Elven Empire marching to war, the Human Kingdom’s council compromised, the Avatars scattered… it’s all connected. The Day of No Sun is coming, Sylvia, and the Middle Realms are falling apart at the worst possible time."
"And you think the god-beast is the answer?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.
"It’s the only thing I’ve seen that’s strong enough," James said. "It’s destruction incarnate, yes, but maybe that’s exactly what we need to fight something like the Lord of No Sun if the Avatars. . . .in this war."
Sylvia was silent for a moment, then she said softly, "You’re mad, James."
"Maybe I am," he admitted. "But what other choice do we have? I can’t just do nothing, Sylvia. I have to try."
"Then don’t do it alone," she said quickly. "Let me come with you."
"No." His voice was firm, and he could hear her frustration building on the other end of the connection.
"James, you can’t—"
"I can," he interrupted. "And I will. This is my choice, Sylvia. My burden. I can’t ask you to follow me into that."
"But you’ll ask the god-beast to fight for us?" she countered, her tone sharp.
"Yes," James said simply. "Because it’s our only chance."
Sylvia sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. "Then at least let me help you prepare."
"Help me by staying safe," he said. "Help me by being there when it matters most. When the war reaches its peak, when the Lord of No Sun rises… that’s when we’ll need you."
Her voice cracked again. "James…"
"I’ll be fine," he said, though he wasn’t sure he believed it. "Just trust me."
The connection faltered, the rune-stone’s glow dimming slightly. Sylvia’s final words came through faintly. "Be careful, James. And if you see that thing again… don’t trust it."
The rune-stone went dark, and James was alone once more. He stood, his resolve hardening like steel. The path ahead was treacherous, but he wouldn’t falter. The Middle Realms needed him to try, no matter how impossible the odds.
+
Sylvia sat in her room, her trembling hands still clutching the dimming rune-stone. Its soft light cast a faint glow across the room, though it did little to illuminate the shadows that seemed to press against her from every corner. Her room, once a pristine haven of angelic beauty, had long lost its luster. Golden ornaments hung askew, their surfaces scratched and dull. Magical toys, relics of a childhood burdened with expectation, lay scattered on the floor, their once-perfect forms cracked and broken. The grand tapestry depicting her lineage was torn, the wings of her ancestors frayed and threadbare.
Her wings quivered behind her, feathers ruffling with each shaky breath. She had tried to keep them folded, but they betrayed her, trembling with every surge of emotion. Sylvia closed her eyes, clutching the rune-stone tightly against her chest as if it could steady the storm within her.
"James…" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Forgive me. Forgive me for being too weak to go with you."
She felt tears prick at her eyes but forced them back. Crying wouldn’t help. It hadn’t helped the day she left James behind, and it wouldn’t help now. Yet the image of that… thing—the god-beast—still haunted her. Its molten eyes bore into her soul, unblinking, unfeeling, assessing her as if she were nothing more than a speck of dust in its path.
The fear was still there, wrapping around her like a vice. She could still feel the weight of its gaze, the crushing stillness of its presence. It hadn’t needed to attack them to instill that fear; its very existence was enough.
Sylvia buried her face in her hands, her wings wrapping around her like a protective cocoon. She hated herself. Hated the way she’d turned and run. Hated the way she hadn’t been able to push harder, to demand that James let her come with him.
He’s braver than me. Always has been. The thought twisted like a knife in her chest. He stayed behind, faced that monster alone, and now he’s going back to it. And I… I couldn’t even stand my ground.
Her fingers clenched against her forehead. The trembling of her wings slowed as a darker thought crept into her mind. I don’t deserve to be the next Avatar. Not when I’m this weak. Not when I’m this… useless.
The word hung in her mind like a poison, but then another thought pushed it aside. But James… James isn’t weak. James doesn’t run away. He faces the impossible, even when he’s terrified.
Her breathing quickened as her mind spiraled further. I want to be more like him. I need to be more like him. I need him.
Her hands lowered, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and longing. The fear of failing him. The longing to stand by his side, to prove herself to him. Her thoughts churned, her rationality slipping as obsession took hold. If I can’t be as brave as James, what good am I? If I can’t help him… he’ll leave me behind forever.
That thought galvanized her. Sylvia stood abruptly, her wings spreading wide despite the confines of the room. Feathers fell from her wings as she moved, the remnants of her time spent wallowing in despair. For the first time in what felt like days, she strode toward the doors of her room.
Her trembling hands gripped the golden handles. She hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. Then she yanked them open, the light of the Celestial Abode spilling into her darkened chamber. The brightness burned her eyes, but she welcomed it. She stepped out, the sound of her boots on the marble floor echoing through the gilded halls.
The resolve she felt in that moment was like a flame, fragile but fierce. Sylvia was done hiding. Done cowering. She would do her part, and she would not disappoint him when he returned.
The flame of her resolve, however, was nearly extinguished by the deafening boom that shook the entire Celestial Abode. Sylvia staggered, her wings flaring instinctively to balance herself. A deep rumble resonated through the flying castle, shaking the very foundation of the angels’ sanctuary.
The piercing wail of a warning horn blared through the air, its sound cutting through the chaos.
"We are under attack!" The voice came from the First Knight of the Angels, a towering figure clad in gleaming armor, his shout reverberating through the halls.
Sylvia rushed to the nearest window, her breath catching as she looked outside. The golden spires of the Celestial Abode shimmered in the fading light, but the sky was darkening unnaturally. Shadows filled the air—wyverns, chimeras, and lesser dragons circling like vultures. Their roars filled the sky, drowning out the cries of the angelic defenders scrambling to take flight.
And at the center of it all, a figure stood atop a massive golden dragon. Fafnir. The name sprang unbidden to Sylvia’s mind. One of the six dragon kings. A creature on par with the Avatars.
The figure on its back was cloaked, their identity obscured. The figure raised a hand, and Fafnir let out a roar so powerful it sent shockwaves through the air, scattering a group of angelic knights attempting to advance.
Sylvia’s hands gripped the windowsill, her knuckles white. Her wings trembled again, this time with a mix of fear and fury. The Celestial Abode, the very heart of angelic power, was under siege. The sanctity of their home was being torn apart.
Her gaze shifted to the figure atop Fafnir, her mind racing. Who are they? Why would they attack now? Is this connected to the war… or the god-beast?
The First Knight’s voice rang out again, commanding the angelic defenders. "Stand your ground! Protect the Avatar! No retreat!"
Sylvia stepped back from the window, her heart pounding. She had resolved to stand strong, but the weight of the situation was suffocating. The god-beast’s power had shaken her to her core, but this… this was something else entirely.
And yet, James’s voice echoed in her mind. His calm determination, his willingness to face the impossible. What would James do?
Her wings spread wide, and she forced herself to take a deep breath. The fear didn’t fade, but she refused to let it paralyze her again. Sylvia turned away from the window and headed toward the source of the commotion. Whatever was coming, she wouldn’t run.
Not this time.