Engines ignited with a low roar.
Heat shimmered across the skyport as light surged through the Luxdrives, bringing six airships to life.
The banners of the kingdom and the Church snapped in the wind — white and blue against the darkening sky.
The ground trembled as, one by one, the ships lifted — a slow, rising rhythm of thunder that echoed through the air.
The fleet ascended not in chaos, but in perfect formation.
Three ships at the front — the Blackwing Vanguard — carved the path forward, their hulls armored in blackened, reinforced steel.
The King's ship, a massive white and gold vessel with layered shielding, rose behind them at the center of the formation.
Two more ships flanked the command vessel from the rear.
From a distance, it looked like a spear — sharp, balanced, and deadly.
---
Onboard the Judicator's Wing, the Blackwing Vanguard's flagship, Elira stood near the observation panel of the command deck, her robes quiet in the cold interior air.
Outside the reinforced glass, clouds drifted past like slow-moving spirits.
The soft hum of the engines was broken by the sound of boots on metal.
Footsteps — measured and deliberate — approached from behind.
It was Commander Virell, who walked onto the command deck, her presence sharp and composed.
> "Status report," she said calmly.
One of the officers looked up from a glowing spell chart.
> "All ships holding formation.
Engines stable.
No mana fluctuations in the Luxdrives."
A brief pause.
"We're ready to accelerate."
Commander Virell stepped closer to Elira, her boots echoing softly on the polished deck.
The Saintess stood silently, her eyes half-closed, fingers gently outstretched.
Threads of faint golden light pulsed around her hands, arcane lines drifting and shifting in the air.
> "Saintess," Virell said, voice low and direct. "Which way is it?"
Elira didn't answer at first.
Her eyes remained shut — focused — sensing the divine thread still anchored to the demon's essence.
A few heartbeats passed.
Then she opened her eyes.
> "West.
Still moving fast, but steady.
It hasn't changed course."
Commander Virell nodded once.
> "Signal the fleet," she said sharply, turning to the comms officer.
"All ships to adjust heading due west.
Full speed.
Maintain formation."
The officer moved without hesitation, pulling a lever embedded in the command altar.
Gears shifted.
The hum of divine current rippled through the ship's conduits.
Across the command deck, a row of brass-mounted crystals pulsed to life — each engraved with the seal of a fleet vessel.
Outside, distant lights answered in kind.
One by one, the ships ignited their own signal crystals in return — soft glowing markers of acknowledgment.
Then came the motion.
The vanguard ships tilted forward, engines roaring louder.
Runes along their hulls flared as they surged ahead.
The others followed at once, moving as one — cutting west through the clouds like a blade drawn in silence.
Elira looked toward the clouds beyond the glass.
> "If we maintain this speed, the Goddess's judgment will fall upon it before it can flee again.
This time, there will be no escape."
---
Two days later...
The skies had not known rest.
The fleet flew on — day and night, unbroken — carried westward on roaring Luxdrives and divine purpose.
Clouds broke beneath their hulls.
Mountain ranges faded behind them.
And still, the hunt pressed forward.
They crossed over the sovereign skies of Meridien, a mid-tier kingdom known for its proud border watch and deeply traditional laws.
But no warnings rose from the towers.
No flags of protest flew.
No airships rose to intercept.
Meridien did nothing — not out of ignorance, but out of understanding.
The moment the first airship pierced their border, the royal scouts would've seen the banners:
The crest of the Empire.
The radiant eye of the Luminary Church.
Six ships burning with divine magic — each a moving fortress of judgment.
This was no foreign invasion.
This was a holy pursuit — sanctioned by the Emperor and backed by a sovereign power of the Church.
To challenge that would mean more than war.
It would mean standing in the way of divine wrath.
And no one — not even Meridien, with all its pride — was foolish enough to invite that.
---
On the third day...
The sun rose high, but its light was lost to the thick cloud cover.
Beneath the clouds, a vast and ancient forest stretched endlessly across the land.
Trees rose like pillars of a forgotten world, their canopies tangled in mist and shadow.
The wind whispered through endless green.
And somewhere far beneath the clouds…
It moved.
---
The air was quiet inside the Judicator's Wing, save for the low, steady hum of the Luxdrive.
Elira stood motionless near the center of the command deck — her eyes closed, hands clasped before her as if in silent prayer.
But she wasn't praying.
She was listening.
Listening to the faint pull of the tracking spell — to the pulse of corrupted magic deep within the forest below.
The door behind her hissed open.
Boots on metal.
Commander Virell entered — sharp and silent as always.
Elira didn't move.
She spoke calmly, as though she had already sensed the Commander's arrival.
> "He's slowed down," she said softly.
"Still on the move… but weaker."
Her eyes opened slowly, glowing faintly with divine light.
"If we maintain this pace, we'll be within range by nightfall."
Virell stepped forward, stopping beside her.
Her gaze swept over the forest stretching out below them — miles of mist-choked trees and ancient shadows.
> "Understood."
She turned toward the crew.
> "Maintain current speed. All ships — tight formation.
No flares.
No signal bursts.
Keep us quiet.
If he sees us coming, he might use the Warp Stone again."
The order was relayed instantly.
Officers moved. Crystals lit. Runes pulsed.
> The hunt pressed on.