They didn't have to go far.
Aldric and the cultist had barely crossed half the ruined dock when the warehouse doors shifted.
And she stepped out.
Lyriana.
Unharmed. Unbothered.
Three metal containers floated behind her, suspended in controlled strands of blood—steady, precise.
Aldric stopped, his brows drawing together slightly.
"What took you so long?"
There was no edge to it, but it wasn't casual either.
Lyriana didn't slow. She didn't even look at him at first.
"I didn't walk in and have them handed to me."
Flat. Matter-of-fact.
"I had to find them."
The containers drifted past him, gliding into the ship's rear entrance.
One after another.
A heavy impact echoed as each settled into place.
Aldric watched them, then gave a small nod.
"Alright."
That was it. No argument. No push.
The result was there.
Behind them, the cultist stepped closer, her eyes moving between the containers, counting.
"With these…"
A pause.
"That makes eight boxes of mana ore."
Her tone carried quiet satisfaction—measured, prepared.
Lyriana stepped onto the ramp, her constructs dissolving as the containers fully settled into place.
The cultist continued, already thinking ahead.
"That should be enough to sustain long-range travel, if managed correctly."
Aldric leaned lightly against the side of the entrance, arms loose.
"Yeah."
A brief pause.
"As long as nothing drains it dry."
Lyriana said nothing.
The last container settled fully.
Heavy. Secure.
The hum of stored mana deepened within the ship's core—quiet, but steady.
Everything they needed was here now.
Aldric pushed off the entrance and stepped inside without another word.
The cultist followed, already calculating.
Lyriana came last, her expression unchanged, as if the ruined port behind them didn't exist.
The hatch began to close.
Slow. Deliberate.
With a final heavy thud, it sealed.
Inside, the airship felt different.
Heavier. Complete.
At the rear, Vaelith sat exactly where she had remained the entire time—still, composed.
Both babies rested quietly in her arms, undisturbed by everything that had happened.
Her gaze lifted slightly as the others entered—acknowledging, not questioning.
The pilot stood near the controls, watching them in careful silence.
His hand moved, securing the final latch.
Locking them in.
Behind them, far back at the warehouse, silence reigned.
The cages that had once been filled now stood empty.
Doors hung open. Chains lay loose.
No bodies. No prisoners.
Nothing.
Only absence.
And deeper within, beyond where Lyriana had stood, a tunnel—rough, freshly carved—led away from the warehouse, disappearing into darkness.
Unseen. Unknown.
Back on the airship, Aldric glanced once toward Vaelith.
"We're set."
Simple. Direct.
Lyriana said nothing, moving further inside.
The cultist lingered near the containers, still thinking, still planning.
Vaelith adjusted her hold on the children slightly, calm as ever.
"Then we wait."
Her voice was soft, certain.
"Twenty minutes."
A brief pause.
"My lord will arrive."
The ship stilled—not from lack of motion, but from anticipation.
Everything was ready.
Fuel. Control. Position.
All of it.
Now, they were waiting for the one thing that mattered most.
And somewhere far from them, deep in the mountains, he was already moving.
The airship creaked softly as it hovered above the ruined dock.
Time passed.
Too much of it.
Aldric exhaled sharply, pacing once before stopping.
"How long is it going to take?"
No answer.
He clicked his tongue.
"Twenty minutes, my ass."
His gaze shifted toward Vaelith, then back to the sealed hatch.
"That's long past."
A pause. Frustration creeping in.
"What the hell is he doing?"
He turned slightly, his voice rising just enough.
"Do we need to go pick him up ourselves?"
"Will you shut it already?"
Lyriana's voice cut through him—flat, sharp.
Aldric stilled, then slowly turned.
She didn't even look at him.
"You can't stay quiet for five minutes?"
A beat.
"Or is that beyond you?"
Silence.
The cultist didn't move, though her eyes flicked between them.
The pilot remained facing forward, hands steady—but he heard everything.
Aldric stared at Lyriana, his brows lowering.
"Lyriana, you don't talk to me like that."
His tone dropped. Not loud, but edged.
"And this isn't on me."
He stepped forward.
"The plan was simple."
A pause.
"Find the airship. Move."
His jaw tightened.
"And we've been doing that for a day."
Another beat.
"We're wasting time."
Lyriana finally turned her head, just slightly.
Her eyes met his.
Cold. Steady.
"We don't leave without His Highness."
No hesitation. No room for argument.
"Even if it takes days."
Silence settled again.
Aldric held her gaze for a moment, then exhaled through his nose.
"Don't get too caught up in that."
Quiet. A warning, left unfinished.
The tension lingered—unresolved.
Then, far from them, at the edge of the ruined port—
Movement.
Draven stepped out of the forest.
The others followed behind him.
Lucien slowed slightly, his eyes scanning the familiar destruction.
"This is it."
His voice was low, certain.
Tharic frowned. "Huh?"
Lucien gestured ahead.
"This is where they brought us."
A pause.
"After we were captured."
His gaze lingered on the airship in the distance.
"By air."
Kaelira tilted her head.
"Captured?"
A faint smirk.
"You two?"
Lucien didn't respond.
Seryna glanced at her, still carrying the half-demon girl.
"How did you end up there?"
Kaelira shrugged lightly, her tone casual.
"Sold."
A beat.
"By the people I worked with."
Her tail flicked once.
"Guess I wasn't worth much loyalty."
Silence.
Tharic spoke next, grounded.
"Debt."
A pause.
"Couldn't pay it."
His grip tightened slightly.
"So they paid it with me."
Lucien's sister said nothing, though her gaze shifted, taking it all in.
Seryna exhaled softly.
"I was caught."
Her tone remained even.
"During a job."
A beat.
"Didn't go as planned."
Silence followed—not heavy, just understood.
None of them had ended up there by accident.
Draven didn't comment.
Didn't react.
His eyes were already on the airship.
Measuring. Confirming.
Then he moved.
Straight toward it.
No hesitation. No announcement.
The others followed.
Because whatever came next—
was already waiting.
The control deck flickered to life.
A small viewing screen linked to the ship's outer sensors shifted, then stabilized.
Figures appeared, moving through the ruined port.
The cultist leaned forward first, her eyes narrowing—then widening slightly.
"Look."
A pause.
"The Lord has arrived."
Silence.
Everyone turned.
Aldric stepped closer, his eyes locking onto the screen.
He saw them.
Draven in front. The others behind him.
His expression shifted instantly.
"What the hell is he doing?"
His brows pulled together.
"He was supposed to get information from the kid…"
A beat.
"Not bring him back…"
His gaze tracked the group, counting.
"And his entire damn family."
A sharp exhale.
"What the hell…"
Behind him, the pilot stood frozen, eyes fixed on the screen.
Watching. Thinking.
The one they'd been waiting for…
Which one is it?
His thoughts raced.
They called him "Lord"… so he's male…
His gaze shifted across the figures, analyzing.
Then it stopped.
On Tharic.
Weapon in hand. Posture solid.
That one…?
Aldric's voice cut through his thoughts instantly.
"What the hell are you staring at?"
Sharp. Irritated.
The pilot flinched, snapping out of it.
"Lower the damn thing."
No room to think. No room to hesitate.
"Y-yes, sir!"
His hands moved quickly, adjusting the controls, mana flowing into the system.
The ship responded.
A low hum deepened.
Then it descended.
Slow. Controlled.
The ground rose closer, the ruined dock coming into full view.
At the rear, mechanisms shifted.
Locks disengaged with a sharp click.
The back latch released.
Then the ramp lowered—heavy, deliberate—opening the ship to them.
Inside, Aldric crossed his arms, watching the screen one last time before turning toward the entrance.
Lyriana stood silent. Unmoving.
But her eyes had already shifted.
Focused.
Waiting.
Because now—
he was here.
And whatever came next—
wouldn't be quiet.