The ramp settled into place with a heavy, grounded thud.
Dust shifted beneath it, disturbed by the weight.
The space between ship and ground lay open—waiting.
Draven didn't slow. He didn't pause to assess.
He stepped onto the ramp as if it had always been his destination.
His boots made no sound. His pace didn't change.
Behind him, Lucien hesitated for half a second, his eyes flicking up toward the massive structure towering above them. Then he followed.
Tharic came next, his grip still firm on his weapon.
Kaelira moved with a faint smirk, completely unbothered.
Seryna followed, still carrying the half-demon girl, steady despite everything.
Lucien's sister walked last—silent, observant.
The moment Draven crossed into the ship, the air changed.
Not physically.
But in presence.
Aldric stood near the entrance, arms crossed, waiting.
"Took you long enough."
His tone was casual—but not relaxed.
His gaze shifted past Draven, landing on the others.
Counting.
Judging.
"And what is this?" he added, tilting his head slightly. "You started a collection?"
Draven didn't answer.
He didn't even look at him.
He walked past—straight inside, as if Aldric wasn't there.
That alone said enough.
Aldric's brow twitched.
"Oi."
A pause.
"Just going to ignore me?"
Still, no response.
Draven stopped only when he reached the center of the hold.
Then he turned.
Slowly.
Crimson eyes settling on Aldric.
"Got what I needed."
Flat. Final.
A beat.
"And they're coming."
Silence fell instantly.
The words landed heavy.
Aldric's expression shifted—subtle, but real.
"They?"
Draven didn't elaborate.
He didn't need to.
Lyriana understood first.
Her gaze sharpened.
"Empire."
One word. Enough.
The cultist stiffened.
The pilot froze, unease creeping back into his chest.
Aldric exhaled low.
"Of course they are."
A faint grin touched his lips—but there was no humor in it.
"So we're out of time."
Draven didn't confirm. Didn't deny.
He simply turned away, already done with the conversation.
That was answer enough.
Vaelith's voice came softly from the rear.
"Then we leave."
Calm. Certain. Without hesitation.
The airship responded almost immediately, as if the decision itself had triggered motion.
The hum deepened.
Mana flowed. Engines aligned.
The ramp began to rise.
With a heavy final impact, it sealed them in once more.
No more delays. No more waiting.
Outside, the ruined port shrank beneath them as the ship began to ascend.
Slow at first.
Then faster.
Pulling away.
Because whatever was coming—
they had no intention of being there when it arrived.
The airship climbed higher.
The port below became nothing more than broken shapes and scattered embers.
Inside the control deck, the pilot's hands moved steadily across the controls. Mana flowed through the system, guiding their ascent with precision.
There was no room for mistakes now.
Beside the glass, Lyriana stood still, looking down.
Watching what they were leaving behind.
Her expression didn't change.
Not even slightly.
Her arm lifted—slow, controlled.
Mana flowed.
Not in bursts, but shaped. Refined.
Outside the ship, the air shifted.
Then blood formed.
From nothing. From remnants. From what still lingered below.
Multiple constructs took shape—sharp, dense—hovering in the air beside the ship.
They held for half a second.
Then her fingers moved.
And they fell.
Fast.
Like a storm of blades.
They struck the remaining ships.
Piercing.
Tearing.
And then—
explosions.
Fire erupted—one after another, then all at once.
The blasts chained together, engulfing the dock, the warehouse, everything that remained.
Flames swallowed it whole.
Smoke surged upward, thick and violent, erasing the last trace of what had been there.
Inside, the pilot didn't stop.
Didn't react outwardly.
But his eyes shifted, just slightly, catching it from the corner of his vision.
Seeing.
Understanding.
No evidence. No survivors.
His grip tightened briefly—then steadied.
Now he knew exactly what kind of people he was flying.
Silence filled the control deck.
Heavy.
Then his voice came, careful, measured.
"So…"
A small pause.
"Where are we going?"
No one answered.
The quiet stretched.
He hesitated, then glanced sideways.
Lyriana stood beside the glass, the reflection of fading flames behind her.
"…Where are we going?" he asked again, quieter this time.
Lyriana turned slightly. The small slime rested calmly in her arm.
Her gaze met his.
"North."
Flat. Clear.
That was enough.
The pilot didn't question it.
His hands moved, adjusting their course. Mana shifted through the system.
The ship responded instantly, tilting before stabilizing.
Heading north.
Away from everything.
Inside the ship, Draven stood before Vaelith.
Still. Watching.
The babies rested in her arms, peaceful and undisturbed, as if nothing had happened—like the world hadn't burned behind them.
Draven reached up and pulled back his hood.
His face was revealed.
Calm now.
Softened.
For the first time in a while.
He stepped closer.
"Still sleeping."
His voice was quiet, almost gentle.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Not even worried about your big brother."
A small movement came from the blankets.
Subtle.
Then a black cat slipped out, its eyes glowing faintly purple.
It stared at him for a brief moment—
then leapt.
Landing cleanly against him, climbing up his chest, rubbing against his face, licking insistently.
Draven blinked, glancing sideways at it.
"Is that supposed to be a welcome?"
Flat. Unimpressed.
The cat meowed, completely ignoring him.
It climbed higher, settling comfortably on his head.
As if it belonged there.
Draven didn't move it. Didn't argue.
He just exhaled quietly.
At that moment, the cultist entered quickly, relief evident in her movement.
"My lord—"
She stopped just short of him, her eyes scanning him over, confirming.
"…you've returned."
A breath escaped her that she hadn't realized she was holding.
"I was worried."
A pause.
"You took too long."
Her gaze lowered slightly.
"…and they placed a mana collar on you."
Draven glanced at her.
Then, without a word, his hand moved.
Space shifted.
The artifact appeared in his grasp.
The air changed instantly.
Everyone in the room felt it.
Subtle—but undeniable.
Something important.
Something dangerous.
Vaelith's eyes lifted slightly.
Lyriana, from across the ship, stilled.
Even Aldric's attention shifted.
Draven raised it slightly, calm.
"This is why."
A beat.
"It's an artifact that opens portals."
His gaze moved across them, measuring.
"Creates spatial magic circles."
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Because they understood immediately.
Movement without ships.
Travel without limits.
Control.
Advantage.
Aldric let out a low whistle.
"Well."
A faint grin returned.
"Guess that explains it."
Vaelith adjusted the children slightly, her expression unchanged—but thoughtful.
The cultist stared, barely containing the shift in her breathing.
Because this wasn't just useful.
It changed everything.
Draven lowered his hand slightly, the artifact still humming faintly in his grip.
And for the first time since they boarded—
they weren't just leaving.
They were advancing.