Another day had passed.
Trafalgar stood alone on the upper deck of the flying ship, arms resting lazily against the cold metal railing. The wind whipped against his face, bringing with it the sharp bite of colder climates ahead. Off in the distance, massive white-capped mountains stretched like jagged claws against the horizon.
They had entered Morgain territory.
Hovering not far from the ship, Valttair flew astride his enormous wyvern—wings wide, body coiling in mid-air like a shadow across the clouds. Every now and then, the beast would land heavily on a flat platform built into the ship's deck, large enough to hold its weight.
'There's actually a damn landing pad for these things… incredible. Guess this isn't your average flying boat.'
He glanced at the wyvern again, resting now while Valttair sat silent in the saddle, unmoving.
Trafalgar turned his gaze back to the snowy mountains ahead.
'If my bloodline is Primordial... does that mean I'm not really a Morgain?'
