The flight over the Outer Wastes became a desperate aerial dogfight. The Hunter-Class interceptor, bearing the white and gold of House Solstus, was dangerously close. Lyra, though a scholar, flew with a desperate, intuitive mastery, weaving the ship through the harsh, high-altitude winds.
Elias climbed into the tight space of the ion-cannon turret, bracing himself. He felt the sickening lurch of the ship as Lyra executed a daring, gut-wrenching turn. He felt the surge of terror and concentration from her.
Three hundred meters! Closing fast! Lyra warned. They are arming the disruptor cannon!
"Give me a clean shot!" Elias yelled, his hands clamped around the cannon controls.
Lyra slammed the interceptor into a steep, nose-down dive, then executed a violent braking maneuver. The Hunter-Class overshot them by fifty meters.
Now! Lyra projected.
Elias fired the ion cannon. The bolt of focused, blue energy screamed across the gap and slammed into the Hunter-Class's left wing, tearing through the Aether shielding. The ship exploded in a brilliant flash of light, sending debris spiraling into the sands below.
The explosion's shockwave rattled their ship violently. Lyra gasped, the physical stress of the maneuver and the near-miss slamming into Elias.
"We lost them," Elias muttered, returning to the cockpit, his shoulder screaming in protest. He found Lyra slumped over the controls, breathing heavily.
"No," Lyra whispered, shaking her head. "We only lost the hunter. My father will send a squadron now. We have to reach the Peaks before they mobilize."
Lyra set the ship on a direct course for the Northern Peaks, a rugged mountain range that cut across the heart of Aerthos. The change in climate was instantaneous; the dry heat of the Wastes was replaced by biting, frigid air and clouds thick with crystallized water vapor.
Elias began to treat his shoulder wound—a severe dislocation he managed to reset, the agonizing pain flashing through the link and momentarily dropping Lyra into a sweat-soaked pallor.
"You need rest," Elias stated, watching her struggle to maintain control. "I will take the controls."
"I can't," Lyra insisted, her mind stubbornly pushing through the pain. I memorized the high-altitude routes—the Ascendant ships use a specific magnetic lock-path to avoid the old, volatile Sky-Weaver shrines. If we deviate, we risk triggering ancient, unpredictable wards.
Elias looked at her, his heart heavy. She was willing to endure his raw physical agony just to guide them to the Blade.
He moved behind her pilot seat, ignoring his own discomfort. He began gently massaging the tension from her neck and shoulders, focusing the intent of comfort and support through the Binding. He felt the immediate calming response from her.
Lyra, he projected, his mental voice soft. You are pushing yourself to the brink. I need you focused, not exhausted.
I know, she projected back, leaning into his touch. But I also feel the warmth of your concern, Elias. It is the only thing that keeps the terror of the Memory-Crystal from consuming me.
Their forced proximity in the cramped cockpit, coupled with the constant stream of shared thought, made their emotional bond inescapable. Lyra's attraction to his protective strength, and Elias's love for her fierce intellect, were now the dominant background notes to their tactical exchange.
Lyra broke the silence, her eyes fixed on the controls. "We found the path to the Blade, Elias. But we never discussed the aftermath. If we retrieve the Nullifier Blade... and we manage to stop my father... what do we do with the choice it offers?"
Elias hesitated, his fingers still tracing the lines of her neck. "The choice is freedom, Lyra. It's the chance to live without sharing every breath, every fear, every moment of pain."
"But is it freedom," she countered softly, "if it means losing the one person who truly sees you? You are the only person who knows the depth of my family's shame, and I am the only person who knows the wound of your past."
Elias realized the true, terrifying paradox of the Binding. The magic that had enslaved them was also the magic that had liberated them from their own solitude.
He leaned forward, resting his cheek against her hair. "Then we don't choose until the choice is necessary," he murmured, his physical proximity a silent vow. "We retrieve the Blade. We save Aerthos. And then we face the future together, whatever form that takes."
The conversation was an unspoken promise: they would approach the ultimate weapon, the means of their separation, not with the intent of using it, but with the necessary strength to resist it, if their love was true.