Four days ago, in Heful…

  The sun had barely risen, casting golden rays across the misty hills of Heful. Outside the manor, dew clung to the grass like crystal dust. Birds chirped faintly in the distance as Andrea stood at the front door, arms folded tight, lips pressed in that familiar motherly pout.

  Eryndor and Ziraiah stood before her, dressed for the journey.

  Eryndor wore a sleek black trench coat that stopped just above the knees, layered over matching tactical trousers laced with pocket loops, buckles, and compartments built for tools and scrolls. A silver pendant hung around his neck—their house emblem.

  Ziraiah had opted for forest-green cargo trousers with reinforced fabric seams, and a tight black combat top that left her arms free. A subtle armor weave glinted under her sleeves. On the back of both their outfits, stitched in glowing thread, was their family crest: a circular insignia reminiscent of ancient runes—intricate, spiraling designs. Its lines intertwined like vines and lightning, surrounding a symbol of three stars piercing upward through a sword hilt.

  Each of them carried a compact backpack slung over one shoulder.

  Andrea stepped forward and pulled them both into a long hug. “You have the address, right?” she asked.

  “Yes, Aunty Ann,” Eryndor replied, smiling.

  They turned and waved goodbye to Stereen and the other staff watching quietly from the hall.

  “Be careful,” Andrea said, her voice catching a little. “Don’t pick fights... and do your best to win that thing. Then come home.”

  Ziraiah smiled and nodded. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”

  Andrea hugged Ziraiah again, holding her tighter this time. “My baby’s all grown up. Take care of yourself, alright?”

  As they stepped onto the front lawn, the quiet was broken by a voice shouting from afar.

  “Wait!”

  They turned. Isabela was sprinting up the hill in a rush, with Juvian right behind her. Both were dressed in travel gear—tactical vests, reinforced boots, utility belts, and adventure trousers just like Eryndor and Ziraiah.

  Ziraiah raised a brow. “How did you even know we were leaving?”

  Isabela skidded to a stop and caught her breath. “Well... Aunty Ann told our mom. And we may or may not have overheard them talking.”

  Juvian crossed his arms. “You were seriously going to leave us behind while you go on an adventure? I’m hurt.”

  Eryndor narrowed his eyes. “Are you even cognisant of our destination?”

  Isabela grinned. “Of course.”

  Eryndor gave a sceptical look. “And your parents simply acquiesced to your departure?”

  Isabela’s smile froze. “Weeeeeell...”

  Juvian chimed in with a shrug. “Mom said no. Then she blackmailed Dad. But once he heard you were going, he figured we’d be safe.”

  Ziraiah blinked. “You do realize we’re flying, right? How exactly were you planning to come with us?”

  “Just cast Float on us,” Isabela said, waving it off like it was nothing. “Not hard, right?”

  Andrea’s voice came from behind, stern and loud. “I hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking...”

  Isabela leaned toward Ziraiah and whispered, “Do it quick—just snap your fingers and let’s get out of here.”

  Ziraiah hesitated. “She’s going to be really mad.”

  Isabela smirked. “We’ll handle that when we get back. Just do it!”

  Ziraiah sighed, then snapped her fingers.

  BOOM.

  A shockwave pulsed through the air as Isabela, Juvian, and Ziraiah launched into the sky—rocketing upward in a sonic streak of light.

  Andrea’s voice boomed from the porch. “ISABELAAAAA!!!”

  Then—

  BOOM.

  Eryndor soared up after them, trench coat flapping violently behind him as he disappeared into the clouds.

  Andrea rushed out onto the grass, hands on her head, watching their glowing trails vanish into the sky.

  She stood there, silent for a moment.

  Then muttered under her breath:

  “...Those damn kids.”

  ---

  Eryndor, Ziraiah, Isabela, and Juvian soared through the skies, streaks of color against the vast dome of stars. Eryndor quickly caught up and took the lead, wind curling around his black trench coat. Behind him, Ziraiah laughed as Isabela screamed with joy.

  “Woooooah! Flying is so good!” Isabela shouted, grinning ear to ear.

  “I know, right?” Ziraiah called back, equally thrilled.

  “I can take it from here,” said Juvian confidently.

  Ziraiah nodded and released her float spell on him. Juvian muttered his own incantation and began flying under his own power.

  They flew as a unit—two Combat Mages, one Augmenter, and one Caster—toward their destination: Pilgrims’ Row 87. It was one of many official staging grounds scattered across Yardrad and neighboring continents, where challengers would gather to be transported to Plunder Island.

  The journey took eighteen straight hours. They passed over forests, mountains, and kingdoms, watching civilization fall away beneath them as they entered the harsh expanse of No Man’s Land. Finally, just before dawn, with twin moons still hanging over the horizon, they arrived.

  Pilgrims’ Row 87 was nestled among craggy rock outcrops and patches of dry plains. Despite its remote location, the site was teeming with life. Dozens of races milled about—tall horned beings, scaled reptilian nomads, silent masked figures, all gathered with the same goal.

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  Ziraiah landed and looked around, eyes wide. “Whoa... there are a lot of people here.”

  Juvian nodded, equally amazed. “Look at all the different races.”

  Ziraiah smirked. “Haven’t you seen other races before?”

  Juvian rubbed the back of his neck. “Nope. We’ve never left Zitry.”

  Nearby, two massive Wavers stood waiting—sleek, high-tech wavecrafts, each fifty meters long and four meters wide. Each had fifty reinforced seats, clearly built to carry combatants of all sizes. A Reliard official with a microphone stepped forward and barked, “We depart in two hours!”

  Ziraiah nudged Eryndor with a proud grin. “See? Told you leaving early was smart.”

  Eryndor gave a slight shrug. “I hadn’t anticipated the distance to be quite so extensive.”

  “Anyway,” she said, stretching, “let’s find a room.”

  They headed toward one of the four large lodges provided for challengers. The buildings were lined with metal frames and glowing veins of energy. Eryndor walked up to a door and tapped his red access card against it. The door blinked and opened with a smooth hiss.

  Juvian narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been here before?”

  Eryndor replied evenly, “No. The card was dispatched to me subsequent to my payment for the journey.”

  Ziraiah held up her own red card. “Same here.” She walked to another door, tapped it, and disappeared inside.

  Inside Eryndor and Juvian’s room, the interior gleamed. It had high ceilings, polished obsidian floors, and walls with embedded soft-light glyphs. The bedroom held a king-sized bed fitted with adaptive cushioning. A full-body mirror stood beside a sleek obsidian desk. In the corner, a floating Seer unit hovered silently. The bathroom was luxurious, with an automated cleansing pool and sonic dryers.

  Juvian whistled. “How does a place this nice exist in the middle of nowhere?”

  Meanwhile, in Ziraiah’s room, Isabela had already faceplanted into the bed. “This mattress… it's like it was made for queens! The people funding this must be swimming in gold.”

  The Seer unit blinked on. Balling’s smiling face appeared.

  “Thank you for booking Plunder Hotel. We hope you enjoy our services—we are, of course, the very best. Also, please be sure to be ready at departure. Wouldn’t want to waste your money, now would you?”

  Then it blinked off.

  Two hours later, all the challengers lined up at the Waver loading docks. Ziraiah, now in queue, tugged on Eryndor’s coat. “Hey, hey, look—Eryndor, that guy over there.”

  Eryndor turned. A short figure stood in the opposite line. He was just under six feet, dressed plainly, with no pointed ears. His posture was relaxed, yet firm.

  “No discernible mana signature,” Eryndor muttered. “That individual must be human…”

  “But how, pray tell, did he traverse No Man’s Land and emerge unscathed?” Eryndor said, incredulity laced beneath his measured tone.

  “I wonder too,” Ziraiah replied, eyes narrowing. “He looks so normal.”

  Eryndor and Ziraiah stepped forward and showed their red cards. The guard scanned their cards with a handheld device, nodded, and gestured them through. As they moved toward the Waver’s entrance, Isabela and Juvian followed—only to be stopped by a the same guard who raised a hand.

  “Cards?” he asked.

  Juvian blinked. “Uh…”

  Isabela tried her most innocent smile. “We’re with them.”

  “They don’t have cards,” the guard said flatly.

  Eryndor turned, already anticipating the situation. He stepped back toward the guard, retrieved his card, and held it up with poise.

  “They are under my aegis,” Eryndor stated smoothly. “I shall assume responsibility for their passage.”

  The guard eyed him, then placed a scanning device over Eryndor’s card. A soft chime rang out, and the screen flashed green.

  “Confirmed. You may enter.”

  The four of them walked down the boarding ramp into the Waver. The inside was sleek and metallic, with rows of reinforced seats sized to accommodate even larger beings. Each seat had thick belts and mana-dampening insulation panels.

  They buckled in.

  At the front of the Waver stood a Reliard woman in a navy-blue uniform. Her voice was calm and practiced as she spoke into a projection orb.

  “Welcome, challengers. This journey will be a nonstop, 62-hour flight. If you wish to use the bathroom or handle any personal needs, now is the time. You have fifteen minutes.”

  Ziraiah’s mouth dropped open. “Sixty-two hours? Damn.”

  She, Isabela, and Juvian quickly unbuckled and left to use the facilities. Eryndor stayed seated, eyes calmly scanning the chamber.

  Fifteen minutes later, all passengers were back in their seats. The Waver’s doors sealed with a hydraulic hiss. A low hum filled the chamber as the engines activated, sending a subtle vibration through the floor. The vessel began to rise slowly, its anti-gravity cores glowing faintly beneath the floorboards.

  Eryndor and Isabela sat side by side, while Ziraiah and Juvian sat side by side behind them.

  Isabela looked out the reinforced window, eyes shimmering with childlike awe. The clouds parted as they ascended higher and higher.

  Eryndor noticed her expression and offered a faint, knowing smile. “Is this your inaugural voyage aboard a Waver?”

  “Yes,” she replied, unable to look away. “The only one I’ve ever seen was Uncle Pungence’s. But I never got to ride it.”

  Eryndor arched a brow, his tone laced with incredulity. “How is it that the royal family lacks one?”

  Isabela shrugged. “These things aren’t just expensive—they’re rare. Most nobles only see them during state travel. And even then, they’re not as advanced as this.”

  She turned back to Eryndor, eyes curious. “So… what’s your brother like?”

  Eryndor’s smile thinned into something more complicated. He looked out the window for a moment, then back at her.

  “He is irresponsible. Careless. Irritating. Impertinent. And, most of all—vulgar.”

  Isabela blinked, surprised. “Sounds like the complete opposite of you.”

  Eryndor gave a quiet, sardonic laugh. “At times, I find myself questioning how we emerged from the same womb.”

  ---

  The Waver tore through the sky at sonic speed, ascending higher and higher, its silver hull cutting through cloud layers like a blade of light. The cabin lights dimmed, allowing the view outside to glow in full majesty through the panoramic glass that wrapped along the vessel’s flanks.

  Ziraiah, Juvian, Isabela, and Eryndor leaned toward their windows, their eyes wide with silent awe.

  The world of Yilheim stretched beneath them—a breathtaking canvas of the impossible.

  They soared above kingdoms and mountains, past thunderclouds that sparked with streaks of golden lightning, through veils of mist that shimmered like moonlight. As they rose further, the land below began to blur—like a living painting melting into divine abstraction.

  And then…

  A vast expanse of water came into view—but it was in the sky.

  An ocean, suspended above the land, rippling gently as if gravity dared not touch it.

  Isabela gasped. “How is the ocean in the sky…?”

  No one answered. There were no words.

  They passed over the Floating Ocean, its waves flowing in slow motion, schools of skyfish swimming beneath the surface like glowing threads of silver. Great flying beasts danced above it—some with crystal wings that refracted the morning light into a thousand colors, others resembling manta rays the size of castles, their underbellies lined with softly pulsing lights. One creature resembled a massive feathered serpent, scales like polished emerald, weaving silently between clouds.

  Juvian leaned forward. “Look at that cloud!”

  They all turned to see it—a cloud shaped like a person, walking slowly through the sky with arms outstretched. It shimmered faintly, almost conscious, as if watching over Yilheim.

  They pierced through more layers of cloud, and as they ascended, they saw a waterfall—but it was rising, not falling, the water pulled upward into the sky like a reversed miracle. It flowed directly into a floating island overhead.

  And what an island it was.

  Surrounded by a glowing ring of aquamarine water that hovered in the air like a halo, the floating island held forests of sapphire trees, whose leaves sparkled with mana crystals. A series of bluish rivers coursed across its surface, glowing like veins of magic. In the center of the island, a lake as clear as glass reflected the stars still visible in the early dawn sky.

  On another island in the distance, lava flowed—but not with violence. It streamed in graceful arcs, illuminating the air with its gentle crimson glow, pooling into a molten lake nestled between obsidian cliffs. The heat didn't radiate like destruction—it pulsed like a heartbeat.

  Below them, they glimpsed still more—rivers of light, winding through canyons, plains of floating crystal platforms, and massive stone rings rotating slowly in the sky as if time itself had sculpted them for some forgotten ritual.

  Ziraiah pressed her hand to the glass. “This… this doesn’t feel real.”

  Eryndor said nothing. Even he, ever composed, could only watch in reverent silence.

  It was Yilheim—unbound by logic, alive with wonder, painted by gods.

  And this was only the journey to the island.

  ---

  To Be Continued...