Kite’s body swayed slightly atop Liora’s shoulders, her strong stance and steady gait making it look effortless as she carried him through the crowded dining hall. The air was alive with boisterous laughter, the clinking of mugs, and the rich aroma of seared meats, roasted vegetables, and enchanted elixirs that glowed faintly in glass bottles.


    Above, floating lanterns flickered, their soft golden glow casting dancing shadows along the wooden walls of the ship. The massive dining hall, carved from reinforced sky-oak, stretched wide, its ceilings held up by ornate beams decorated with mystical runes that pulsed faintly with magic.


    All around, sailors, traders, and mercenaries feasted and bartered over rare goods, their voices blending into a chaotic yet strangely harmonious symphony of life. Felix grinned as he caught up to them, giving Kite a playful nudge as he walked beside Liora. “Not bad, huh? First day here, and you’re already getting carried around like royalty.”


    Kite blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected gesture. Then, with a mischievous smirk, he lounged dramatically across Liora’s shoulders, stretching his arms behind his head.


    “I mean, I am kind of a big deal,” he quipped, smugly glancing down at Felix. “Might as well get used to the VIP treatment.”


    Felix barked a laugh, while Liora rolled her eyes, adjusting her grip on him slightly. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get too comfortable. I can always throw you off if you start talking too much.”


    Kite chuckled. “That’d be really hard, considering I never talk too much.”


    Bastion groaned loudly from behind. “You never shut up.”


    Liora and Felix both snickered, while Kite just grinned wider, clearly unbothered. As they weaved through the dining hall, the crowd subtly parted for Liora, her Stormfang Clan tattoos faintly glowing in the dim light, an unspoken sign of respect for her warrior heritage.


    Felix, meanwhile, greeted familiar faces with casual waves and smirks, some crew members patting his shoulder as they passed, while others exchanged sly grins—as if expecting trouble to follow in his wake. Bastion walked a little behind, arms crossed, his expression one of mild exasperation, though the occasional glance toward Kite betrayed his lingering wariness.


    They finally reached a long, communal table near one of the ship’s enchanted windows, where the view of the endless Celestine Seas stretched out beneath the blue sunlit sky, the two suns hanging high in the horizon. Kite, still balanced on Liora’s shoulders, gawked at the view, his bright green eyes wide with awe. “Whoa… You guys get to eat with a view like this every day?!”


    Felix smirked, sliding into a seat. “Perks of living in the sky, my dude.”


    Liora let out a huff before finally setting Kite down on the bench beside her. “Alright, little prince, you’re officially dethroned.”


    Kite landed smoothly, brushing off his sleeves as if dusting away imaginary royal responsibilities. “Long live the king,” he muttered with a playful grin before turning his attention to the food.


    The table was loaded with platters of food, steaming hot meats, buttered skyroot bread, spiced rice, and vibrant fruits that shimmered with faint magical hues. A few floating trays hovered above, shifting as waitstaff enchanted the plates to refill whenever someone grabbed a serving.


    Bastion sat down across from Kite, still watching him carefully, before finally sighing and grabbing a drink. “Just don’t cause trouble.”


    Liora and Felix immediately exchanged glances. Kite, with a completely straight face, responded, “I make absolutely no promises.”


    Felix nearly choked on laughter, while Liora shook her head with a chuckling sigh. Bastion, meanwhile, just groaned into his drink.


    Kite picked up a piece of Skyroot Bread, its crisp golden crust faintly shimmering under the soft lantern light. The inside was soft, airy, and had a slight glow, not like magic forced into it, but like it had absorbed the essence of the sky itself.


    Small, wispy strands of silver ran through the dough, woven like threads of lightning, crackling faintly before fading into a soothing warmth. Curious, Kite took a bite—and his eyes widened immediately. The taste was unlike anything he had ever eaten. It was light yet rich, slightly sweet yet earthy, with a faint hint of something electric, something crisp and fresh, like the first breath of air after a heavy storm.


    “Whoa—!” Kite exclaimed through a mouthful, his voice muffled by the bread. He quickly swallowed before grinning. “This is really good!”


    Liora laughed, crossing her arms proudly as she leaned back. “Duh, that’s because it’s enchanted,” she said with a smirk. “Skyroot trees only grow above the clouds. That bread? It came from the highest peaks, way beyond where even the strongest storms can reach.”


    Kite paused mid-bite, his brows furrowing in pure amazement. He looked down at the piece of bread in his hand as if seeing it for the first time. “Wait—trees above the clouds?” He turned it over, examining the soft glow. “That explains why it tastes so… different.”


    Liora nodded, a grin tugging at her lips as she leaned forward. “Yeah. They’re called Tempest Willows, and they only grow in my homeland—Zeraphis, the Sky Kingdom of the Stormborn.”


    At that, Kite snapped his gaze up to her, his wide eyes practically shining with curiosity. “Wait, that’s where you’re from?!”


    Felix and Bastion had been eating quietly, but they both paused, sharing a knowing look as they listened. Liora’s chest puffed out slightly, a prideful glint in her storm-colored eyes.


    “Yep. Zeraphis is the home of the Zephryxians—my people. We weren’t born like normal humans. We were forged from the sky itself, brought into this world by what we call…” Liora trailed off, briefly closing her stormy eyes as she took a deep breath before exhaling, letting the suspense build dramatically. “the Tempest Genesis.”


    Kite blinked rapidly, his curiosity spiking even higher. “The what now?”


    Liora leaned forward, her voice dropping just slightly, her tone carrying the weight of something ancient, something legendary. “You see, the Tempest Genesis was part of a universal cataclysmic event. It happened countless eons ago, way before any civilization we know today even existed!”


    Bastion and Felix finally joined in, their expressions shifting from casual interest to something more serious. Bastion and Felix finally joined in, their expressions shifting from casual interest to something more serious.


    Kite leaned in, intrigued. “W-wait—a cataclysmic event? What the heck happened?”


    Liora exchanged glances with Felix and Bastion before looking back at Kite, her expression growing more solemn. “It was a war,” she said simply and quietly, as if afraid any unwanted guests may overhear. “A war that spanned throughout the entire multiverse.”


    Kite’s mouth slightly parted in shock. “Wait—what? A war across the entire multiverse?” He asked in slight disbelief.


    Felix nodded, resting an elbow on the table. “Yeah. It wasn’t just some battle between nations or planets. It was bigger than that! It was a war between the Empyreans and the angels… against the Devils and Demons.”


    Bastion folded his arms, his golden eyes flickering as he added, “It was a war over the fate of everything.”


    Kite’s heartbeat quickened, his fingers subtly gripping the edge of the table. “What… what were they fighting over?”


    Liora exhaled, her gaze drifting slightly. “Creation itself.” Kite’s breath hitched.


    “The Empyreans and Angels believed in balance, order, and divine law,” Bastion continued, his tone calm yet weighted with significance. “Legends say they wanted to preserve existence, to keep the natural flow of life and death intact.”


    Felix then interjected, his voice laced with grim amusement. “But the Devils and Demons? Yeah, they had a different opinion. They believed in freedom, in unrestrained chaos. They wanted to rewrite the rules—tear down the old ways and reshape the cosmos in their own vision!”


    Liora nodded. “The war raged across every realm, every plane of existence—worlds were born and destroyed, entire civilizations erased in the crossfire. And at the center of it all… were two beings.”


    Kite’s eyes gleamed with curiosity as he leaned in closer. “Who?”


    Felix leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming against his gun holster. “The Devils were led by a being known as... The Cosmic Child.”


    A shiver ran down Kite’s spine at the name. “The Cosmic Child?”


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Liora’s expression darkened slightly. “Yea, a being cursed with the raw power of the cosmos itself. Nobody knows where he came from—some say he was a mistake, an anomaly that should’ve never existed. Others say he was born from the remnants of fallen gods, their power fused into a single entity.”


    Bastion crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “But whatever the truth is, one thing’s for sure—he was powerful enough to stand against The True God himself.”


    Kite’s breath hitched again. “Wait, who?”


    Felix smirked faintly, his hazel eyes glinting. “The leader of the Angels and the Empyreans—a being they called The True God.”


    Kite’s mind was reeling now. “The True God…?” He repeated, trying to wrap his head around it. “That’s a little… on the nose, don’t you think?”


    Felix chuckled. “Yeah, well, when you’re the most powerful entity in existence, I guess you don’t need to be subtle.”


    Liora leaned forward, her storm-touched eyes flickering. “The legends say the war lasted longer than time itself. That it wasn’t just a war of weapons and armies, but of concepts and reality itself. The battle reshaped the very fabric of existence—it caused births, deaths, and rebirths beyond counting.”


    Kite’s jaw tightened as he processed this. “So… who won?”


    The trio exchanged glances before Bastion finally answered. “The Angels did.”


    Kite blinked. “Seriously?”


    Felix shrugged. “That’s what the legends say. The Cosmic Child was defeated.”


    Liora added, her tone more serious than before, “But he wasn’t destroyed. He was too powerful for that. Instead, his Cosmic Essence was scattered across all of existence, shattered into pieces that now drift through every timeline, dimension, and universe.”


    Bastion’s voice was quiet, yet carried weight. “They say his life force was bound to time itself, forced to wander endlessly, forever existing in an infinite cycle.”


    Kite stared at them, his heartbeat pounding like a war drum in his chest. His gaze flickered down to his own hands, as if suddenly feeling the weight of something unseen.


    “So…” Kite swallowed. “He’s still out there?”


    Liora nodded slowly. “In a way.”


    A long silence stretched between them. The air felt heavier now, like the weight of history itself had settled on their shoulders. Then, Felix suddenly clapped his hands together, shattering the tension. “Welp! That’s enough doomsday talk for one meal. Let’s eat before the kid gets all existential.”


    Kite snapped out of it, shaking his head as he grabbed another piece of bread. “Yeah, yeah, I get it—ancient war, scattered god-kid, multiverse almost ended.” He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. Then, after a moment, he smirked. “Still not as cool as my adventure, though.”


    Liora and Felix burst out laughing, while Bastion once again groaned into his drink. The day went on, but Kite’s mind was still turning. And though he laughed with them, a nagging feeling remained—a sense that this story wasn’t just a legend. That somehow, it mattered to him. Even though he’ll never get to know why.


    The Celestine Seas stretched endlessly before the captain, a vast expanse of shimmering blue that danced beneath the midday sun. Captain Vareth Drassos stood tall in the crow’s nest, his towering reptilian frame motionless against the golden light.


    The crisp salt-kissed wind rustled the heavy naval officer’s coat draped over his broad shoulders. It was a coat of deep indigo, lined with golden brass buttons, each one polished to a gleam. The fabric, though aged by years at sea, held firm, an unspoken testament to his resilience.


    His yellow, slitted eyes scanned the horizon, tracking the silhouettes of mythical creatures soaring in the distance. Ether Harbingers, their crystalline wings reflecting the light like fragments of a shattered prism, glided effortlessly between the clouds.


    Further beyond, a Seraphic Leviathan slithered through the mist, its enormous, translucent fins cutting through the sky as it let out a distant, haunting cry. The sound stirred something deep within Vareth.


    He let out a long exhale, his forked tongue flickering briefly before retreating behind his fanged maw. His tail swayed rhythmically, a subconscious motion as he took in the breathtaking view.


    Then, softly—barely more than a whisper—he murmured a name. “Ah… Gloria…” The name left his lips like a prayer, carried away by the wind before it could reach the ears of the bustling crew below.


    For a moment, the world seemed to slow. With a quiet, careful motion, Vareth reached for the small, worn locket hanging from a chain around his neck. The locket itself was old, well-loved, its silver casing slightly tarnished, but the delicate engravings of waves and celestial runes still shimmered faintly under the light.


    With the ease of muscle memory, he unclipped it, allowing the tiny hinge to creak open. Inside, a magical moving photo flickered softly. The image shifted subtly, playing out a fragment of a memory trapped in time.


    A younger Vareth stood within the frame, his scales a slightly lighter shade of blue, his expression not yet hardened by the years. He wore a simpler coat then, his posture looser, more relaxed. Standing beside him, glowing with life, was Gloria—his human wife.


    Her long, dark curls flowed freely as the wind toyed with them, and her bright, laughing eyes held all the warmth of the summer sun. She was leaning into him, nudging his side playfully, her head tilting up as she gave him a teasing grin.


    And then—she moved. The magic of the photo played on.


    She laughed, her voice silent but her joy unmistakable. She reached up, tugging gently at his coat collar, adjusting it like she always did. Vareth could almost hear her voice in his head, teasing him about not wearing it properly.


    The younger him chuckled in the photo, his normally stern features softening as he wrapped a protective arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Gloria rested her head against him, her smile tender, her eyes filled with something deep, something unbreakable.


    Vareth’s chest ached as he watched. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and slowly closed the locket.


    The photo disappeared, leaving him once again with only the endless sea before him. His fingers lingered over the locket’s surface, tracing the engravings as if memorizing every detail, as if afraid to forget.


    Then, lifting his gaze back to the horizon, he let out a slow breath. “If only you were still around to see this beautiful sight…”


    His voice was quiet, yet the wind carried it far. For a moment, he imagined her response.


    She’d have laughed, told him he was being too sentimental like usual. She would’ve leaned against the railing, arms crossed, and with a soft smile, said something like, “You always get like this when the sky is too pretty. I told you, love—I’m still here.”


    Vareth’s eyes closed briefly. His grip on the locket tightened. Then, as if shaking off the weight of old ghosts, he straightened, clipped the locket back into place, and turned his attention back to the sea.


    The world moved on. And so, he would too. Or at least… that’s what he kept telling himself.


    The locket shut fully now, the faint whisper of metal clicking into place echoing in the quiet above deck. He exhaled softly as he slipped the chain back over his neck, the familiar weight of it settling against his broad chest like an anchor. His scaly hands then fell to his hips, his long fingers resting just above the hilts of the two cursed katana’s that hung from his belt.


    Each blade had a name, a story, a fate intertwined with his own. “Nyoka’s Grin”, the left blade, was serpentine in its design, its hilt curved like a coiled viper, wrapped in dark emerald cloth, the fabric shifting like scales in the light. Its blackened blade shimmered with a sickly green glow, its edge lined with etchings of ancient, winding runes that pulsed faintly.


    The curse it carried was a venomous one—each wound inflicted by Nyoka’s Grin never truly healed, forever festering like an unrelenting poison. “Mourning Tide”, the right blade, was more elegant, yet eerily cold. Its hilt was bound in deep indigo silk, and the guard was shaped like a swirling wave, frozen in time.


    The silver-steel blade bore no reflection, only a bottomless abyss that drank in the light. Its curse was sorrow—those who fell to it did not simply die; their souls lingered, whispering in the wind, trapped in the tides for eternity.


    Both weapons rested in their sheathes, which were no less haunting. Nyoka’s Grin was housed in a dark green scabbard, the texture of the leather-like snake scales, warm to the touch, almost alive.


    Mourning Tide, by contrast, was kept in a deep navy-blue sheath, its surface engraved with ghostly ocean waves, the whispers of the damned ever so faint within its depths. And beneath his naval officer’s coat, hidden from sight, were his two magical flintlock pistols—his last resort, his ace in the hole.


    Vareth took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the vast horizon once more, his tail swaying in rhythmic thought. But before he could slip too deeply into his musings—a metallic voice echoed up from below.


    “Captain Drassos!” Vareth’s slitted eyes quickly snapped downward, locking onto the source of the call.


    An automaton pirate stood far below on the main deck, a towering, mechanical figure, its intricate brass plating gleaming beneath the sun’s golden light. Arcane tattoos—glowing lines of blue and violet energy—snaked across its mechanical body, pulsating like veins of living magic.


    Its skull-like face, partially worn from years at sea, had a singular glowing eye that flickered like a dying ember. One of its arms was crafted entirely of rusted iron, large and reinforced for combat, while the other was sleeker, lined with delicate etchings of runic symbols, suggesting modifications for precision work.


    The automaton raised a jagged, mechanical hand, gesturing for Vareth to descend. Vareth stared for a long moment, then let out a deep sigh before closing his eyes briefly. He took one step forward, then another—and jumped.


    His massive frame soared through the air, his coat billowing behind him as he plummeted down with a controlled grace that defied his size. The wind roared past him, his sharp, reptilian features locked in a mask of calm focus.


    And then—he landed. His boots crashed against the wooden deck, sending out a mini shockwave, the impact causing a sharp gust of wind to ripple across the ship. The surrounding guests flinched in surprise, a few stumbling back as the weight of his landing sent a low, reverberating thud through the ship’s frame.


    The automaton pirate did not flinch. Instead, it merely inclined its head slightly. “A graceful descent, as always, Captain.”


    Vareth straightened, adjusting the collar of his coat as he eyed the automaton. “What is it?” His voice was steady, deep, with the commanding weight of a leader who had long mastered control.


    The automaton pirate nodded, then spoke. “First Mate Calista reports that a powerful storm of magical energy is rapidly approaching.”


    Vareth’s brows furrowed slightly. “Calista, huh?” His voice rumbled thoughtfully.


    Calista was rarely wrong about weather shifts, let alone arcane storms. “How bad?” Vareth finally asked after a short moment with narrowed eyes.


    The automaton’s glowing eye flickered briefly, as if processing information. “Severe. The storm’s radius will engulf our path entirely. Depending on its duration, it may delay our voyage by a few days.”


    Vareth exhaled sharply through his nostrils, his tail flicking once in mild irritation. “Damn…” He turned his gaze toward the sky, his golden eyes narrowing slightly.


    A storm was one thing. A magical storm, however… That was something else entirely.


    After a long pause, he reached up and clapped a heavy hand onto the automaton’s metal shoulder, the action creating a low metallic clang. “Good work. Thanks for letting me know.”


    The automaton’s eye pulsed brighter for a second, before it offered something akin to a grin. “Of course, Captain.”


    Vareth watched silently as the automaton turned, heading toward a group of fellow pirates gathered near the ship’s railing. The group laughed and talked, some of them sparring, others simply exchanging wild tales of past adventures.


    The automaton was immediately greeted by the others, one of them slapping its back in greeting as they all chuckled and joked amongst themselves. For a moment, Vareth just watched.


    A small, fleeting smile ghosted across his face before he finally turned away. But as he walked, he couldn''t help but have a grim feeling… that this voyage was about to get a lot more complicated. With long, confident strides, Captain Drassos made his way toward his quarters, the soft hum of the ship’s engines whispering beneath his heavy boots, the distant crash of waves warning of the storm yet to come.