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Chapter 1016: Soaring Through the Skies (Part II)

The explorer was dressed like a wanderer. Feathers sewn into his coat. An eye patch embroidered with rose petals over his right eye. Nothing about the figure in the corridor matched the man Roland had met at the banquet, and for a moment he couldn’t quite locate why the disguise felt slightly off—the surface was complete, the costume exact. Then he understood.

The costume was wrong on its wearer.

“When you’re disguising yourself as another person, you have to devote your whole being to the character,” Thunder said. He drew on the pipe in his hand; the ember made a dim firefly pulse in the darkened hallway. “You have to deceive yourself before you can deceive anyone else. I learned that first.” He exhaled. “I’m afraid I can’t concentrate on being Sander Flyingbird right now. She’ll see through it.”

That’s what was off. Not the feathers or the eye patch—the stillness beneath them. The man wasn’t performing. He was standing vigil.

“You’re not planning to keep hiding your identity permanently?” Roland raised an eyebrow. “You heard what Lightning was saying in there. She’s decided she’s going to be an explorer.”

The question sat in the dark for a long time.

“Your Majesty,” Thunder said finally. “Do you believe in fate?”

Roland almost smiled. In another context it would have been a sermon’s opening line. Or a letter from a lovesick student.

Thunder wasn’t asking for an answer. He continued: “I was told that geniuses always die doing what they do best—that God compensates for a short life by granting unmatchable talent. That’s fate. A road destined to run brilliantly tends to tempt the one walking it into going faster and faster, and eventually they fall. Ordinary people with ordinary gifts tend to live longer.”

“Who told you this?”

“Sander. The man who first showed me the explorer’s path.”

Roland glanced at him. “An explorer named Sander Flyingbird? Weren’t you concerned Lightning might have heard the name?”

“He died long ago. And he was never particularly famous—by Fjords standards, he didn’t even qualify as a real explorer.” The smoke swirled and thinned. “He never found a new island. Never charted an unmarked route. He didn’t care about reputation. He said the adventure itself was the point. And that without much talent, at least he didn’t have to worry about dying young.”

Roland said, “How did he die?”

“He saved me.” Thunder’s voice had gone flat and careful, the way voices go when they’ve been over the same ground many times and learned to cross it without stumbling. “Our ship encountered Sea Ghosts. When Sander dragged me back to the cabin, one of them caught him—the wound was small, but no herb touched it. His flesh rotted. He stopped breathing three days later.” He paused. “He told me he died doing what he was best at. His only real quality in life, he said, was his kindness. He had nothing else to be proud of.”

Roland had nothing to say to that.

“When Lightning was born,” Thunder said, “she showed talent from the beginning. Identifying routes, reading charts—she learned faster than anyone I’d ever watched. When I found out she’d awakened and become a witch—” He stopped. Started again. “You understand what that ability means to an explorer.”

Courage and curiosity were traits that anyone could build over time. Magic was something else. It was a gift you either had or you didn’t.

“So I made a decision.” Thunder raised his head; the ember of the pipe caught his eye like a reflection of a distant fire. “If fate is fixed, perhaps it can be interrupted by another route. If I can reach the unknown places before Lightning sets out—if I can map the east of the Sealine, and the bold cliff at the Shadow Seacity ruins—then when she eventually goes, the danger will be smaller. Less unknown. Less risk.” He let out a slow breath. “Leaving aside the demon-held territories, no one has set foot in either place. Once you defeat the demons, I should be able to reach them. Until then, it’s better I travel alone.”

Roland was quiet for a moment.

It was a kind of love that didn’t look anything like love from the outside—systematic, exhausting, turned entirely outward. If there were no more uncharted places, there could be no fatal expeditions.

Gravity held everyone to the ground. It didn’t constrain what people chose to dream. Thunder had dreamed his way around the problem, and the dream had taken the shape of the entire world.

“In that case,” Thunder said, placing a hand over his chest, “I leave her in your hands, Your Majesty.”

Roland opened his mouth to reply—

A sound hit them both. Not thunder, not quite: something rawer, like the sky had cracked at a seam. The force of it was physical, a pressure Roland felt in his chest and his teeth simultaneously. The snow on the castle roof sheeted away into white fog. Ice clattered down like thrown gravel. The glass of every window in the building gave at once—a dozen small destructions in quick succession—and then the echoes came rolling back from the Impassable Mountain Range, one after another, not fading, just bouncing and returning until the whole dark air seemed to ring.

Inside the room, everyone had gone perfectly still.

Roland turned to the door, pushed it open.

One side of the outer wall panel had already been swung wide, but there had been no blast of magic—no discharge of the Sigil of God’s Will.

“Your Majesty.” Wendy was bright-eyed, breathless, excited in the particular way she got when a theory proved true. “Lightning’s magic—it’s consolidated.”

He crossed to the bedside. Lightning sat up on the bed with the alert posture of someone who had just arrived from somewhere very far away and was still taking stock. Her eyes were vivid.

“Was there any pain?” he asked.

“None at all.” She pressed a hand to her sternum, feeling something there. “I feel—full. The only thing I couldn’t do was the Sigil. Lighting the fourth stone was already the limit.”

“That’s good.” He exhaled. “You should rest today. Tomorrow we can—”

“Your Majesty, can I try it now?”

She was already on her feet.

“Something is calling me. I can’t describe it—I just need to fly. Right now.” She looked at him with the absolute sincerity that only Lightning could produce, the kind that made refusal feel like an actual act of cruelty. “May I? Please?

He looked at the witches around the room. At the wide-open door panel. At the cold black sky beyond it.

“Take Maggie with you. Don’t fly far.”

“Yes!”

“Coo!”

Maggie transformed mid-leap—pigeon, landing on Lightning’s head—and Lightning scooped her into both hands. They were through the open wall and into the night sky before Roland had fully turned back to the room.

“I don’t know what her ability will look like now,” Wendy murmured, watching the dark. “We’ll have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Please let me observe with the Five-Colored Stone as well,” Phyllis said.

“In any case, tonight is—”

The sky split.

Not thunder. Something beyond thunder—a crack that filled the entire mountain valley, that pressed against every surface in the room simultaneously, that sent the snow from the rooftop sheeting away in one breath and brought the ice down on the window frames in sharp bright pieces. The castle glass held a moment, then didn’t. The echoes seized on the Impassable Mountain Range and would not let go, returning and returning, the sound looping back on itself until the whole night was made of it.

Everyone stared at everyone else.

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