The volcanic tunnels echoed with a low, haunting rumble. Steam hissed from cracks in the molten-black walls as the air thickened with sulfur and heat. The transport vessel carrying Kida shot forward, skimming over rivers of lava far below, its thrusters humming with urgency. She lay unconscious inside a sealed, crystalline capsule—an ancient Atlantean container reinforced with shimmering runes. No one could touch her now, not even the Heart of Atlantis itself.
Above, hidden among the shadows and rising smoke, a phantom chased them—Skuld.
Wind curled and danced beneath her feet, controlled with near-meditative precision through the Zephyr Claws on her hands. Thin tendrils of gale swirled around her ankles, allowing her to drift and dive through the heated currents like a spirit made of breeze and intent. Her cloak fluttered like a ghost's wail behind her, eyes narrowed as she followed the vessel from a distance.
Rourke and Helga stood at the helm, gazing ahead with icy looks. Helga occasionally glanced back, her instincts prickling.
Skuld slipped behind a rocky overhang, riding a spiraling column of hot air upward. Her muscles trembled slightly—not from fatigue, but from holding the perfect balance between speed and silence. She was close. Too close.
One misstep, and they'd see her.
The terrain shifted. The vessel soared over a narrow arch of volcanic rock. Below, a lava geyser erupted with a thunderous roar, spewing molten fire into the air. Skuld twisted her body mid-glide and let the updraft carry her higher, letting her flow with the natural rhythm of the volcano. The steam cloaked her approach, while her mind remained locked onto one goal.
Kida.
Her voice echoed faintly in her head. "Hold on…"
Rourke stared into the distance, jaw set.
"Looks like we got someone following us," he muttered, sensing something.
"You're sure?" Helga asked.
"I know a predator when I feel one breathing down my neck."
Skuld's breath caught as the vessel dipped lower, entering a narrow, glowing tunnel lined with glowing red minerals and obsidian spires. She dove after it, flattening herself to avoid being spotted.
Sparks danced along the curved walls. The heat made her vision blur slightly, but her control never faltered. She weaved through narrow gaps, using every inch of the wind to steer without touching a single surface.
She whispered to the air around her, a phrase—a channeling command that let the Zephyr Claws anchor her to every gust like a spider's silk. Her movement became soundless, seamless, a phantom stalker dancing through fire.
As the tunnel gave way to a vast, molten cavern, Skuld saw the capsule again—glowing softly within the cargo hold. Her heart thudded once, hard.
Kida was there.
Skuld floated behind a stalactite, cloaked in shimmer and steam, waiting for her next opening.
But Rourke's voice cut across the roar of the lava. "Helga, keep watch. We have a stowaway. We'll take care of it… soon."
Rourke stood still at the front, gaze locked into the horizon—but his mind was elsewhere. He felt her. That presence. A whisper in the wind, always behind him.
"Helga," he said, not turning his head. "Left ridge. She's there."
Helga blinked. "What—?"
"Just do it."
She stepped to the side, hand on her pistol, squinting into the rising steam. Then she saw it—a flicker of movement, just for a second. Wind curved unnaturally around a spire of black stone.
Helga raised her weapon and fired.
Skuld dodged without a sound, twisting midair in a corkscrew motion as the bullet tore through the space she'd just occupied. Another shot came, then another—each one closer, forcing her to dive into an exposed gust of updraft that hurled her above the vessel, now in full view.
"There!" Helga shouted.
Rourke didn't wait.
He lifted his custom sidearm and fired. The bullet glinted as it screamed through the air. Skuld twisted sideways, narrowly avoiding it—but the momentum knocked her into a jutting ridge of obsidian. Sparks flared as she braced with her claws, scraping across the surface before riding the wind again.
"Persistent girl," Rourke muttered, then turned to Helga. "You've been a loyal soldier. So allow me to say—"
He stepped closer. Too close.
"…it's been fun."
"What?"
Rourke grabbed her by the wrist and shoulder in one smooth motion. Her eyes widened.
"Wait—Rourke!"
He didn't answer. With a sharp heave, he hurled her over the side of the vessel.
Time slowed.
Helga screamed once as she fell backward, arms flailing, the burning sky a blur behind her. Her pistol slipped—but she caught it in midair, twisting her body as the ground rushed toward her.
Skuld saw it all—saw the betrayal, the helpless fall, the shock in Helga's eyes.
Skuld dove.
Wind roared against her ears as she pushed herself harder, faster, streaking down through the scalding air like a silver comet.
She reached for Helga's falling hand.
Almost there—
A shot cracked.
A sharp, burning pain tore across Skuld's shoulder. She winced, losing control for a second as the spell fractured. The wind surged against her, twisting her flight into a chaotic spiral.
Skuld screamed, but her voice was swallowed by the wind.
Helga crashed against a jagged ledge, bones shattering, blood blooming across the cracked stone. But she didn't die immediately.
Her body lay broken—but her fingers still gripped her pistol.
Her eyes, half-lidded, focused not on Skuld—but upward.
The vessel.
The containment casing.
Kida.
Inside the capsule of metallic alloy was a single window—crystalline, reinforced. But it still shimmered faintly, radiating energy. A conduit.
A weakness.
With a growl of pure defiance, Helga raised her arm one final time. Muscles screamed. Her vision blurred. Her chest barely rose.
But her aim didn't waver.
She fired.
The bullet struck the window dead-center.
A crack burst through the glass—followed by a flash of ethereal blue light. A single shard shot outward like a needle of divine judgment.
It sliced through the air, faster than sight, and slashed across Rourke's cheek.
He stumbled, more stunned than injured, lifting his hand to his face.
A faint sizzle hissed where the shard had nicked him—where Heart energy had made contact with something tainted.
Rourke's expression twisted with fury. But even he said nothing for a moment.
Down below, Helga's breath stopped. Her pistol slipped from limp fingers. Her eyes faded to stillness.
Skuld landed seconds too late.
She crouched beside the body, wind still coiling around her like grieving spirits.
She looked up at the sky, her heart aching—not just for the death, but for the quiet bravery that came with it.
Above, the vessel flew on.
And for the first time, Rourke touched his cheek and felt something burn.