Chapter 2: The Falling Light

The skyship jolted forward, cutting through the night like a blade through silk. Sylvaen barely managed to grab the edge of the railing before the sudden motion sent her sprawling. Wind howled around her, whipping her silver-streaked hair into her face as the floating city of Vaeloris shrank behind them.

She turned, breathless, to face the man at the helm—the rogue skyship captain who had just unknowingly made himself part of something far bigger than a simple chase.

"Who in the abyss are you?" he demanded, his golden eyes gleaming like twin stars in the dim lantern light.

"No time!" Sylvaen shouted over the roar of the ship's engines. "The Hollow Chorus is coming, and I know where the Skyshard fell. If you want to live, keep flying."

The captain exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Unbelievable." Then, without another word, he twisted the wheel, sending the ship into a steep dive.

Sylvaen's stomach lurched.

Behind them, the cultists had launched their own pursuit.

Smaller crafts, like dark metal birds, zipped through the sky, engines pulsing with a strange violet glow. The Hollow Chorus had skyships too—sleek, predatory things that moved with unnatural speed. And they were gaining.

Sylvaen gritted her teeth.

She turned to the crew—two figures bracing themselves against the ship's tilting deck. One was a woman wrapped in scholar's robes, her fingers crackling with golden energy, eyes darting between the enemies behind them. The other was a tall, silent figure cloaked in deep blue, his presence strangely… unreal, like a shadow given form.

"Can this thing go faster?" Sylvaen asked, gripping the railing.

The captain smirked. "Oh, you have no idea."

He yanked a lever.

The ship lurched forward, engines roaring. A sudden surge of gravity pressed Sylvaen against the deck as the skyship shot into the open air, weaving between floating islands and rivers that twisted upwards like living ribbons.

But the Hollow Chorus wasn't giving up.

One of their ships pulled alongside, its prow lined with metal harpoons. A figure in a mask stepped forward—one of the cult's elite hunters.

And then, in a single smooth motion, they leapt.

Sylvaen barely had time to react. The cultist landed on their deck, rolling smoothly to their feet, a curved blade gleaming in the moonlight. The air hummed with dark energy.

And they weren't alone.

Ropes shot out from the enemy ship, latching onto the railing. More figures in dark robes climbed aboard, their masks hiding their faces but not their intent.

Sylvaen's pulse thundered.

This wasn't just about a Skyshard anymore.

They wanted her.

The Fight on the Skyship

The first attacker lunged.

Sylvaen ducked, the blade missing her throat by inches. She countered with a quick movement, grabbing a fallen piece of rope and swinging it towards their masked face.

The cultist barely flinched. Their mask cracked open with a whisper of violet mist, revealing empty, hollow eyes.

Not human. Not fully.

Sylvaen cursed under her breath. The Hollow Chorus didn't just worship the sky's fractures—they let it change them.

The scholar, who had been silent until now, suddenly raised a hand. Golden light crackled around her fingertips, and then—lightning.

A bolt struck the deck, sending the nearest cultist staggering.

The captain let out a low whistle. "Remind me never to get on your bad side, Ember."

"Shut up and fly," the scholar—Ember—shot back. "We're not winning this fight unless we get rid of them fast."

Sylvaen turned back to the battle just as one of the robed figures grabbed her wrist—right where her Echo Mark shimmered.

The moment they touched it, something snapped inside her mind.

A vision.

Sudden, sharp.

A sky cracked open, a great silver void swallowing the stars. A voice, ancient and broken, whispering her name.

"Sylvaen… you were meant for more."

She gasped, the world rushing back into focus. The cultist stumbled back, their grip loosening—as if they had felt it too.

She didn't waste the opportunity. She slammed her elbow into their ribs and kicked them over the railing.

One down. But there were still more.

The shadowy figure—who had yet to speak—moved in a blur. One moment, he was standing still. The next, he was behind an attacker, blade pressed to their throat.

Sylvaen barely saw him move.

"What—?"

The cultist gasped, eyes widening, before the blade flicked, sending them crumpling to the deck.

Only now did Sylvaen get a good look at him. His form flickered at the edges, like smoke trying to hold a shape. And his eyes—deep pools of shifting darkness—were anything but human.

"You're not real," Sylvaen whispered before she could stop herself.

The shadowed man tilted his head. "Neither is the sky. And yet, here we are."

The last cultist standing let out a furious hiss and turned—to flee.

They ran for the edge of the ship, reaching for something in their robes—a flare, a signal—

The captain moved before anyone else could.

With a single sharp motion, he pulled his pistol and fired.

The shot rang out over the sky.

The cultist fell.

A tense silence followed.

Then, Ember let out a slow breath. "That was too close."

"Too close?" The captain scoffed, holstering his gun. "That was a hell of a lot of fun."

Sylvaen shot him a glare. "We were almost killed!"

"And yet, here we are," he said, echoing the shadow-man's words with a grin. "By the way, I don't believe we've been properly introduced. Captain Kael. At your service."

Sylvaen folded her arms. "You shot a man before telling me your name."

Kael shrugged. "I have my priorities."

Ember rolled her eyes. "Can we focus? We're not safe yet. The Chorus knows about Sylvaen now. They're not going to stop coming after her."

Sylvaen tensed. She knew Ember was right. The Hollow Chorus wanted the Skyshard—but they also wanted her.

And that was the real question, wasn't it?

Why?

She had always been different. The Echo Mark had always made her an outcast. But now… now the sky was speaking directly to her. Calling her.

And the cult knew it.

She clenched her fists.

If they thought they could control her, they were wrong.

She turned to Kael, her decision already made. "Set a course. I know where the Skyshard fell."

Kael raised an eyebrow, but a slow, amused grin spread across his face. "Well, well. Now things are getting interesting."

He turned back to the helm, spinning the wheel. The skyship angled sharply, cutting through the clouds.

Beneath them, the shattered sky stretched endlessly, the stars shifting like pieces of broken glass.

And somewhere below—waiting, whispering—was the Skyshard.

Calling her.

And Sylvaen would answer.

No matter what it cost.

To be continued...