Obinai plummets...
Wind rips at him, the force so strong it steals the air from his lungs, leaving only gasping panic in its wake. His body twists violently, tumbling in the open sky as the world above and below blurs into streaks of gray and white.
"No, no, no, no, no—!"
He flails, arms thrashing, legs kicking, trying to stabilize himself...
The thick shroud of clouds breaks.
And for a split second—
He sees it.
The sun blinds him for half a heartbeat, but then his eyes adjust, snapping into focus. A sprawling expanse of green stretches far below, the rolling plains cut by thin, winding rivers that carve through the landscape like veins. Further in the distance, something massive looms, but the details are lost to the rush.
Spell. I need a spell. Something—anything—!
But his brain is scrambled, sluggish. The freefall is too much—his thoughts are fractured, spinning, breaking apart.
Breathe. Focus. What was it? What was it?!
His fingers twitch, essence buzzing to mana at his fingertips.
Then—
It hits him.
His lips part on instinct...
"[Feather Fall]!"
A pulse erupts outward...
And suddenly—his body jerks violently.
The momentum slows—abruptly, jarringly—like an invisible force just barely caught him midair.
It's not enough.
The ground still rushes toward him, slower now, but not nearly slow enough.
"Shit, shit, shit—!"
The moment his boots hit the earth, his legs buckle, and he crashes into the ground with bone-rattling force.
Pain explodes through his body.
He tumbles—once, twice—then again, his body skidding over the dirt and flattened grass. The impact sends a brutal shock up his spine, his ribs screaming, his arms scraping against the earth, before his skull collides against something solid.
Crack.
Not bone—but something deep inside his head. A flash of searing white pain.
His momentum finally slows.
Everything tilts. His vision warps—smears. The world tilts sideways as he lands on his back, chest heaving, body numb and screaming at the same time.
Above him, the sun looms—bright, unmoving.
It should be hurting his eyes.
But it doesn't...
Because his eyes—
They're rolling back.
The light fades.
His thoughts scatter.
And then—
Nothing...
...
A low hum reverberates in the air, pulling Obinai from unconsciousness...
His head throbs, an ache that moves from the back of his skull to his temples. Groaning, he forces himself to sit up, his movements sluggish. His fingers press against his forehead, massaging the lingering pain as he blinks away the fog in his vision.
"Shit…" He exhales sharply, squinting against the glare of the sun overhead.
His limbs feel heavy, sore. He brings a hand to his face, fingers brushing against his nose—dried blood. He grimaces, massaging it gently. At least it stopped on its own. That's one less thing to worry about.
But the hum—the strange, mechanical resonance—doesn't stop. It lingers, distant yet ever-present, a steady drone that feels alive...
Obinai forces himself onto his feet. His balance wavers for a moment due to being a slight hill. He breathes in deep, steadying himself. His mind reels, thoughts slowly piecing together the spectacularly dumb mistake he had made.
"I forgot…"
He mutters under his breath, rubbing his temples again as the realization settles in.
"When dealing with an artifact that requires commands… be specific."
Through a clenched jaw, he clicks his teeth.
"I said 'Return'—but I didn't specify where."
A sigh leaves him as he drags a hand down his face. He should have at least visualized the ground or specified a landing point. But no, he just had to let fate handle it. Brilliant.
The hum persists, growing louder.
Obinai finally lifts his head and takes in his surroundings.
Before him, the land stretches endlessly. Rolling uneven plains of green grass sway in the wind, the blades rippling like ocean waves. Slender rivers carve through the terrain, their waters glinting beneath the high noon sun, reflecting its brilliance like scattered shards of crystal. The sky is had cleared up, save for the thin wisps of clouds stretching lazily across the horizon.
Further ahead, a massive wall rises in the distance. At first, his heart stops.
"Nurikabe?"
But no… It isn't.
If it were Nurikabe, he'd still be in Eldoria. And this? This place feels entirely different.
His gaze lowers, shifting toward the hum's source behind him.
Not far from where he landed, a colossal machine rumbles forward.
Obinai squints, stepping closer, cautious. At first glance, it resembles a tractor—but only in function, not in design.
The machine before him looms...
Its hull is layered with interlocking plates of polished brass and darkened iron, reinforced at key stress points with riveted beams that curve along its bulky frame. The front grille, broad and lined with vertical slats, houses a core of shifting energy, flickering between hues of deep red and fiery gold, casting pulses of light beneath it.
Massive spiked wheels, thick and grooved, press into the path with an audible crunch, their sheer weight compacting the grass beneath them. On either side of the machine, piston-driven stabilizers hiss and adjust, compensating for the uneven terrain as it slowly churns forward.
A towering smokestack protrudes from its rear, expelling plumes of vapor, the scent a strange fusion of heated metal. Thick coiled tubing runs along its sides, connecting to cylindrical canisters embossed with ancient runes that shift like living ink, pulsing as if reacting to the machine's breath.
Several smaller vents exhale bursts of steam, their rhythmic hisses adding to the underlying thrum of energy that courses through the machine.
Obinai watches as the glowing symbols inscribed along its chassis flicker—not randomly, but deliberately, shifting between different formations like a coded sequence.
"Hmmm..." He narrows his eyes, studying the shifting runes. Some of the symbols seem vaguely familiar—glyphs that resemble old sigils used in enchantments, but they move, reconfiguring themselves with every passing second.
"Vale said that dwarves worked with gnomes on a lot of stuff… but I didn't think of rune tech."
He shifts his gaze to the core of shifting energy within the grille. The way the hues flicker. It almost feels alive...
The crest at the front catches his eye— golden emblem of a winged creature with a mechanical eye.
"A faction?"
Obinai swallows, watching it roll past him with eerie grace. Despite its size and heavy build, the movement is surprisingly fluid and smooth. He takes a step back, instinctively cautious.
"Don't want to test what happens if I get too close."
Circling wide, he gives the machine its distance, stepping onto a cobblestone path that runs adjacent to the plains. The road is well-worn, the stones smooth and darkened, pressed into the earth. Small flecks of moss creep between the cracks.
Lifting his gaze, Obinai spots a town in the distance—no, a port town.
The sea stretches beyond it, its waters a vast mirror of blue and silver, reflecting the sky above. Ships—but not the kind he's used to—are docked along its harbors...he can't quite make out what they look like yet.
But even that—even all of it—becomes meaningless when his eyes drift upward...
And his jaw drops.
A massive island, floating just beneath the clouds.
It is monumental...
A landmass that should not exist in the sky, yet it does. Its sheer size rivals entire nations, and yet it sits there with impossible grace.
He can barely see it, but towering structures stretch skyward on the mass, their spires piercing through the low-hanging clouds.
Obinai squints, his breath catching. That's insane.
His voice comes out in a quiet murmur, more to himself than anything, "How the hell do you even come up with something like that…?"
He shifts his stance, tilting his head, trying to take in the sheer scale of it. Bridges connect the structure to smaller floating islands like it's own satellites.
"Runic tech, sciencia breakthrough, or something else?" He exhales, shaking his head. Doesn't matter. It's here, and it's real.
A gust of wind rolls over the plains, ruffling his cloak. He pulls it tighter around himself, eyes never leaving the impossible skyline.
"This is Amrosia."
Obinai takes a few steps forward, running a hand over his forehead, a breathless chuckle slipping past his lips.
"Wow... I can't even—wow." His voice tinged. "I thought floating island, but this... this is just—crazy. Like, actually."
His words trail off as something catches his attention—a whisper of the fabric shifting against his fingertips.
His movement halts. His fingers brush against his cloak.
What the...?
His pulse kicks up as he grips the fabric, lifting it up to inspect it.
The deep forest green that once draped his form has been swallowed whole, replaced by a darkness that absorbs the light instead of reflecting it. The texture is unchanged—soft and durable—but the color? Completely different.
Everything, except for the crescent moon clasp, still gleaming silver at his throat.
A chill licks up his spine.
"...Vale," he mutters, a slow exhale slipping through his teeth.
That tricky bastard.
His fingers tighten around the fabric, irritation bubbling beneath his skin. He didn't even notice it change. Was it triggered by something? Was it automatic?
His annoyance lingers—until it doesn't.
He steps back, tilts his head, and examines himself once more.
...Alright.
It does look kinda badass.
The smirk creeps up before he can stop it.
With a quiet huff, he pulls the hood over his head, letting the shadow of the cloak veil his face. The silver crescent catches the faintest glimmer of light...
"Fine," he mutters under his breath, rolling his shoulders. "You win this one, old man."
Then, without another word, he presses forward...
...
Obinai narrows his eyes as the outskirts of the port town come into focus, shapes emerging from the hazy horizon. At first, the details are blurred—shadows of structures pressed together, jutting silhouettes against the sky, but as he moves closer, the architecture reveals itself.
The structures are layered, stacked in tiers like cascading stone terraces, built from a mix of reinforced iron and aged brick. Pipes snake along the sides of buildings, hissing faintly.
His gaze flickers upward.
Above the town, cables stretch outward, linking the floating islands above to the port below. They disappear into the distance, anchoring the skyborne land to the world beneath it.
He doesn't have time to dwell on it. His gaze drifts forward, where gate stands at the city's entrance.
Forged from an obsidian-hued stone, its surface is polished to a near mirror sheen. Faint, circuit-like etchings pulse with energy, glowing veins of deep cerulean light threading through the stone in intricate, maze-like patterns.
The structure is reinforced with massive riveted plates, each seamlessly interlocked with the next. Along the edges, thick iron bands curve and weave into an elaborate lattice, holding crystals that emit a low, rhythmic hum.
In front of the gate he sees...
A few carts are stationed nearby, their contents still packed away, crates stacked high and secured with thick chains.
One cart, its frame sculpted from dark oak with brass-plated reinforcements. Another is lighter, built with a sleek metallic finish, its sides marked with foreign sigils that shift when viewed from different angles. A third, sturdier and bulkier, is covered with a thick tarp held down by riveted straps, its contents hidden from view.
Obinai barely has time to take it all in before—
His foot catches on something.
The sudden weight shift sends him stumbling forward, momentum throwing him straight into one of the carts. The wooden structure rattles violently, metal chains clinking together as he slams against it.
"Shit."
A heavy grunt follows.
Obinai winces, glancing up.
The merchant tending to the cart—a burly orc with arms like tree trunks, his forearms encased in copper-plated gauntlets—turns his head, his deep-set, scarred face twisting in mild annoyance. His tusks jut slightly from his lower lip, one chipped at the end. Small, yellowed eyes flick toward Obinai.
Obinai stiffens...
The orc huffs sharply through his nose, but says nothing. Instead, he shifts his attention back to his work, moving to the other side of the cart and resuming whatever he was doing.
Obinai lets out a slow breath.
Alright. Not getting crushed today.
Straightening himself, he dusts off his cloak and steps back, taking a moment to shake off the embarrassment.
"Just keep moving."
As he walks, the murmur of foreign tongues surrounds him, their words fluid and unfamiliar.
"Vos tirun vaelasht, durath elen shal?"
"Karrin vosh rek tolva!"
"Neivar shenath dos vel?"
His brows furrow.
Then, with a slight exhale, he raises two fingers to his neck and murmurs under his breath:
"[Translation.]"
A cool sensation spreads through his throat, like drinking ice water on a blistering day. The words around him shift—unraveling, twisting into something understandable...kind of.
"What's takin' so dang long? Them inspectors shoulda cleared this cargo by now!"
"They's still goin' over the manifest. Somethin' 'bout missin' paperwork."
"Dang paper-pushin' fools. Always gumming up trade!"
To his left, two burly dwarves strain as they unload crates from a heavy-duty transport wagon, its plated frame reinforced with thick, riveted steel and etched runes pulsing faintly along the cargo bay. Every few seconds, a mechanical hiss escapes the exposed pistons, releasing bursts of compressed air.
"Ya hear 'bout that new batch o' mithril?" one dwarf grunts, rolling his shoulders beneath a thick, oil-stained leather apron. His bushy beard, streaked with silver, is tucked neatly into the high collar of his reinforced work coat.
"Aye," the other mutters, adjusting his goggles, the lenses tinted with a faint gold sheen. He wipes the sweat from his brow with a gloved hand, the reinforced padding on the knuckles marked with old burn scars. "We best be shorin' up the warehouse. That stuff's worth more'n gold 'round these parts."
Obinai's eyes flick ahead, drawn toward a trio of long-limbed elves, their high-collared coats embroidered with golden circuitry patterns that shimmer as they move. They stand beside a display of quivers, their slender fingers, adorned with rings pulsing faintly with energy, carefully inspecting the metallic shafts of their wares.
"These enchanted bolts been sellin' like wildfire," one mutters, lifting an arrow between two graceful fingers. The intricate runes lining its shaft pulse faintly in response to his touch. "We should double the price before the festival."
"A smart idea," another agrees, adjusting the silver chain draped across his chest. "With all the adventurers arrivin', we can make a fortune."
To Obinai's right, a gnome and a feline beastkin stand hunched over a strange, humming device, its core pulsating with soft blue light like a heartbeat.
"It is unequivocally evident," the gnome huffs, adjusting the leather straps on his utility vest, the many pouches lining it filled with tiny gears, etched crystals, and folded parchment, "that the craftsmanship and arcane integration of this apparatus far exceed the rudimentary baubles peddled by lesser tinkerers. Its worth is—without question—no less than fifty silver pieces."
"Fifty?" The feline scoffs, his furred ears flicking back in irritation. His tail, sleek and lined with bronze rings, sways behind him as he gestures with a clawed hand, wrapped in fingerless gloves woven with copper threading. "That's highway robbery. I could buy a small arsenal for fifty. Twenty. Final offer.**"
The gnome clicks his tongue, nose twitching in distaste. "Such egregious undervaluation of fine magi-mechanical artistry is precisely why the uneducated masses remain shackled to mediocrity."
"Thirty," the feline cuts in, unimpressed.
The gnome's small, beady eyes narrow behind his thick-rimmed glasses. "Twenty-five. And consider yourself fortunate—were I not bound by my superior moral compass, I would be well within my rights to report this blatant attempt at extortion."
The feline grins, all fangs. "Twenty-five it is."
The gnome grumbles but reluctantly extends a hand. The two shake on it.
Obinai watches, his steps slowing as his gaze lingers on the feline beastkin.
The sleek silver-tinted fur, the slitted pupils, the way its claws flex instinctively when it speaks—it's humanoid, but... not. His fingers twitch at his sides.
What the hell is that?
The beastkin suddenly glances up. Its piercing gaze locks onto him.
He jerks his hood down further looking away suddenly. It looks human—sort of. But it can't be. His thoughts spiral, flashing back to every conversation he had with Vale.
This wasn't one of the races he had been taught about. Not even close.
How many more are there? Or... why weren't they talked about?
Then—
"Did you hear?"
Obinai's ears perk. His pace slows...
"The rogue dragon knight was spotted near the northern mountains."
Two figures stand near an obscured cart, its canvas cover shifting slightly in the breeze. They hunch over a flickering map displayed on a glass-like panel, symbols shifting across its surface. One is an elf, his high-collared cloak lined with silver embroidery, his long hair tied back into an intricate braid. The other, a dwarf, wears a thick, padded vest reinforced with steel plates, the heavy handle of a mechanical hammer secured across his back.
"Aye," the dwarf mutters, adjustin' the thick leather gloves wrapped 'round his hands. "The royal court done sent a whole battalion ta look into it. Hope it's jus' a bunch o' hogwash."
"Hopefully," the elf echoes.
Obinai frowns, filing the information away. A rogue dragon knight? He doesn't know enough about the politics of this place yet, but there's a weight to their words.
Something isn't right...
And then—the city gate looms ahead.
Obinai barely makes it three steps closer before a figure steps into his path.
"Halt. Present identification."
He stops instantly...
The guard is a tiefling, his skin a deep crimson, his horns curving sharply back over his head like a crown of polished obsidian. His tail flicks once behind him, the tip glowing faintly.
He wears a segmented breastplate, dark silver with overlapping metal plates. The armor is sleek but practical, reinforced with coiling wires that hum. A sigil—a lion and a dragon entwined in an eternal struggle—rests on his shoulder guard, embroidered onto the fabric beneath his plating.
Identification? Shit.
His fingers brush against his pocket.
The envelope.
He pulls it out, careful to keep his movements steady. No hesitation. "I'm here to attend Elona Academy," he states, handing it over.
The tiefling's piercing yellow eyes narrow slightly as he inspects the seal—a silver phoenix, wings outstretched, flames curling into an intricate swirl—encircled by a laurel of woven branches, all set against a rising sun.
Something in the guard's posture shifts.
A sharp flick of his tail, shoulders rolling back slightly—not defensive. His voice, though still formal, lowers into something smoother.
"This seal…" he murmurs, eyes flicking from the envelope to Obinai.
Then, just as quickly, he schools his expression and hands the letter back.
"My apologies, sir," he says with a curt nod. "I wasn't aware you were an academy invitee."
Obinai blinks.
What the hell is in this letter?
He nods slowly, masking his confusion. "Yeah. That's right."
The guard steps aside, one hand resting over his belted scabbard. "You may enter."
Obinai shifts forward, steps smooth and measured, but just as he's about to slip past the threshold, the guard's voice halts him again.
"If you're bound for Elona, you'll want the Skyward Station." The tiefling's golden eyes assess him. "It's the closest air gondola hub. Just past the second district plaza, near the Azure Spire.**"
Obinai pauses, glancing back. "Air gondola?"
The guard nods, his horns catching the dim, shifting light of the gate's rune-etched pillars. "A floating transport system—magitech lifts that carry passengers between the ground cities and the sky islands. They run on stabilized ley currents, kept in place by anchor towers. Faster, safer, and much less messy than trying to fly up on your own."
His lips quirk slightly. "Not that I'd recommend attempting that anyway."
Obinai snorts, shaking his head. "Yeah, no plans on freefalling today."
The tiefling smirks. "Good. You won't need to pay—students of Elona Academy are granted free passage. Just show them the seal on your letter."
Obinai gives a short nod. "Got it."
And with that—
He steps through the gates...