Chapter 102: A Favorable Gale

  The harsh reality of being dead in the water settled heavily over the Leviathan's Rib for the next four grueling days. The vast, featureless expanse of the Southern Ocean surrounded them, a terrifying desert of deep blue glass. There was no wind. The heavy, iron-reinforced galleon simply drifted aimlessly on the slow, unpredictable deep-water currents.

  Captain Thorne maintained brutal discipline. The crew utilized the secondary, significantly smaller foremast and rigged several heavy canvas tarps across the deck to catch stray breezes, but the colossal weight of the highly armored ship rendered the makeshift sails ineffective. They were crawling at a fraction of a knot.

  Zeno utilized the downtime exactly as he had promised. He sat on the sun-baked wooden deck for hours every afternoon, his heavy Rock Serpent gauntlets resting beside him, utilizing his small charcoal stick and a worn piece of vellum.

  "X," Zeno muttered quietly, carefully drawing two straight, intersecting lines. "Like a target on a map. Y... like a slingshot. And..."

  He paused, his brow furrowing deeply in concentration. He meticulously traced the final shape, drawing a sharp horizontal line, a drastic diagonal slash, and another perfect horizontal base.

  "Z!" Zeno breathed, his amber eyes widening with pure triumph.

  He scrambled to his feet, grabbing the piece of vellum. He ran across the deck toward Lyra, holding the parchment high in the air like a hard-won championship trophy.

  "Lyra! Look!" Zeno shouted, his face radiating innocent joy. "I caught all the trapped voices! From the Apple (A) to Zeno (Z)! Does this mean I can read the tavern cooks' minds before they even start cooking?"

  Lyra stopped her dagger maintenance, laughing warmly at his logic. She stood up and proudly ruffled his messy, jet-black hair.

  "Not their minds, sledgehammer," Lyra explained, tapping the paper. "But you can read what they write down. You won't ever have to ask me what's on a menu again. From a blank slate to a literate Vanguard in record time. The scholars in Riverbend would be furious at your efficiency."

  Zeno puffed his broad chest out, holding his vellum tight. "Now the world is not a secret anymore."

  Despite Zeno’s academic victory, the tactical situation was rapidly deteriorating. The crew was growing restless, staring anxiously at the dark water, fully anticipating another ambush. The massive reserves of Kraken meat were slowly spoiling despite the heavy salt, and the fresh water supply was finite.

  Lyra stood up, looking at the limp canvas sails hanging heavily from the foremast rigging. She looked at her own hands, feeling the deep, roaring flow of her pale green wind Tena coursing flawlessly through her newly healed veins.

  She refused to sit and wait to starve in the middle of the ocean.

  Lyra walked deliberately up the wooden stairs to the steering quarterdeck, approaching Captain Thorne, who was reviewing an ancient nautical chart.

  "Captain," Lyra stated firmly. "The currents are dragging us westward, away from the Sirena archipelago. If we continue to drift, we will miss the island chain and drift into the deep abyssal zones."

  Thorne didn't look up from his map. "Your tactical assessment is accurate, scout. Unfortunately, my engineering team cannot rebuild a magical displacement engine from shattered scrap iron, and we cannot summon a gale from an empty sky."

  Stolen novel; please report.

  "I can't push an iron galleon," Lyra corrected smoothly. "But I can catch a slipstream."

  Thorne finally looked up, his icy grey eyes narrowing slightly. "Explain."

  "There are high-altitude trade winds far above us," Lyra said, pointing toward the sky. "I don't need to generate the wind myself. I just need to reach up with my Tena, grab a high-pressure current, and pull it down into our sails."

  Thorne analyzed the mast. "The foremast is not designed to take the sudden, massive torque of a high-altitude gale. The wood will snap, and we will lose our only remaining rigging."

  Lyra smirked, looking down at the main deck. "It won't snap. I have a ground anchor."

  She called down. "Zeno! Get your gauntlets on and stand directly beneath the foremast!"

  Zeno didn't question the request. He strapped the heavy Rock Serpent scales onto his forearms and marched to the base of the smaller mast. Lyra quickly explained the physics of the operation.

  "Grab the primary rigging ropes, Zeno," Lyra instructed, pointing to the thick hemp cables securing the mast to the deck. "When I pull the wind down, the mast is going to try to break forward. You have to plant your boots and pull back. Do not let the wood bend."

  "I will hold the big stick," Zeno promised, wrapping the thick, abrasive ropes multiple times around his spiked gauntlets. He widened his stance, his heavy blue-steel boots digging into the wooden deck. He looked like a living statue of dense muscle and dark armor.

  Lyra didn't stay on the deck. She utilized her Flowing Step, scaling the rigging of the foremast with feline grace until she stood balancing perfectly on the highest wooden crossbeam, dozens of feet above the deck.

  She closed her eyes, clearing her mind. She didn't tap into a small spark of magic for a fast dodge. She reached deep into her magical core, unleashing the full, uncorrupted fury of her elemental power.

  A blinding aura of pale green wind Tena erupted from her slender frame. Lyra thrust both of her hands straight up toward the sky, sending a concentrated pillar of magical energy high into the atmosphere. She searched the sky, her magic acting as a net, until she felt the rushing, powerful force of the upper trade winds.

  With a fierce shout, Lyra violently pulled her arms down.

  She physically dragged the high-altitude gale out of the sky and funneled it directly into the heavy canvas sails of the Leviathan's Rib.

  The physical recoil was catastrophic. The massive sails instantly snapped violently taut with a sound like thunder.

  Down on the deck, the foremast groaned in profound agony, bowing forward under the sudden, immense atmospheric pressure. The thick hemp ropes pulled with enough force to rip a normal man's arms from their sockets.

  Zeno roared. He engaged his monstrous Strength stat of 26, fighting the torque of the sky itself. His heavy boots cracked the deck boards as he was dragged an inch forward, but he stopped. His back muscles bulged obscenely against his red tunic. He held the ropes, turning his own massive frame into a flawless, immovable counterweight. The mast straightened.

  The Leviathan's Rib lurched violently, carving a massive, frothing white wake into the dark ocean, surging forward with incredible, terrifying speed.

  "Hold the heading!" Thorne yelled, his icy demeanor breaking into a fierce, impressed grin as he spun the massive steering wheel, fighting the sudden torque.

  For the next several hours, they maintained the grueling, symbiotic operation. Lyra acted as a magical funnel, dragging the sky down to the ship, while Zeno acted as the unyielding physical foundation keeping the vessel from tearing itself apart.

  As the sun began to slowly set, painting the sky in vibrant shades of orange and deep purple, Lyra’s vision finally began to blur. She was at the absolute limit of human endurance.

  "Lyra!" Zeno suddenly shouted over the roaring wind, pointing a massive, dark-wrapped finger toward the horizon. "Look!"

  Lyra slowly cut the flow of magic, collapsing heavily onto the rigging, panting with exhaustion. The captured wind died, and the ship coasted on its massive momentum.

  She looked toward the southern horizon.

  The dark, freezing water of the open ocean abruptly transitioned into a stunning, vibrant shade of crystalline turquoise. Rising majestically from the vibrant water, stretching for miles across the horizon, was an architectural marvel.

  It wasn't a city of stone or wood. It was a wildly sprawling metropolis constructed from colossal, brightly colored, heavily enchanted coral reefs. Towering spires of crimson and gold coral pierced the sky, connected by sweeping, delicate bridges of translucent blue shell. The entire city actively glowed with a soft, bioluminescent light, welcoming them to the edge of the world.

  They had arrived at the Sirena archipelago. The Sunken Forge, and the terrifying pressures of the First Era, were waiting in the deep trenches below.