Carl slammed into the ice, his light-weight armor clanking against the frozen surface as the portal spat him out and vanished. Wind howled around him, bitter cold biting through his suit despite its environmental protections.

  “Not exactly the Rowen I remember,” he muttered, pushing himself to his feet.

  Ahead, carved into a massive mountain face, loomed a structure of impossible scale—a palace or fortress of some kind. If there were answers about Kevin, they’d be there.

  Carl tried to activate his flight powers to make the journey quicker. Nothing happened. He tried summoning electricity to his fingertips. Again, nothing.

  “Great. No powers,” he said, flipping down his visor. The tech display remained dark. “And no tech either.”

  A distant cracking sound drew his attention. Behind him, the ice shelf he’d landed on was splitting apart, fractures racing toward him like lightning strikes. He had minutes before the entire area collapsed into the chasm below.

  “Best get walking,” he muttered, trudging forward as quickly as the snow would allow. “Or running.”

  Halfway to the palace, Carl crested a ridge of packed snow and caught his breath. The bitter cold made each inhalation painful, and his armor—designed for light missions, not arctic expeditions—provided minimal insulation. Without his powers to regulate his body temperature, hypothermia was becoming an actual concern.

  He squinted at the far away palace, trying to gauge the remaining distance. That’s when he noticed the surrounding snow was... moving. Not blowing in the wind, but shifting from beneath, creating tiny mounds that rose and fell like something was breathing underneath.

  Carl took a cautious step back. Without powers, without weapons, he was vulnerable in ways he hadn’t been since he was young.

  The snow before him erupted. A creature burst forth—a nightmarish hybrid of ant and human. It stood seven feet tall on four chitinous legs, while its upper body featured a humanoid torso with four arms, each ending in either pincers or holding crude weapons fashioned from bone and metal. Its body was unmistakably ant-like, with compound eyes and waving antennae, but its mandibles moved with disturbing precision as they spoke.

  “Biped detected,” it chittered, its voice a dry clicking sound that somehow formed English words. “Classification: unknown. Containment protocol started.”

  Carl raised his hands in a universal gesture of peace. “I mean no harm. I’m just passing through to the palace.”

  The creature’s antennae twitched rapidly. “Palace designation recognized. Affiliation: Arctic Temple. Classification updated: enemy combatant.”

  More mounds of snow rose around Carl, circling him. Five, no, seven of the ant-creatures emerging, each armed and chittering at the others in a rapid-fire language of clicks and hisses.

  “Wait,” Carl said, backing up. “I’m not your enemy. I’m looking for someone—"

  “Silence, Temple spy,” the lead ant commanded. “The Hunger awaits your essence.” It raised its upper right arm, which begun with ominous red light.

  Carl’s J-Clan combat training kicked in. Without powers, he’d need to rely on physical skills and environmental advantages. The ice beneath them was slick, and the ant-creatures, despite their size, might not adapt well as their snow burrows.

  When the first blast of red energy shot from the lead ant, Carl was already moving. He dropped and slid between the creature’s legs, using the ice to gain speed. The blast hit another ant behind him, causing it to shriek in pain as its carapace smoked.

  “Subdue but preserve!” the leader shouted. “The Hunger requires living essence!”

  Carl grabbed a jagged shard of ice as he came up from his slide, wielding it like a dagger. One ant lunged at him with a bone spear. Carl sidestepped, using the creature’s momentum to guide it past him, then brought the ice shard down hard on the joint where its arm connected to its torso. The appendage didn’t sever, but the creature screeched in pain.

  “What is the Hunger?” Carl demanded, ducking under another swing. “What do you want from me?

  The lead ant chittered something to the others, and they circled more strategically, cutting off escape routes.

  “All serve the Hunger,” it replied. “All essence feeds the Malikhil. Yours will be potent, off-worlder."

  Two ants attacked simultaneously. Carl evaded the first but caught a glancing blow from the second. The impact sent him sprawling across the ice. Pain exploded across his cracked ribs.

  The lead ant approached, its mandibles clicking excitedly. “The Anbar Empire thanks you for your contribution, biped.”

  Carl struggled to his feet, knowing without powers, without backup, this was how it ended—in a frozen wasteland far from home, trying to save his best friend.

  A high-pitched screech tore through the air. The ants looked up, their antennae quivering in alarm.

  “Temple Wing!” one cried. “Aerial attack!"

  From above, a blur of blue and brown plummeted toward them. An eagle-like creature with a wingspan easily twenty feet across slammed into the lead ant, powerful talons puncturing its carapace. The ant shrieked, firing its red fireballs wildly, hitting one of its companions.

  More eagles descended, their humanoid wings shooting green magic that looked like spears made of crystal. They moved with military precision, targeting the ants with efficiency.

  “Off-worlder!” called the first eagle as it disengaged from the wounded ant. “Grab my leg if you want to live!”

  Carl didn’t hesitate. As the eagle swooped low, he leaped up and caught the extended talon-foot, hanging on as they rapidly gained altitude. Below, the battle continued—three eagles against the remaining ants, the green magic spears flashing against red fire blasts.

  “What the hell are those things?” Carl shouted over the wind.

  “Anbar Conscripts,” the eagle replied, banking sharply to avoid a stray energy blast from below. “Spore Beasts twisted by Malikhil’s corruption. They harvest essence for the Hunger.”

  Carl nearly lost his grip on the familiar name. “Did you say Malikhil?”

  “Hold tight,” the eagle responded instead. “I am Dimitri of the Temple Wing. We’ve been searching for your arrival point since the detection of the signature."

  As they climbed higher, Carl looked down at the battlefield. The ants were retreating, burrowing back into the snow. One eagle was injured, its right wing moving awkwardly as two companions helped it airborne.

  “Your companions,” Carl called. “Are they—”

  “Paltov took a blast, but he’ll live,” Dimitri replied. “The Anbar have been growing bolder, pushing scouts this close to the Temple. It’s why we doubled our patrols when we detected your portal.”

  Carl’s mind raced with questions, but the stunning view as they gained altitude momentarily silenced him. The vast ice fields stretched in all directions, meeting a horizon where blue sky touched white ground. And ahead, growing larger with every wingbeat, the Arctic Temple Palace rose from the mountainside like something from a fever dream—part fortress, part cathedral, part alien technology.

  “Welcome to what’s left of Rowen,” Dimitri said, following Carl’s gaze. “Not quite what you remember, I’d wager.”

  That was the understatement of the century.

  The palace grew more imposing as they approached—a sprawling structure of ice and stone that defied architectural logic. Multiple platforms jutted from the mountainside, connected by graceful bridges that looked too delicate to support weight. Spires of crystalline ice rose hundreds of feet into the air, capturing and fracturing sunlight into prismatic patterns that danced across the structure’s surface.

  But what truly marked this as alien to Carl’s memories of Rowen was the technology. Circuits of blue light pulsed beneath transparent ice sections, forming complex patterns that reminded him of computer motherboards. Occasionally, surges of energy would race through these circuits, causing sections of the palace to shift and reconfigure themselves in response.

  Dozens of the eagle-people flew around the structure in organized patterns. Some carried supplies or messages, others were patrolling. All wore clothing and carried tools or weapons of distinct designs. Carl noticed hierarchies in their dress—some in simple fabric wraps, others in elaborate robes or military uniforms.

  “The Arctic Temple Palace,” Dimitri explained as they approached a landing platform near the summit. “Last stronghold of the free Spore Beasts.”

  “Spore Beasts?” Carl asked, the term unfamiliar.

  “Us,” Dimitri replied, banking toward a wide circular platform. “The children of the Great Reshaping. What emerged after the Time Fracture when the Sword Master sealed away the Malikhil?"

  Carl’s grip tightened reflexively on Dimitri’s leg. “None of this was here before. Rowen was forests and villages, castles, and fields. Not... whatever this is.”

  “That Rowen still exists, south of the border,” Dimitri said, beginning his descent. “What you call Rowen Commons. But much has changed — thousands of years of history that were rewritten when time mended itself."

  Before Carl could question this bizarre statement, they were landing. Dimitri hovered briefly over the platform, allowing Carl to drop the final few feet before landing himself with surprising grace for his size.

  Carl’s legs nearly buckled—partly from the strain of hanging on during the flight, partly from the relief of solid ground. The platform - constructed strange material with the rest of the palace: ice that wasn’t quite ice, transparent enough to reveal the glowing circuitry beneath, yet warm to the touch despite the frigid air around them.

  The other eagle warriors landed nearby, supporting their injured companion between them. Medical staff—more eagle-people in white garments—rushed forward with crystal-based technology to attend to the wounded.

  “Dimitri!” a commanding voice cut through the bustle.

  A larger eagle approached, his plumage darker than the others, with intricate gold patterns woven into the fabric draped across his torso. Unlike Dimitri’s military bearing, this eagle moved with the confident stride of a politician or diplomat.

  “Report,” he demanded, eyes flicking briefly to Carl before returning to Dimitri.

  “Anbar scouts at the northern ridge, Councilor,” Dimitri replied, straightening to attention. “At least seven Conscripts, more burrowed. They targeted the off-worlder specifically."

  The councilor’s gaze returned to Carl, more evaluating this time. “So, this is the Jackson. Smaller than the histories suggest.”

  Carl bristled at the dismissive tone. “And you are?”

  “Councilor Aerin,” Dimitri provided quickly. “Second to the Empress in the Temple Hierarchy.”

  “The Empress awaits in the Chronal Chamber,” Aerin said, turning away. “Bring him, but ensure he’s scanned for tracking spores first. The Anbar’s interest in him is... concerning.”

  As Aerin strode away, Dimitri lowered his voice. “Apologies for his manner. The Councilor lost his entire clutch to an Anbar raid last season. He’s... distrustful of bipeds.”

  Carl nodded, understanding the loss all too well. He followed Dimitri through an archway that seemed to ripple like water as they passed through, though remained solid to the touch. Inside, the palace revealed itself as even more impressive than its exterior.

  Vaulted ceilings soared hundreds of feet overhead, supported by columns of crystal that pulsed with internal light. The floor beneath their feet was a mosaic of transparent panels, revealing multiple levels below where eagle-people and other creatures moved about their business. Some sections showed vast libraries with scrolls and books, others workshop areas where craftspeople worked with materials Carl couldn’t identify.

  But most striking were the other inhabitants. While eagle-people predominated, Carl now saw dozens of other species: graceful deer-like beings with extra limbs that moved like dancers; massive bear-creatures whose fur seemed to shimmer with embedded technology; small, quick rodent-types carrying messages and operating complex crystal machinery.

  “All Spore Beasts,” Dimitri explained, noting Carl’s wide-eyed observation. “The Time Fracture affected all creatures in Rowen differently. Some, like us Temple Eagles, organized quickly. Others...” His voice darkened. “Others were twisted into service to the Hunger.”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  They passed through a security checkpoint where two stern-faced eagles waved crystal wands over Carl’s body. The wands hummed and changed colors as they passed over different areas.

  “Clean,” one security officer declared. “No spores detected.”

  “This way,” Dimitri said, leading Carl deeper into the palace.

  They passed rooms filled with eagles in deep conversation over three-dimensional maps projected from crystal tables; medical chambers where the wounded treated with light-based healing; training areas where young eagles practiced aerial combat maneuvers in open vertical shafts.

  “It’s a city,” Carl realized aloud. “Not just a palace.”

  “The last free city,” Dimitri confirmed grimly. “The Anbar Empire has taken everything else south of the Cascadia Forest line.”

  They approached a massive circular door carved with intricate runes that glowed with inner light. Two eagles in ceremonial armor stood guard, their crystal spears crossed to the blocked entrance.

  “Temple Wing Dimitri,” announced one guard. “With the off-worlder Jackson. The Empress expects them.”

  The guards uncrossed their spears, and the massive door slid open silently, revealing a chamber unlike anything Carl had seen before. The walls were transparent, showing not the mountains outside but multiple overlapping realities—forests, deserts, oceans, all shifting and blending into one another like oil on water.

  “The Chronal Chamber,” Dimitri said quietly. “Where the Empress observes the timelines.”

  At the chamber’s center, suspended above the floor, there was a massive silver nest structure. And perched upon it, waiting with the patience of mountains, was Empress Rydia.

  The throne room was a marvel of technology and ancient design. Luminescent circuits pulsed through the stone walls. A massive silver nest dominated the far end, suspended above the floor without visible support.

  Two smaller eagle-creatures flanked Carl as he entered—one into a crisp red suit who introduced himself as Admin, the other in flowing robes called Phoebe. They whispered urgently to each other as they led him forward.

  “The Empress Rydia Ornel of the Great Bastion Talon Peak approaches,” Admin announced, dropping into a formal bow.

  From the nest descended an elderly eagle, her feathers silver with age but her eyes sharp. Unlike the others, she moved with a slight limp, one wing held at an unnatural angle.

  “Carl Jackson,” she said, her voice surprisingly warm. “So young. Last time I saw you, you were much older.”

  Carl blinked in confusion. It wasn’t until that moment that he realized he was younger. His body had somehow reverted to that of a young adult, around twenty, if he had to guess. “I’ve never been here before,” he said, gesturing at the crystalline structures surrounding them. “Not to this... ice palace."

  The Empress—Rydia, according to Admin’s whispered prompt—gestured, and a table materialized between them, laden with food and drink.

  “Please, sit,” she said. “We have much to discuss and little time.”

  “I’m not here for tea,” Carl said, remaining standing. “I’m here for Kevin. Where is he?”

  Rydia’s eyes flashed with irritation. “Impatient, like all humans. Sit, Carl Jackson. Respect our ways, and I will tell you what you need to know.”

  Admin hissed in warning. “The Empress offers hospitality only once.”

  Reluctantly, Carl sat. “Fine. But please. I need answers.”

  “And answers you shall have,” Rydia said, settling across from him. “But first, you must understand what has happened to Rowen since you and the Sword Master left us.”

  She touched a circuit on the table, and a three-dimensional map appeared between them. “When the Sword Master and you sealed away the Malikhil, the land returned to normal. However, sometime later, the Fabric of Time was damaged. Your father was crucial in mending that Fabric.”

  The map shifted, showing the realm splitting and reforming.

  “We Spore Beasts came into existence then created with memories and histories that span generations, though in your timeline, we never existed before. South of us arose the Anbar Empire, humans with the stirring darkness at its heart.”

  “Malikhil,” Carl whispered.

  Rydia nodded grimly. “It grows stronger. We summoned the Sword Master to help us, but something went wrong. His soul shattered on arrival, each fragment infusing one of the Power Swords."

  “That explains Kevin’s condition on Earth,” Carl said, the pieces finally clicking together. “But if he’s here too, where exactly is he?”

  “Rowen Commons,” Phoebe interjected. “A village in the forest lands. We sent our Champion to assist him, but she’s gone silent.

  “And you want me to go find them,” Carl concluded.

  “Yes,” Rydia said, eyes fixed on his. “But I sense your reluctance. You did not come to save our realm, did you?”

  “No,” Carl admitted. “I came for my friend. To take him home.”

  The temperature in the room seemed to drop further. Admin and Phoebe exchanged alarmed glances.

  “Then you doom us all,” Rydia said quietly. “The Anbar Empire enslaves my people daily. Slaughters those who do not conscript. Malikhil’s influence spreads. Without the Sword Master”

  “Kevin has a wife,” Carl interrupted. “A family. A life. You stole that life from him when you summoned him here.”

  Rydia rose suddenly, her injured wing trembling with emotion. “And we have lives too! You will end our lives if you take him before defeating the Malikhil! She waved her wing, and the table vanished. “But I cannot force you. Go to Rowen Commons. Find your friend. Make your choice."

  “Carl, as our empress has said,” Phoebe replied. “The Great Darkness is back. And not to remind you, but Kevin is home."

  “No,” Carl protested. “This is not his home. Your Retsam dragged us here years ago to save this land, and we did just that. Kevin finished his mission. Let him rest."

  “You misplace your anger, young Jackson,” Admin said, matching his tone. “You and Kevin altered the deal, and you conveniently forget that if he was to be called again to serve, then the Retsam has every right to do so."

  Carl suddenly remembered the final clause: Kevin could be recalled to Rowen to repair any damage caused by his departure. It had seemed insignificant then, as he defeated Malikhil. Yet Carl’s presence here proved Malikhil survived, making him just as responsible as these creatures.

  But none of that mattered. All that matters is getting his best friend home.

  “Where is he?” Carl demanded. “And what is this problem that happened when you robbed him of his life?"

  “Malikhil infests the Anbar Empire, and the Great Darkness intend to once again use that host to conquer the Rowen Realm. Thus, the Retsam summoned the Sword Master to counter the threat. But when Kevin arrived, the Power Sword did not gather, and it remains shattered in pieces along the realm. We know where one piece will be soon. At Rowen Commons, a village near the center of Rowen territory in the Cascadia Forest. That is where the Retsam sent Kevin..."

  Ok, he has a location. He remembers that much of that area. The commons were a generalized area where they first started.

  Carl broke his train of thought. “I sense a but..."

  “The Soul of the Sword Master shattered on his arrival, and each piece infused with each of the Power Swords. The shattered pieces corrupted the Power Swords, but they will never form as they are."

  That would explain the empty soul that lies in the bed. He would need to repair his soul. The mere thought of this problem only gets more confusing. “Wait, I left Kevin back in my Realm. How is he here as well?"

  “As the Empress said before,” Phoebe replied. “The Retsam would never allow Kevin to leave this world as his presence holds the Darkness back. As such, two versions of Kevin exist in order to satisfy your desires way back when."

  The Retsam. Their word for ‘God.’

  “So, this was not intentional. The version here is the one you summoned, and somehow, the Earth’s Kevin’s soul was pulled into this realm."

  He started to see the sense of what had happened, but the back of his mind said otherwise. He still felt responsible because of the selfish desire way back then. That will never go away like a scratchable itch.

  “We have sent a Champion to assist the Sword Master, however, she lost contact with us. We were about to send another envoy when your energy signature came through the portal. The Empress knew what needed to happen, as she always does."

  His heart sank. He knew what that meant. “You mean, you want me to go down there, and help this Kevin succeed in driving this evil back... again."

  “That is why you are here before us,” Rydia said.

  “No,” Carl replied. “I am not here to save your people. I made a promise to his wife and family. Kevin’s soul is out here somewhere, and if you say that it is in pieces, then I personally will put them back together, but we will not fight your battles. Once I have his complete soul I am taking him home. And this time I will destroy the portal and any instance of this land.”

  “Carl..."

  Carl stood up in anger. “Make no mistake. I am sorry for what is happening to your land. I really do and once this is over, then the J-Clan will help assist if we can. But now, you are in the wrong. You knew of us back then, and you had the power to call on the J-Clan to help you! But instead, you RIPPED my friend away from his life. All for your selfish existence!”

  “Watch your tone, Carl!” Admin and Phoebe snapped in unison, their auras pulsing with a deep, threatening glow. “We will not tolerate your apathy toward the Empress.”

  “Stand down,” Rydia interjected, raising her hand. “He means us no harm. Let him speak his mind.”

  Carl took a deep breath, centering on himself. “My only loyalty right now is to my friend. Nothing else matters until he’s safe. That’s my goal. Period.”

  “You will find that our goals are intertwined,” Rydia replied, her voice soft but unyielding.

  Carl’s eyes narrowed. “I strongly doubt that your Empress.”

  The Empress stood up from her seat and with a swipe of her hand everything disappeared around them. “My Temple Wing will fly you to the Commons, where your friend and my Champion are located.”

  Carl bowed in respect. “Thank you, Empress, in your understanding. I apologize for my outburst as this is important to me.”

  “Admin, have Captain Dimitri ready for escort mission.”

  “Yes, Empress.”

  “Carl, there are some things you must know when you get there. The Arctic Temple Palace cannot be directly involved with what is happening down south. But if all possible, please consider helping my species. You will find that Anbar has committed terrible atrocities against us, and as much help we have sent, none have come back. The Rowen people need help as well, as they are caught in the Great Darkness’s grip."

  “Empress, like I said...” Carl began, his tone firm but respectful.

  “I know, your friend is your priority.” Rydia’s voice carried the weight of centuries yet held a surprising gentleness. “But like the Sword Master, you are a great man. I know you will do the right thing.”

  Carl straightened his shoulders, his jaw set with determination. “I will. I am J-Clan. That’s what we do.”

  “Indeed,” she replied, the single word carrying both acknowledgment and expectation.

  Dimitri opened the grand doors and entered, kneeling when he came up next to Carl. “Empress, my Wing is ready.”

  “Safe speed, Dimitri. Get him to where he needs to be.”

  “By the Retsam,” Dimitri replied with a formal nod.

  “Carl,” the Empress called as they turned away.

  He paused and looked back while Dimitri waited respectfully at the door.

  “The Sword Master may not be what you expect.”

  Carl nodded once; his jaw set with determination.

  “Alright buddy, ready to fly?” Dimitri said when they reached the platform, clapping Carl on the shoulder.

  “I am ready. Let’s go Dimitri. Thank you for me relying on you for flight. Normally I would fly myself there.”

  Dimitri gave a hearty laugh. “A human flying on their own? Now that would be a sight to see. Hop on young one. No hanging onto my legs. That was awkward. Hop on my back and keep your head down.”

  The landing platform buzzed with activity as Dimitri’s Wing prepared for departure. Four eagle warriors checked their crystal weapons and supplies, securing everything to harnesses around their torsos. Medical eagles wrapped fresh bandages around Paltov’s injured wing, applying glowing salve to the energy burn.

  “You’re still coming?” Carl asked him, surprised.

  Paltov flexed his wing, wincing slightly. “This? It’s nothing. Besides, someone needs to keep Dimitri from talking your ear off about Temple Wing glory days.”

  “I can hear you,” Dimitri called over, adjusting his flight harness.

  Carl looked out over the vast expanse beyond the platform. From this height, he could see the stark division between the icy northern territories and the greener southern lands. The border between them wasn’t just geographical—an actual line of distortion shimmered in the air, like heat waves rising from summer pavement.

  “What is that?” he asked, pointing to the phenomenon.

  “Time Scar,” answered a female eagle, introducing herself as Kira. “Where reality knitted itself back together imperfectly. We avoid flying directly through it—causes temporal disorientation.”

  “Translation: it makes you puke,” Paltov added helpfully.

  Councilor Aerin appeared on the platform, striding purposefully toward their group. The other eagles immediately straightened their posture.

  “The Empress has directed me to provide additional intelligence,” he said, his tone making clear he wasn’t thrilled with the assignment. He handed Carl a small communicator wrist strap “This contains known Anbar patrol routes and safe houses in the border region.”

  “Thanks,” Carl said, genuinely surprised by the help. He had one similar for J-Clan messages, but he figured that he didn’t need it for now and replaced it. The ATP signal blinked and he felt his visor appear on his head, even though he couldn’t understand why the two would even correlate.

  Aerin’s expression remained cold. “Do not mistake this for trust, off-worlder. I merely fulfill my duty to the Empress.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “But know this—if you abandon the Sword Master again, as you did years ago, there will be nowhere in any timeline you can hide from Temple justice.”

  “I didn’t abandon—” Carl began, but Aerin had already turned away.

  Dimitri approached, looking uncomfortable. “Ignore him. The Councilor lost his entire family to the Anbar. He’s... not himself.”

  “It’s fine,” Carl said, though it wasn’t. “Let’s get moving.”

  “One more thing,” Dimitri said, handing Carl a small bundle. “Temple clothing. Your armor stands out too much, and it’s not suited for the forest environment.”

  Carl examined the garments—lightweight but sturdy fabric in muted greens and browns, with multiple hidden pockets. “How do you even know human sizes?”

  Dimitri’s beak formed what might have been a smile. “We’ve had Rowen allies before. They are different for sure but still your size. There’s a changing area behind that partition.”

  When Carl emerged in his new attire, the eagles were completing their final preparations. Admin had appeared on the platform, speaking urgently with Dimitri.

  “Change of plans,” Dimitri announced as Carl approached. “Anbar movement detected near the southern forest edge. We’ll have to take the western approach instead.

  “How much longer will that take?” Carl asked.

  “Half a day, maybe more,” Kira replied. “But we’ll avoid their anti-air defenses.”

  Carl nodded, resigned to the delay. Every hour meant Kevin’s condition potentially worsening, but getting shot down wouldn’t help anyone.

  “One last gift from the Empress,” Admin said, presenting Carl with a sheathed dagger. The handle was made of the same crystal as the eagles’ weapons, pulsing faintly with blue energy. “It’s not much against Anbar technology, but it’s better than nothing.”

  Carl accepted the weapon, securing it to his belt. “I appreciate it.”

  “Time to fly,” Dimitri called out. “Carl, you’ll ride with me. The others will form defensive positions around us.”

  This time, rather than hanging from Dimitri’s legs, Carl was secured to a harness on the eagle’s back. It was significantly more comfortable, though still precarious.

  “Hold tight to these straps,” Dimitri instructed. “And if we come under fire, keep your head down. Let us handle the fighting.”

  “No offense, but without my powers, I’m not exactly eager to join an aerial battle,” Carl replied.

  Paltov approached three other Temple Air Guards, all strapping on their flight gear. “And don’t fall, unless you think the trees will catch you!” he called with a barking laugh.

  As they prepared to launch, Phoebe rushed onto the platform, clutching a small ruby pendant. “Wait!” he called. “The Empress also requests this for you.”

  “Ya know, for an advance society, y'alls timing is all over the place. What is this now?”

  She pressed the pendant into Carl’s hand. “A communication device, of sorts. A just in case...” He hesitated.

  “In case of what?” Carl asked.

  “Just hang on to it ok. Quit asking dumb questions,” Phoebe finished.

  Dimitri shifted uncomfortably. “We should go now. Before the storm.”

  The five eagles moved to the edge of the platform. Below, the ice fields stretched out in dizzying vastness. Despite his years of flight with the J-Clan, Carl felt a flutter of apprehension in his stomach.

  “Temple Wing, formation Theta,” Dimitri commanded. “Fly with purpose, return with honor. For the Retsam!”

  “For the Retsam!” the others echoed.

  They launched in perfect synchronization, dropping from the platform before their powerful wings caught the updraft. Carl’s stomach lurched as they plummeted, then steadied as Dimitri leveled out and the others took positions around them—one ahead, one behind, one on each side.

  As they launched from the platform, Carl looked back at the palace gleaming against the icy mountain. For all its beauty, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Rydia was hiding something crucial from him.

  “Dimitri,” he said as they gained altitude, “what did the Empress mean about Kevin being ‘not what I expect’?”

  The eagle warrior was silent for a long moment, the wind whistling past them. Finally, he spoke, his voice nearly lost in the gale.

  “The fragments don’t just contain pieces of soul,” he said. “They contain pieces of an emotions. And not all pieces are... friendly.”

  Below them, the ice fields raced by as they flew toward the distant green line of forests. Somewhere in those trees was Kevin—or whatever was left of him.

  Hang on, bud. I’m coming.