Subtitle:'From the clouds, vengeance will rain'
This is the day they would finally repay the neighbor kingdom—Ashbourne—for its cruelties. They were coming for the medicines that had been stolen, for every raid, every insult heaped on the Richard Kingdom. The attacks had been steady, souring the air between the borders until no one could breathe easy.
They had aimed at Ray once, while he was shielding Princess Alice; he'd shrugged it off then, still a child and not yet ready to be consumed by war. But they had crossed a line when they touched his mother. They had touched Ray's reverse scale. That was an offense that called for something more than words. It called for a plan that would make them wish they had never pressed their luck.
Seven days of preparation had tilted the balance. Above Ashbourne, where the night swallowed the land, a hundred and more hot-air balloons hung like silent moons. The kingdom's night guards had no notion that a ghost fleet floated over Ashbourne, waiting to strike. The leaders were there: Robert at the helm, Dukes and their highest subordinates, all waiting with a restraint that felt almost unnatural for men thirsting for retribution. They were poised to strike, and none in Ashbourne suspected who had devised the stratagem.
To understand how they reached that night, we must go back seven days—back to a room where plans took root in the hush of conspiracy.
In Diana's chamber, Ray spoke with a calm that unsettled more than thunder would have.
"We need to do something they won't expect," he said. "They'll be waiting for father's counterattack, for the obvious moves. So why play into their hands? We prepare something massive—secret—something that comes from a place they wouldn't think to look."
Robert rubbed his jaw. "They have secret agencies everywhere, Ray. So do we. But theirs outnumber ours. They slip in and out like ghosts. We've been on the back foot, and Daniel has made it harder."
Ray's voice didn't falter. "What I'm about to propose is enough to take a kingdom—if we go that far. But we can scale it. Tell the king if you must; only give him what he needs to know. Take the credit; don't give it to me. If you promise, I'll tell you."
A ripple of private laughter—Diana knew the story of Robert's indulgence on Ray's seventh birthday—and Robert's jaw tightened with the memory.
He exhaled and said, "I promise I won't tell anyone. Now say it."
Ray outlined the plan with the economy of someone who had seen the mechanics of war in his mind a thousand times. "We prepare—either for a small strike or a larger assault. But no one beyond this room knows. We do not trust the dukes or their subordinates; there may be traitors. If it's large, call all the dukes and people above the silver stage on the day the plan is ready. If it's small—targeting Daniel and his line—then we are enough."
"Here's the plan: we need a large number of explosive talismans and many concealing formations." He paused for effect, letting the room digest the words, then leaned in and added, "We are going to attack from the sky."
The words landed like a thunderclap. Ray saw it in their faces—Robert, Brenda, and Diana—eyes widening, mouths parting in a small chorus of disbelief and an odd, fierce excitement. For all their training, they were not ready for the cruelty of using height as a weapon.
"We'll need bowsmen to strike beasts and beast-tamers at long range and long-range mages and sorcerers to prevent enemy ascent. Any swordsman daring to come up would be courting suicide. We will have the advantage above. Prepare protection talismans for ourselves too—if there are traitors in our midst, we must be ready."
Robert, Brenda, and Diana listened as if struck by thunder. The implications were enormous: balloons concealed at altitude, talismans dropped like rain—a skyborne assault could devastate an entire kingdom. If they succeeded, they could take Ashbourne.
Robert finally broke the stunned silence. "This idea is wicked, my son. How lucky I am that you are on our side. Succeed, and there will be rewards."
Ray dismissed the reward with a quick shake of his head. "I'll handle the inventors. I'll go to the inventors' guild and arrange the balloons. I'll hide the balloons in the storage ring. You can't speak to the king until my preparations are finished. And Father—I'll need funds. I need to buy the hot-air balloons."
Robert chuckled, an exhale of dangerous glee. "You are terrifying. Fine—take the storage ring. You can't use it, but take Freya—she'll deliver the money to the inventor, Rick. I'll have Diana and the in-laws prepare formations here. Selene's family will make talismans; Roxanne and Barbara will supply pills and weapons. When we're ready, we'll present the arrangement to the king."
A gleam came into Robert's eyes—the battle mania of a man who already saw movement on a battlefield. He imagined rows of balloons like a dark constellation, a terrible rain.
Ray moved like a shadow after that—out of sight and under disguise. A talisman of concealment altered his features; even Diana did not recognize her son. At Rick's inventor shop, he bargained, measured, and bought. He acquired a fleet of hot-air balloons for a price that left the inventor stunned; Rick had lost, for the first time, the battle of pricing. Freya, who accompanied the transaction, jotted down the savings on the edge of her mind: Ray would henceforth be the one to accompany them to any shop.
Rick showed him a prototype, a newer model still in testing. There was one on display—elegant, taut fabric gleaming faintly—and Ray took it.
When everything was set, the wristwatch communicator buzzed, and Ray received the signal that everything else was ready. He bade Rick farewell with a steady smile and gifted Rick the wristwatch. Then, with the teleportation talisman from the library caretaker warm at his fingertips, he vanished from the shop and reappeared at the palace, telling Freya to return to Diana and leaving the rest of the arrangements in motion.
Outside, the sky kept its secrets. Below, Ashbourne slept on, unaware that the clouds above them were crowded with retribution—and that the child who had smiled through danger had plotted them all.