The shockwave that erupted from Gaiard's attack was like a living beast unleashed upon the steel decks of Arkworld AW-03. It rippled through the colossal airborne fortress with a roar that seemed to shake the air itself. Bulkheads quivered. Pipes groaned. Every rivet, every panel in the surrounding corridors trembled beneath the immense force. Even the reinforced windows along the observation deck vibrated dangerously, the glass singing under pressure.
Edward, the fat young master whose greed and arrogance had so often filled these halls, had not been prepared for anything remotely like this. He stumbled backwards, his decorative rings clinking against each other, his velvet robes flapping as if they too were terrified. His bodyguards, massive men in exo-suits designed more for intimidation than true combat, tried desperately to keep their footing. For a fleeting moment they managed to remain standing—more through sheer panic than strength—but the shockwave rolled over them like an invisible tidal wave.
The ground beneath their boots seemed to tilt. Their ears rang from the thunderclap of Gaiard's power. For a second the air was a swirling maelstrom of invisible pressure and raw force.
When it finally ended, silence struck the room with almost the same violence as the shockwave itself. Edward's legs buckled beneath his weight and he collapsed onto the cold metallic floor, gasping for breath. His face was pale, sweat pouring down in sheets. Then his body convulsed, and he vomited violently, splattering the deck with a sour, acrid stench.
He looked up, trembling, his eyes bulging with pure animal panic. The figure of Gaiard stood several paces away, the last wisps of energy coiling around him like faint ribbons of light. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, but that made him even more terrifying in Edward's eyes.
"Don't!" Edward screamed hoarsely, his voice breaking. "I was wrong! Don't come here!"
And then he did what cowardly men always do when their power means nothing. He turned and ran.
The sight of his bulky figure scrambling frantically toward the exit, his expensive shoes slipping on the vomit-slicked floor, was almost absurd. Two of his bodyguards, still conscious despite the shock, exchanged a look that was half confusion, half fear, and then followed him without hesitation. Their boots pounded down the corridor as they fled into the shadows of the fortress, leaving behind the shattered remnants of their arrogance.
Tiama stood at Gaiard's side during all of this, watching with a kind of bemused detachment. She crossed her arms and tilted her head slightly as Edward's panicked screams echoed down the corridor. Then she pouted, her lips curling downward in theatrical disdain. "What a coward," she said, almost as if the scene had disappointed her on some personal level.
Gaiard's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. The corners of his eyes crinkled, but his gaze remained fixed on the direction Edward had fled. There was no malice there, only quiet observation, as if he had already expected this exact outcome.
"Alright," he said calmly, turning to Tiama. "Let's get out of here. I have something to ask you."
Tiama's eyes gleamed with sudden interest, the faint brown of her irises catching the light. "Oh, I have something to ask you too," she replied, her tone carrying that mischievous lilt that Gaiard had felt strange with her.
"Then it seems we have mutual curiosity," he said lightly.
Without further discussion, they left the devastated area behind. The corridors of Arkworld AW-03 were wide and ornately decorated in ship captain's favored style: heavy gold inlays on the walls, glowing strip-lights embedded in the ceiling, sculptures of winged beasts and great ships hanging in alcoves. All of it screamed of wealth and power—but to Gaiard, it only underscored the decadence of a man who built his fortress on the backs of others.
As they moved, the echoes of their footsteps followed them like ghosts. Crew members and servants, who had felt the shockwave reverberate through the ship, peeked nervously from doorways or ducked into side corridors to avoid being noticed. The air was still thick with the aftertaste of raw energy, prickling at the skin like static.
They eventually arrived at Tiama's residence on the top floor of the massive ship. It was located near the central observation dome, a strategic position reserved for only the highest-ranking or wealthiest individuals.
The door opened soundlessly, and Gaiard stepped inside behind her.
The first thing he noticed was the sheer size of the space. The room was vast—easily ten to fifteen times larger than his own quarters back in area B-07. Where his residence was utilitarian and spartan, hers was palatial. Plush carpets lined the floor, their deep red fibers muffling their steps. Tall windows arched along one wall, offering a panoramic view of the cloud-streaked night sky outside. The ceiling was high and ornamented with intricate crystal light fixtures that scattered soft light in patterns reminiscent of starlight.
Every piece of furniture seemed carefully chosen to exude both comfort and luxury. Silk drapes framed the windows. Elegant low tables held carefully arranged artifacts—gems, books, odd trinkets that hinted at Tiama's personal interests. A series of sofas and armchairs upholstered in deep purple velvet formed a conversational circle near the center of the room.
Tiama moved with an easy, graceful familiarity, gesturing for him to sit. "Make yourself comfortable," she said, a slight smile playing on her lips.
He obliged, choosing one of the chairs near the low table. She busied herself at a small counter on the far side, where a delicate tea set was arranged. Steam curled from a porcelain pot as she poured the tea, the scent of jasmine filling the room.
She returned moments later with a tray, setting it down between them. The teacups were delicate things, white with thin golden rims, their surfaces painted with swirling crystal patterns that seemed almost alive in the warm light.
"Thank you," Gaiard said simply as she handed him a cup.
She raised her own cup, taking a slow, almost theatrical sip. He mirrored her. The tea was warm, fragrant, and surprisingly soothing, cutting through the lingering tension of their earlier confrontation.
But Gaiard was not one for unnecessary delay. He set the cup down carefully, his gaze sharpening. "I suspect," he began, his tone shifting from casual to direct, "that we're both wondering the same thing. So let me ask."
Tiama tilted her head slightly, watching him with foxlike curiosity.
Gaiard leaned forward a fraction, his eyes never leaving hers. "Tiama is also the owner of the Crystal power like me, right?"
For a heartbeat, the air between them froze.
Tiama's expression, usually so fluid and playful, suddenly stiffened. The faint smile vanished from her lips, replaced by a look of surprise that she didn't quite manage to mask. Her hand, still holding the teacup, halted midway to her mouth. The warm steam curled up around her fingers, unnoticed.
Her eyes widened slightly—not in panic, but in something sharper. Calculation. Recognition.
Gaiard watched the change with keen interest, noting every flicker of emotion that passed through her features. He had hit the mark. And she knew it.
The room, so warm and luxurious moments ago, now felt charged with invisible tension, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.
Tiama's reaction had spoken louder than any words could.