The imperial airships broke through the ash clouds like knives through silk—three sleek vessels of blackened steel and crimson sails, emblazoned with the Emperor's sigil: a crowned skull wreathed in thorns. Smaller skiffs detached like wasps, engines humming with stolen echo power. Crossbow turrets swiveled, tracking the two figures on the shattered dais.
Elara stood tall despite the ache in her bones from the throne's claim. Isolde's partial echo thrummed in her veins—stronger now, clearer. She could almost hear the ancient queen's voice murmuring tactics: Divide their attention. Strike the heart. Never show weakness.
Thorne's wings were fully extended, black membranes catching the storm light in iridescent flashes. Smoke curled from his nostrils. The Binding Chain still linked them—golden threads faint but unbreakable—sharing stamina, senses, even the faint tremor of adrenaline.
"They brought the Sky Legion," Thorne growled. "Mirael's personal command. She's not here to capture. She's here to erase."
Elara's eyes narrowed on the lead ship. A figure stood at the prow: silver hair whipping in the wind, dark cloak billowing. Mirael. The inquisitor raised one hand; crimson lightning arced between her fingers.
"Anchor of the Binding," Mirael's voice boomed, amplified by echo runes carved into the deck. "Surrender the fragment. Or we burn this wasteland clean—with you on it."
Elara's lips curved. "Funny. I was about to say the same to you."
She raised her free hand. [Binding Chain – Enhanced Mode] pulsed through their link. Thorne felt it instantly: a surge of clarity, queenly precision overlaying his draconic fury.
"Skiffs first," Elara said. "Take out their mobility."
Thorne launched skyward with a thunderous beat of wings. He became a black comet—talons extended, fire licking along his scales. The nearest skiff fired a volley of echo-charged bolts. He twisted mid-air, letting most pass, then slammed into the vessel's hull. Wood and steel splintered. The skiff spiraled, trailing smoke, before crashing into the ash below in a bloom of flame.
Elara didn't wait. She sprinted toward the edge of the dais, drawing on Isolde's memory for speed. As a second skiff dove low, turrets tracking her, she activated her new skill: [Echo Ward – Expanded]. Golden light bloomed outward in a dome, deflecting the first barrage. Then she leaped—higher than should have been possible—landing on the skiff's railing.
The crew stared in shock. She didn't give them time to recover.
Dagger flashing, she cut the pilot's harness. The skiff lurched. She kicked the man overboard, seized the controls, and banked hard—aiming straight for the third skiff. Collision course.
Alarms wailed. The enemy vessel tried to veer; too late. Elara jumped at the last second, ward flaring to cushion her fall into the ash. Behind her, the two skiffs smashed together in a grinding explosion of splintered wood and screaming metal.
Thorne roared approval from above, circling back toward the main ships.
But Mirael was done playing.
She leaped from the lead airship's deck—impossibly high—landing on the cracked obsidian with predatory grace. Shadows coiled around her like living serpents. Her eyes glowed the same sickly green as the corrupted hound from the tunnels.
"You think a half-claimed fragment makes you a queen?" Mirael sneered. "You're still mortal. Still breakable."
Elara rose, dusting ash from her cloak. "And you're still the Emperor's dog."
Mirael laughed—cold, echoing. "I serve power. You serve ghosts."
She thrust both hands forward. Dark tendrils lashed out—faster than before, tipped with obsidian blades.
Elara dodged left; one tendril grazed her thigh, drawing blood. Pain flared, but the Binding Chain fed her Thorne's resilience. The wound closed slower than normal, but it closed.
She countered with [Binding Chain – Offensive Link]—channeling a thread of golden light straight into Mirael's shadows. The dark tendrils recoiled as if burned, hissing steam.
Mirael staggered. "What—?"
Thorne dove. He landed between them with earth-shaking force, wings sheltering Elara for a heartbeat. Fire erupted from his mouth—not wild flame, but a controlled lance of white-hot dragonfire aimed at Mirael.
The inquisitor vanished in a swirl of shadow, reappearing twenty feet away. "Cute trick, cursed one. But your leash is showing."
She gestured upward. The remaining airships opened fire—salvos of crimson bolts raining down like meteors.
Elara and Thorne moved as one. She raised a massive Echo Ward dome; he funneled dragonfire into it, turning the golden barrier into a blazing shield that deflected the barrage back toward the ships. One airship took a direct hit to its engine nacelle—flames bloomed, and it listed dangerously.
Mirael snarled. "Enough games."
She slammed both palms into the ground. The ash around the dais erupted—dozens of corrupted wraiths rising, larger and more grotesque than before. Their cores pulsed with the same crimson as the imperial lightning.
Thorne's eyes narrowed. "She's drawing from the Emperor's own reserve. He's feeding her power remotely."
Elara felt it too—the throne fragment beneath them trembling, its energy being siphoned. "We can't let her corrupt the node."
She placed one hand on the cracked throne, the other still linked to Thorne. Isolde's voice rose in her mind: The Binding can be weaponized. Link the node to your chain. Turn their corruption against them.
Elara poured power into the throne. Golden threads raced outward—through the obsidian, into the ash, into the wraiths. The creatures froze mid-lunge.
Mirael's eyes widened. "No—"
Elara twisted her will. The Binding Chain surged, now connected to the node itself.
[Emergency Protocol: Reverse Binding Activated][Corrupted Echoes Redirected – Target: Mirael]
The wraiths turned. One by one, they lunged at their former mistress.
Mirael screamed—rage and fear—as shadowy tendrils turned on her, clawing at her own flesh. She fought, dispersing several, but more rose. The airships above hesitated, turrets swinging uncertainly.
Thorne seized the moment. He launched skyward again, straight for the lead ship. Fire and talons tore through sails and rigging. The vessel listed, then began a slow, burning descent.
Elara faced Mirael across the chaos. The inquisitor was bleeding from multiple wounds, shadows fraying.
"You can't win this," Elara said. "Walk away. Or become another ghost for the throne to claim."
Mirael spat blood. "The Emperor will have your head. And his."
She vanished in a final swirl of darkness—fleeing, not defeated.
The remaining airships turned tail, engines screaming as they retreated into the storm.
Silence fell—broken only by crackling wreckage and settling ash.
Thorne landed beside Elara, wings folding. He looked battered—scales cracked, one wing torn—but alive. Whole.
She released the Binding Chain. The golden threads faded, leaving a lingering warmth between them.
"You turned their own corruption against them," he said, voice low with something like awe.
"Team effort." She managed a tired smile. "Your fire made the shield possible. My chain made the reversal."
He stepped closer. Reached out—hesitant—brushed ash from her cheek. His touch lingered.
"For a historian," he murmured, "you fight like a queen born."
"And for a cursed prince," she replied softly, "you protect like someone worth saving."
Their foreheads touched again—longer this time. No words. Just the shared rhythm of breathing, the quiet hum of their still-linked echoes.
In the distance, the storm began to clear. Sunlight—weak, but real—pierced the ash clouds for the first time in centuries.
Elara looked toward the horizon. "This was just one node. There are others. The Emperor won't stop."
Thorne followed her gaze. "Then neither will we."
He offered his hand.
She took it.
Together, they walked away from the broken throne—stronger, bound tighter, and ready for whatever fragment waited next.
[End of Chapter 6 – To Be Continued...]