I was Drafted Into a War as the Only Human

After some tense coordination and a few near-death trial runs, Lucy and Llarm finally lifted the entire team into the sky and began their flight toward Caelgorr’s island.

Llarm flew just to Lucy’s left, carrying Gindu and Eri with practiced ease. His golden hair whipped behind him, a streak of sunlight slashing through the storm.

Lucy, slightly lower on the right, bore the weight of Bruma, Fenric, and Carlos. The pup was tucked against Fenric’s chest, ears pinned flat from the gale.

The two wind-wielders flew in a careful offset—staggered just enough to avoid disrupting each other’s currents. They looked like seasoned fliers. Which, of course, was a lie. One of them had only figured out how to fly this morning.

And yet, up they went.

The fog rose with them, thick and hungry, wrapping around the team like a second sky. Silver coils churned and twisted above the sea, refusing to be left behind.

Below them, the ocean wasn’t moving. It wasn’t even pretending to be alive. It stretched out like a dead mirror, perfectly flat, its grey surface looking more like the skin of a long-buried god than water. It was staring. It was waiting.

The wind howled around them, cold as grave soil, sharp as knives. It tore at cloaks, seeped into boots, and turned every breath into a fight. Salt stung Lucy’s eyes. His lungs burned. Still, he flew.

Above, the sun punched through breaks in the cloud, splattering the sky with streaks of golden fire and royal violet. Light carved jagged lines through the mist like divine brushstrokes from some broken deity.

Lucy’s vision blurred, but he pushed forward—his soulthread sweeping for danger, his gut trusting Carlos’s sharp nose to catch anything his senses missed.

And yet, below... something was calling.