In the midst of clouds, a small civilization was built.

The Atlantis Fortress dominated the sky, the crimson spire casting its red glow upon it. It was a massive, floating archipelago of white stone and reinforced steel, held aloft by massive, unseen gravity manipulation. The main island was a sprawling plateau of polished marble, covered in tiered gardens, barracks, and administrative buildings that looked like they had been carved from single blocks of ivory.

Connecting the smaller, floating platforms were arched bridges of silver-hued metal, some wide enough for two chariots to pass each other, others narrow and precarious, winding through the mist like spiderwebs.

Everything here was built on a vertical scale. Towers rose hundreds of feet into the thin, cold air, their windows glinting like the eyes of predators.

Below the main residential tiers, massive waterfalls poured off the edges of the floating rocks, the water turning into a fine mist long before it could ever hit the earth thousands of feet below.

It was a place of extreme wealth and clinical military precision. There was no trash in the streets, no crowded slums, and no noise from the bustling seaport they had just left behind. Up here, the air was sharp, thin, and smelled faintly of ozone and expensive incense.

The obsidian chariot banked hard, its winged unicorns tilting their bodies to catch the upward drafts. As they descended toward the primary landing bay—a vast, circular plaza marked with the trident-and-serpent crest of the Atlantis family—the wind from their wings whipped the nearby banners into a frenzy.

The landing was smooth. The chariot’s wheels clicked against the white stone, slowing to a halt in the center of the plaza.

Waiting for them was a reception committee that looked more like a military formation than a welcome party. Two dozen guards in mercury-polished plate armor stood in perfect rows, their halberds held upright at an identical angle. Behind them stood a line of servants in teal and silver tunics, their heads bowed, their hands tucked into their sleeves.

They all had somber expressions. In fact, the whole fortress looked somber for some unknown reason.

Fang Rui stepped out of the chariot first. His black leather armor and billowing cloak stood out like an ink blot against the pristine white of the courtyard. He didn’t wait for the guards to announce him; he simply began walking toward the main palace gates, his boots echoing sharply against the stone.

Leo and Taren followed, their shoulders slumped.

They walked past the silent servants and the statuesque guards, heading toward the great spire that stood at the heart of the complex. It was a jagged, aggressive building that seemed to prick the very bottom of the crimson-tinged clouds.

Leo looked up at the towering entrance, his jaw tight. The fortress was beautiful, expensive, and technically his home, but he felt something was wrong.

"Why are there so many guards and servants to welcome us? I have a bad feeling about this."

Leo frowned and stepped inside the spire as the large door groaned open, revealing the interior of the fortress.

The door led them to a sprawling hall of polished brown wood. There were pillars here and there holding the hall and connecting it to the rooms above. At the two edges of the hall were two staircases that curled, both connected by a passageway that led farther upstairs. The windows were tall and elegant, revealing the outside world.

There were multiple people in the room, all dressed in black. Leo frantically searched for Jean, Mirage, or Yariel. His eyes landed on Mirage, who was still a few feet at the front.

Alerting Taren, they moved forward to meet Mirage. But as they got closer, Leo’s expression darkened. Yariel was standing beside her with a calm expression, also dressed in black. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

Mirage was wearing a black dress, but aside from that, tears prickled from her eyes. Leo and Taren hastened their pace, noticing Mirage’s current mood. Taren’s expression had turned sober as if already understanding what was going on, while Leo was still confused.

Leo reached Mirage and held her by the shoulder.

"Mi—"

He wasn’t able to finish his statement when his eyes caught something.

Under the space between the two staircases was an altar.

Leo frowned. He had known that place not as an altar, but where Tharok’s throne was usually placed. The throne was no longer there; instead, there was a black catafalque with candles placed around it.

Jean and a young woman with purple hair, both dressed in black, were staying on the right side of the catafalque with unreadable expressions. There was a priest, who was the only one aside from Taren and Leo dressed in white clothing rather than black. He was elderly and was whispering to the body on the black catafalque.

The body on the catafalque was what caught Leo’s eyes.

It was an old man clad in red, vicious armor. He wasn’t exactly old, as he looked to be in his fifties. He had short black hair and a thick beard with dark, steely eyes. Leo only caught a glimpse of the corpse’s face, but he could tell who it was.

His hand fell off Mirage’s shoulder as his eyes widened in horror. Images played in his head, repeatedly.

Leo took a slow, numb step forward. Every head in the room turned. The silent relatives and high-ranking officials watched as Leo Atlantis approached the house of mourning. Jean’s eyes finally shifted to Leo, but there was no comfort in them, only a grim, heavy expectation.

Leo stopped at the foot of the altar. He could see the fine lines of grey in the man’s beard and a new, jagged scar at his temple. His steely eyes were now closed by the priest after he finished the silent prayer.

Leo couldn’t move his eyes from the red armor. The week of anger and seasickness evaporated, leaving only a hollow, freezing cold.

"...How? How is this possible? How?..."

King Tharok was dead.