Five minutes before the Marshmallow took off, a CST-led search squad followed the footprints to the hidden cove where Wyatt had docked earlier.
The tracks ended abruptly at the shoreline, and the CST immediately suspected an extraction by boat or submarine.
Wyatt’s repeated escapes had already made it furious. This time, Wyatt had infiltrated the base alone and brazenly rescued Danser in plain sight—something the CST could not accept.
So the mission escalated again.
Air units were rushed in, tripling in number within minutes. They spread out in a fan formation and began carpet-searching the sea surface under the cloud deck.
Half an hour later, a batch of mothballed, older warships was pulled from storage and redeployed. Their firepower was outdated, but they had one advantage: they could search underwater.
Above the clouds, in near space, an array of probe satellites also began converging on the region.
And Phantom Forge wasn’t done.
It ordered the northern Gwarsong Base, the western Greno Base, and the southern Blanblue Base into Level-One alert. Thousands of fighters stood ready to scramble the moment anything was detected.
***
The cloud layer was thick.
Starting at two thousand meters, the Marshmallow entered the clouds. It didn’t break out into clear sky until it climbed past eight thousand meters.
The rain finally vanished. Sunlight—long overdue—poured through the canopy.
It was Pinecone’s first time in the air. The little creature kept bouncing between the left and right windows, switching views as fast as it could.
In the cockpit, Wyatt was cross-checking headings and coordinates.
“How high are we?” he asked.
“Nine thousand two hundred meters,” Dorian replied. “Hold altitude?”
“Drop to seven thousand. There may be probe satellites or Listeners above.”
“Yes, Lord Wyatt.”
Dorian adjusted the flaps, and the plane slipped back down into the cloud layer.
“Wyatt, Wyatt!” Linneya called from the rear cabin.
“What is it, Linneya?” Wyatt went back.
She pouted at the gray outside. “Why are we back in the rain? I want to see the sun.”
Wyatt explained, and Linneya immediately accepted it.
“Okay, then. How long do we’ve to fly?”
“About seven hours.”
“Seven hours?!”
“Yes. If you’re bored, you can ask Danser to teach you a song. Or have him tell you a story.”
“He’s shut himself down,” Linneya said.
“What?”
“Big Blue too,” Starling added. “They’re worried that if we fly too high, Phantom Forge might link to them.”
Wyatt looked to the last row. Danser and Big Blue sat side by side, but both had powered down; their optics were dark.
“Oh.” Wyatt grimaced. “I almost forgot. Their tracking control modules are still active, and we can’t really estimate the effective shielding range anymore.”
“But we’ve the TBM,” Wyatt added. “The stealth generator masks signals.”
“The TBM isn’t what it used to be,” Eisen warned. “After being removed and reinstalled so many times, it’s degraded. On the boat, it failed frequently.”
“Their caution is justified, Lord Wyatt. One second of failure is enough for Phantom Forge to link to them. And if that happens, it isn’t just them—we’re all done.”
“All right,” Wyatt said. “Eisen, when we land, remember to power them back up.”
***
Before long, Linneya fell asleep against Starling.
Everyone else stayed busy. Dorian flew. Eisen watched the TBM and listened for changes. Wyatt stayed beside Dorian to keep correcting course.
The Marshmallow couldn’t receive any external guidance. To avoid drifting off-course, Wyatt used a simple, brutal method.
He kept them following the coastline. Thanks to the shape of the Prilan Continent, a long stretch of coast ran almost perfectly north.
When the coastline finally began to curve east, that would mean they had reached Storm Bay. At that point, the Marshmallow only needed to cross the bay to reach the Aurora Plateau.
After that, the plan was simple: fly directly to Julian’s coordinates, circle a few times, and announce their arrival.
After such a long, absurd mission, it would finally be over.
***
Three hours later, a warship searching the seabed found the sunken trimaran.
Phantom Forge recognized the hull sections as modules from the Sunflower. And from the tools and leftover parts still clinging to the wreckage, it was clear: Wyatt’s team had built a monoplane and lifted off two to four hours earlier.
From there, the destination was easy to infer.
The closest landmasses were the Prilan Continent—and the Aurora Plateau Phantom Forge had just ceded to Julian.
Next, a CST launched from the Leviathan battleship aboard a Razorwhale fighter and led a wing north at maximum speed.
At the same time, an urgent order went to the northernmost Gwarsong Base. Priority higher than every other task.
All fighters and ships were commanded to scramble immediately to Storm Bay—the strip of sea between the Aurora Plateau and the Prilan Continent—and intercept a monoplane.
The mission statement was one line:
Destroy the aircraft at any cost.
***
After four hours of flight, the Marshmallow met danger for the first time.
Eisen heard the roar of engines somewhere behind them inside the clouds.
Wyatt killed the engine at once and let the plane glide.
Not long after, several fighter shadows slid through the cloud ceiling above them and vanished into the distance.
The TBM had saved them.
The same kind of near-miss happened again an hour later.
After six and a half hours in the air, the Marshmallow reached Storm Bay.
The bay lived up to its name. In a sky that had been calm for hours, thunder and lightning erupted. Wind rose hard and fast.
Black clouds churned like waves, one after another.
The plane began to buck violently.
Linneya woke with a start. Starling panicked and hurried to fit an oxygen mask over her face.
Wyatt rushed in from the cockpit. Starling asked, “Are we flying into a storm?”
“Yes,” Wyatt said as he passed. “Buckle in. Hold tight.”
He went straight to Eisen. “What’s happening? TBM problem?”
“Not good,” Eisen said, voice tight. “The fault light won’t stop flashing. It’s still working, but it’s making noises, and it keeps cutting out.”
“With turbulence like this, it won’t take long before it shakes itself apart.”
Wyatt hesitated for a few seconds. “Then we’ve to take a risk. We’ll climb above the clouds.”
Eisen nodded. “It’s worth it. And I’m not only worried about the TBM—I’m worried about the engine too. It was never reinforced for this.”
Wyatt returned to the cockpit and ordered Dorian to climb.
The Marshmallow pushed its nose above the cloud sea. The air smoothed out, and the world opened wide.
Then Wyatt saw the line ahead.
In front of them, evenly spaced white dots hung in the blue: Ithaqua-class frigates, arranged like a wall.
And around that wall, countless smaller lights glittered and flashed as they caught the sun.
Fighters. An ocean of them.
“Down! Back into the clouds!” Wyatt roared.
Dorian dove. The plane dropped back into the storm, and the turbulence returned instantly.
“How can there be so many fighters?” Dorian asked, shaken. “Are they here for us?”
“Very likely,” Wyatt said. His mind was racing.
“Then what do we do?”
“Stay inside the storm.”
Wyatt went back and explained the situation to Eisen and Starling.
Linneya clung to Starling. Starling’s face had gone pale. “How far are we from the Aurora Plateau?” she asked.
“A little over a hundred kilometers,” Wyatt said. “About half an hour.”
He pointed at Big Blue and Danser. “Eisen, strap them down with a few extra belts. Especially Big Blue.”
“Yes, Lord Wyatt.”
“Watch the TBM. It’s our only protection.”
“I’ll do my best,” Eisen said, and nodded again.
Wyatt returned to the cockpit and helped Dorian fight the storm.
***
Starling clasped her hands and prayed that the sky would grant them thirty more minutes.
But the sky didn’t seem to be listening.
Just over ten minutes later, the TBM failed completely.
Despair flooded the cabin.
A short while later, fighters began appearing and vanishing inside the clouds around them, closing in the way sharks circle a wounded fish.
The plane screamed a cascade of warnings.
Dorian slumped in his seat as if his power had suddenly drained away.
“We’re done,” he said. “We’re completely done. Forty-six missiles have locked onto us.”