I Was Reborn in Another World, But I Awoke Inside a Corpse

Chapter 119: Skybound and Rooted

The ship didn't sail on water—it sailed on wind and mana.

Lira stood at the edge of the open observation deck, her hair whipping back in the high-altitude current. Below them stretched forests that shimmered with silver bark and emerald canopy, stretching to the horizon like a painting set in motion. The floating vessel—an elven skyship roughly a hundred meters in length—moved with effortless grace, its hull crafted from a fusion of whitewood and gold-threaded crystal.

"It's too quiet," Lira muttered. "Ships this big should creak, groan… do something."

Sylvalen stood beside her, unbothered by the wind.

"Elven design values beauty and silence," she said. "And besides, the winds bend to our craft. Not the other way around."

Behind them, Isaac stepped from the corridor into the open, taking in the full view.

He didn't speak. He just looked.

The sky. The trees. The pale glimmer of leyline threads far below, guiding the ship's path like a celestial road no one else could see.

It was his first time seeing a flying vessel like this up close, and even now—after facing gods—it still impressed him.

"You said this ship is bound to your family?" he asked.

Sylvalen gave a nod. "Each dynasty maintains its own skyfleet. This one belongs to Thalara."

Isaac raised a brow. "Your dynasty."

"Yes." She turned toward him, hair drifting in the breeze. "Sylvalen Thalara Elaraiyan. Thalara is my bloodline. Elaraiyan is the kingdom."

"And your rank?"

"Ninth Princess."

Lira blinked. "Ninth? How many—?"

"Too many," Sylvalen replied with a smile. "Any child of a ruling dynasty holds the title. But that does not mean we all hold equal weight."

Isaac leaned against the polished rail. "So your kingdom doesn't have a king or queen?"

"No." Sylvalen looked out over the horizon. "Elaraiyan is governed by six royal dynasties. Each one holds a single vote. Laws, declarations, wars, trade, divine matters—everything is decided by consensus."

"No supreme leader?"

"No throne. Just a table."

Isaac nodded, thoughtful. "And that works?"

Sylvalen glanced at him sideways. "Not always. But it keeps us honest."

There was a pause.

Then she added, "Dynasties who grow too ambitious tend to vanish after a generation or two."

Lira gave a dry laugh. "I'm starting to like your people."

Later, as the sun began to dip behind the western clouds and the sky turned gold, the three of them gathered around a low table in one of the ship's central lounge rooms. Warm light from mana-lamps filled the chamber, reflecting softly off the wood-paneled walls.

Sylvalen was explaining something about the Elves' faith, her fingers tracing gentle patterns in the air.

"We revere many gods," she said, "though only one is truly worshipped above all—Freya, goddess of beauty. Not just of appearance, but of art, grace, harmony, and balance. All that is living and radiant belongs to her."

Isaac's brows furrowed.

"Freya?" he echoed. "As in… Norse mythology?"

Sylvalen tilted her head. "Norse?"

"In my world," Isaac explained slowly, "Freya is part of a pantheon—gods like Odin, Thor, Loki. Old myths. Stories of war and wisdom, trickery and strength. They weren't worshipped anymore, but people still knew the names."

Sylvalen stared at him. Not blankly—but intently. Then she asked the question quietly:

"…Your world?"

Isaac met her eyes, calm and open.

"I'm not from this one," he said simply.

For a moment, silence.

Then Sylvalen leaned back slightly, processing.

"And here I thought 'anomaly' was just a metaphor."

Lira blinked between them. "Wait, wait—you're telling her now?"

Isaac shrugged. "Seemed like a good time."

Sylvalen's gaze narrowed—not suspicious, but curious.

"You don't sound like someone hiding the truth."

"I'm not," Isaac said. "But it's a long story."

"Then tell it sometime," she said. "Preferably before my family tries to assign you a diplomatic title."

Isaac smirked. "That likely?"

"Oh, almost guaranteed."

Outside, the skyship continued gliding through the ether, silent as moonlight.

And ahead—far beyond the distant forest ridges and mountain peaks—the shimmering boundary of the Elven capital awaited.

The seat of six dynasties.

The home of a goddess's name.