Skybound: The Atlas War

"INCOMING!"

Cinder's voice tore through the deck as a harpoon the size of a mast ripped past the Cloudreaper's hull, missing them by a handspan.

Kairo stumbled to the wheel, heart pounding. The horizon was no longer empty.

A monstrous sky-crawler—twice the size of their ship and armored like a beetle—emerged from the cloudbank behind them, flanked by smaller interceptor gliders. Their sails were blood-red, painted with the emblem of a slit eye—unblinking.

Velka hissed. "Carrion Corsairs. Scavengers from the Hollow Belt. They hunt anything that moves near Watcher routes."

"They found us fast," Kairo growled, forcing the Cloudreaper into a sharp dive. "Too fast."

"Means they were already tracking the Atlas," Velka said, her tone grim. "They know what we carry."

The Atlas pulsed on Kairo's belt, warm and insistent, as if it sensed danger… or was calling to something else.

Below them, the clouds churned unnaturally. Lightning coiled through mist—not thunderstorm lightning, but something… older. Sentient.

"We can't outrun them forever," Cinder shouted. "And we're too high to hide in the sky reefs."

Velka's gaze shot upward. "We go through the veil."

"The what now?" Cinder blinked.

"The Watcher Veil," she said. "If the Atlas is active and glowing this strong, it means they're close. The spiral should be near—follow its signal."

Kairo didn't hesitate. He tilted the Cloudreaper's nose toward the sky above.

The storm thickened. It wasn't just clouds—it was memory and magic, laced with echoing voices and images that flickered across the sails like projections. Ships long dead. Skies that had shattered. Watchers with wings of woven starlight.

Suddenly, the ship lurched.

The wind stilled.

And the world fell silent.

They had crossed into the spiral.

A tunnel of swirling light and stillness spread before them, guarded by the wings. Dozens, hundreds of immense, feathered appendages floating in formation, unmoving and ethereal. Each wing shimmered with a different hue, golds and silvers and stormy blues.

Velka exhaled. "We're in."

Behind them, the Corsair ships tried to follow—but the moment they breached the veil, a pulse of energy erupted from the wings.

The leading interceptor burst into shards of light.

The rest recoiled, scattering like flies from fire.

"They can't follow us here," Kairo said, stunned.

"No," Velka nodded. "The Watchers permit entry only to those chosen by the Atlas."

The Atlas at Kairo's side glowed like a star.

One of the wings floated closer—gargantuan, yet weightless. It drifted alongside the Cloudreaper, and as Kairo looked into it, he saw reflections—himself, but different. Other lives. Other choices. Versions of him that had never flown, or had died, or had burned the world down.

"They're not just guardians," he whispered. "They see us."

"They judge us," Velka added softly. "And they remember."

The spiral opened wider, and the Atlas flickered again, revealing new lines of glowing script. A new path. One that led deeper—toward the heart of the storm.

Toward the Lost Skycity.

But as the Cloudreaper sailed onward, Kairo noticed something in the distance.

A single black wing.

Still. Watching.

Velka followed his gaze and her face paled. "That's not a Watcher," she murmured.

Kairo nodded.

"It's something else."

END OF CHAPTER 12