Elysia - Astral Plane

  They were gathered around the table again—maps, scraps of notes, old ink marks that meant death if read wrong. The air felt thin here, like the world was holding its breath.

  Isaac tapped the same spot on the map twice. “He’ll be inside the castle. We get in, we break the core, and we leave before more guards flood the halls. No hero stuff. Fast. Clean.”

  No one argued. They all knew what “more guards” really meant now.

  Time slipped.

  Later, tension loosened just enough for food. Plates passed hand to hand. Voices stayed low. Even laughter felt borrowed.

  On the porch, Isaac sat alone with a canteen and a distant stare, watching nothing.

  Footsteps.

  Elara came up beside him and didn’t ask permission. She simply leaned her shoulder into his, quiet and tired in a way that didn’t need words.

  Isaac offered the canteen.

  Elara took it, drank, then handed it back.

  Isaac’s eyes stayed forward. “Something wrong?”

  “No.” Elara paused. “Just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  Elara exhaled through her nose, like the answer tasted bitter. “I’m going to face the man who calls himself my father.” Her jaw tightened. “And I’m going back to a land I hated my whole life.”

  Isaac took a slow sip, letting her finish. Then he spoke like it was business, not comfort. “I had plans for you, Elara.”

  Elara turned, brows lifting. “Plans?”

  “By law,” Isaac said, finally looking at her, “you’re Vilgas’s heir. Grimoria is yours to claim.”

  Elara’s reaction was instant—sharp, offended. “No. I don’t want it.” She stared out at the lake like it might calm her. It didn’t. “I never felt proud to be from there. I’m staying with my people. Verdantia is my home.”

  Isaac didn’t answer right away. Not because he didn’t understand. Because it wasn’t that simple.

  Verdantia wasn’t a country on paper. No seal. No treaty. No recognition. To the rest of Mundus, it was just a wild region with a “lunatic leader” and a crowd that followed her anyway.

  Isaac let out a slow breath.

  “I get it,” he said.

  Elara watched him closely, like she was waiting for the next sentence to hurt.

  Instead—

  “After the war,” Isaac continued, voice steady, “I’ll visit the other nations. I’ll make them recognize Verdantia on the map.”

  Elara’s eyes widened. “You’d do that… for me?”

  “For you,” Isaac said. Then, quieter: “For them.”

  A smile cracked through Elara’s exhaustion, bright and real.

  “Verdantia is worth it,” Elara said, leaning in again. “The people are united. It’s not perfect, but it’s ours. I can make it better. I will.”

  Isaac nodded once. “I know.”

  Elara hugged him hard, like she was trying to lock the promise into his bones. Isaac let her, one hand settling on her back.

  Then Elara pulled away—just enough to speak.

  “I have one more request.”

  Isaac didn’t flinch. “Say it.”

  Elara’s voice dropped. No trembling this time. No doubt.

  “I want to kill Vilgas,” Elara said. “With my own hands.”

  Isaac stared at her for a beat. Not judging. Not shocked. Just measuring what it would cost… and what it would change.

  Then his mouth curved, small and calm, like a decision closing.

  “So be it,” Isaac said.

  Before Elara could say anything else, footsteps hit the porch fast.

  Mary came running, breathless, eyes bright. “Darling—come on. My father wants to talk to you.”

  Elara blinked.

  Isaac stood, already moving. He reached out and touched Elara’s shoulder as he passed—one quick squeeze, quiet reassurance—then followed Mary without a word.

  Elara stayed where she was, watching them go.

  “Darling?” she muttered, frowning.

  The transmission stones pulsed faintly on the table, a soft hum filling the cabin like a living heartbeat.

  Gwyn’s voice came through clear.

  “My king. We’re moving toward Olympia. Gather the army. In two days, we’ll be there.”

  A small pause.

  “Perfect,” Isaac replied. “I’ll be waiting.”

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  The stone dimmed.

  Everyone in the room was staring at him.

  “In two days,” he said.

  No one spoke. They just let the number settle.

  Then the air changed.

  A presence stepped into the astral plane—heavy, sudden, close.

  Chairs scraped. Hands went to weapons. Yu’s head tilted, amused instead of scared.

  “Interesting,” she murmured, smiling.

  Isaac was already moving.

  He pushed outside with the others right behind him.

  And there they were.

  Mia. Anabelle. Selene.

  Behind them stood an entire line of elves—an army’s worth—armor dull from travel, eyes sharp, banners folded but ready.

  Selene’s gaze found him and shattered.

  She started crying before she even reached him.

  Isaac didn’t move. He let her come.

  Selene stopped right in front of him, shaking, face tight with anger and relief at the same time. Then she slapped him.

  The sound cracked through the porch like a gunshot.

  Everyone froze.

  Selene’s hand trembled. She touched the spot she’d hit, softer now, like she hated herself for it.

  “I thought I lost you,” she whispered, crying harder.

  He didn’t flinch. He just looked at her.

  “Don’t you dare do that again,” Selene said, voice breaking. “Don’t you dare.”

  “I won’t,” he answered, simple. “I won’t.”

  Selene pulled him into a hard embrace. He held her back. For a second she looked like she might collapse, so he kept her upright without making it obvious.

  When they finally pulled apart, she pressed her forehead to his, still crying, still smiling like she couldn’t decide which feeling to keep.

  Isaac glanced past her, toward the elves.

  “Who are they?”

  Selene turned slightly, then reached for his hand and kissed his knuckles—fast, firm, like a vow.

  “They’re yours,” she said. “Your soldiers. Your warriors.”

  She lifted her chin and spoke louder so the line behind her could hear.

  “We are the The Rebellion.”

  Isaac repeated it once, testing the weight of the name. “The Rebellion”

  Selene nodded. “Yes. While you were gone… I gathered what I could. We’re ready. When you give the order.”

  The elves erupted.

  “Long live the king!”

  “Hail the king!”

  Yu winced and covered her ears with both hands, annoyed. “Oh my—shut up.”

  A few soldiers laughed, but the chant didn’t stop until Selene raised her hand.

  Then a lone elf stepped forward.

  He moved with a crutch.

  His right leg dragged slightly, the knee stiff, the foot not fully answering. He kept his posture anyway, refusing to look weak.

  Isaac stared.

  Recognition hit him so hard it showed on his face.

  “Henry?”

  The elf’s throat tightened. “My lord.”

  Isaac closed the distance and pulled him into a hug before anyone could stop him. Henry held on like he’d been waiting to feel something real for months.

  “You’re alive,” Isaac said, voice low.

  “I am,” Henry answered.

  Isaac pulled back and looked him over—crutch, leg, scars, the way his shoulders stayed tense like he expected pain any second.

  “What happened to you?”

  Henry swallowed. “Long story, my king.” He forced a small smile. “What matters is… I needed to see you with my own eyes.”

  Henry tried to kneel.

  Isaac caught him by the shoulder and stopped him.

  “Don’t,” he said.

  Henry’s jaw clenched like the word hurt his pride.

  Isaac’s eyes sharpened. “Who did this to you?”

  Henry’s gaze dropped for a moment.

  Then he said it, steady.

  “After they thought you were dead, the war prisoners were taken,” Henry said. “Orders from Fall.” His grip tightened on the crutch. “They tortured the soldiers. I survived… but they took my right leg from me. Not the limb.” He swallowed. “The movement.”

  A quiet wave of anger rolled through the group.

  You could feel it in the way hands curled into fists.

  Isaac didn’t explode.

  He went still.

  That was worse.

  He rested one hand on Henry’s shoulder, calm on the outside, violent behind the eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Henry said quickly, like he thought he’d failed. “I tried—”

  “Stop,” Isaac cut in.

  Henry froze.

  Isaac’s voice stayed quiet, controlled. “You didn’t fail.”

  Henry’s eyes wet again. He grabbed Isaac’s hand, holding it like an anchor.

  Isaac looked down at him.

  Then back up—past the porch, past the trees, as if he could already see the road to Olympia.

  “For your honor,” Isaac said, voice flat with promise, “I will repay it.”

  Henry nodded, crying, but his gaze stayed hard.

  Around them, the elves didn’t cheer this time.

  They smiled.

  Because they understood what that meant.

  And beside the doorway, Yu watched everything with that same small smile—like she was counting how many enemies were about to regret breathing.

  (Some Hours Later)

  Freya woke up like she’d been pulled out of deep water. She sat up fast, blinked, then froze. No fever. No weakness. Her body felt solid again, almost unreal. The air was different too—thin, clean, astral. She stepped into the hallway barefoot, followed voices, and stopped at the corner.

  Yu and Mia were arguing like it was life or death.

  “I was here first,” Yu said, arms crossed, proud. “So the seat is mine.”

  Mia pointed at the chair. “It’s not a throne. It’s a chair.”

  “It’s his chair,” Yu corrected, dead serious.

  Mia stared at her, offended. “You’re fighting over wood.”

  Yu leaned in, smiling. “And you’re losing.”

  Mia’s eyes narrowed. “Fine. I’ll sit on his lap instead.”

  Yu’s smile vanished. “Try it.”

  Mia opened her mouth—

  Freya cleared her throat.

  Both of them snapped their heads toward her like they’d been caught stealing. The room went quiet in one second. Mary was the first to move. She rushed over and hugged Freya hard, smiling so wide it hurt.

  “You’re up,” Mary whispered. “You’re really up.”

  Isaac stood too. The air around him felt heavier—calm pressure, controlled power. Freya couldn’t see it, not truly, but she felt it anyway. She reached for his face with shaking fingers, touching his cheek like she needed proof.

  “I knew you’d come back to me,” Freya said, voice small and full.

  Isaac smiled, tired but real, and brushed her hair back gently. “I’m here.”

  (Two Days Later)

  The astral camp was alive—tents in rows, weapons ringing, boots hitting dirt, soldiers training until their arms shook. When Isaac stepped out in armor, the noise died on its own. Mia stood near him. Yu stood on the other side, relaxed, watching everything like a predator pretending to nap.

  Isaac lifted his voice. “Today, we take our home back.”

  A roar answered him.

  “Today, we take our honor back.”

  The roar grew louder.

  “Give everything you have,” Isaac said, eyes hard. “Because Olympia will be free again.”

  The army surged forward, moving as one.

  Selene stepped in first. Isaac hugged her once, firm and quick. She leaned close, face near his, voice low. “For our father’s honor. For Olympia. I’ll see you soon, brother.”

  He answered in the same tone. “I’ll see you soon.”

  They touched noses, quick and familiar, then she pulled away and turned to her unit.

  Mary hugged him next, squeezing hard. “Be careful.”

  Isaac gave her a small smile. “You too Mary.”

  Mary followed Selene’s platoon as they marched out first, heading toward Cadin. Isaac watched them go.

  “Good luck,” he murmured.

  Mia came in behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Don’t die, my love.”

  “Neither do you,” he said.

  They kissed—slow, simple, no show. Then Mia stepped back and shifted into a bat, wings snapping open as she flew toward Gwyn’s forces on approach.

  Elara came up beside him, focused. “Anabelle is already in position. Waiting.”

  “And Freya?” Isaac asked.

  Yu’s eyes changed for a second, pupils thinning as she looked far beyond the camp. “Found her.”

  Across the tents, Freya was already working—tightening bandages, calming shaking hands, forcing a young soldier to breathe with her until the panic faded. Then she looked up and gave a single nod.

  Ready.

  “Good,” Isaac said. His voice sharpened. “Then we move. Yu.”

  Yu smiled like she’d been waiting for that word all day. Heat flashed, and she became a blade across his back.

  Isaac grabbed Elara, lifted off, and shot into the sky—leaving the astral plane behind.

  Olympia — The Sky

  The shadow hit first. Wings. So many wings the sun vanished behind them. Dragons filled the air, circling, diving, screaming.

  People below looked up.

  Then the alarms started.

  Grimoria soldiers poured into the streets, raising weapons, shouting orders. The first volleys went up—

  And the dragons answered.

  Fire. Impact. Steel meeting scale.

  The sky cracked with war.

  And Olympia woke up to the sound of its rebellion.