The Luna Raven steadied as the storm thinned, the violent plunge easing into a tense, humming quiet. The air tasted like metal and cold lightning. Elijah clutched the railing, breath sharp, his short dreads sticking to his forehead. His patched gray sweater and brown robe clung to him, tan?brown pants soaked through, and beneath it all the seal pulsed with a faint, unnatural glow.

  A spike of heat and frost shot through him.

  He gasped. “It— it’s doing something again—”

  Rodrick was at his side instantly, coat snapping in the wind. The gold?and?moss trim of his long white coat flashed as he knelt, the stylized Ankh on his back catching the stormlight like a warning flare.

  “Easy,” Rodrick said. “Focus on breathing.”

  The seal flared again—frost and lightning crawling across Elijah’s brown skin in jagged bursts. Moments like this always drew eyes. They always had. Ever since the curse first erupted when he was a child—wild, unpredictable, impossible to hide—people kept their distance. An orphan with a power no one understood was easier to fear than to help.

  For a brief moment, two small spirits flickered into view beside him: a sleek white fox with a crackling golden mane and three buzzing tails, and a sky?blue bear cub with silver?streaked fur.

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  The engineer swore under her breath as she flipped her braided ponytail from one side to the other.

  “Captain, that’s not normal resonance. That’s a full destabilization spike.”

  Rodrick’s eyes sharpened. “Elijah. What were their names?”

  Elijah blinked through tears. “Vay… and Vel.”

  Most of the crew exchanged confused looks.

  But Stella—the navigator, her silver?streaked braid whipping in the wind—froze mid?step. Her eyes widened.

  “Elijah,” she whispered, “did you say Vay and Vel?”

  Rodrick glanced at her. “You recognize them?”

  Stella stepped closer, awe creeping into her voice. “Not those forms. But the roots. The cadence.”

  She knelt beside Elijah, voice soft but trembling.

  “Elijah… those names… are they short for something else?”

  He hesitated, confused by her intensity.

  “They’re nicknames. Their true names are Vaylren and Velnra.”

  Stella inhaled sharply, repeating the names to herself with quiet intensity.

  “Vaylren.”

  “Velnra.”

  The deck went silent.

  Someone whispered:

  “Those are High Blood names…”

  Another voice, hushed:

  “Spirit?King blood… on our ship?”

  Elijah shook his head, overwhelmed. “No—no, they were just… they were just my friends.”

  He’d learned long ago that explaining never helped. The curse, the spirits, the way it surged under stress—none of it made sense to anyone else. People saw danger first, questions later.

  Stella’s voice softened, but her gaze stayed locked on the seal.

  “Elijah… spirits with names like those haven’t been seen in ...well generations. They’re descendants of the Spirit Kings. High Blood. The kind that the veilguard hunted down back in the first age of sky."

  Rodrick studied the glowing mark with a soldier’s caution and a scholar’s hunger.

  “Elijah… if Vaylren and Velnra were High Blood spirits, then the seal you carry isn’t just unstable.”

  His voice dropped.

  “It’s unprecedented.”

  Elijah pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the faint echo of two small souls tangled with his own—frightened, clinging, alive in a way he didn’t understand

  The ship lurched violently as something massive moved beneath the clouds.

  Rodrick stood, steady as the deck bucked. “Everyone brace yourselves. We’re crossing the line.”

  The seal warmed.

  A whisper curled through him.

  Elijah…

  He froze.

  We’re still here…

  ---