The wind howled as the wyvern cut through the endless sky, its powerful wings slicing the air with rhythmic beats. The morning sun hung lazily over the horizon, painting the clouds in shades of soft gold and crimson, which could be seen through the gaps between each floor they passed. Krenz clung to the saddle with a death grip, his knuckles white against the leather straps. He had never been a fan of heights, and riding a wyvern across the open sky at such terrifying speeds wasn't something he had quite gotten used to yet.
The initial terror of flight, however, had slowly turned into something else—something dangerously close to exhilaration. The way the wind roared past his ears, the way the world stretched out endlessly below them, how the valleys and rivers seemed nothing more than streaks of color beneath their feet—there was an addictive freedom in it.
Atlas, seated at the front, was barely paying attention. He yawned mid-flight, stretching lazily with one hand still gripping the reins as if he had been riding wyverns all his life. His other hand idly rested on the twin swords strapped to his waist, fingers drumming against the hilts as he pondered something truly critical.
How should I position these damn swords so I can sit comfortably?
It was a dilemma that had plagued him for years. One blade always dug into his ribs. The other, if adjusted improperly, would slap against his leg every time the wyvern shifted. He frowned, shifting a bit—only to have the sword hilt jab his side.
Annoying.
Behind him, Maya had one arm lazily slung over the saddle, looking as if she were lounging in a tavern rather than soaring thousands of feet above the ground. She whistled a tune, grinning to herself, her emerald eyes scanning the endless expanse of sky as if expecting something interesting to happen.
It did.
Krenz was the first to notice it. His stomach had just settled, his hands starting to relax against the saddle—when his eyes caught a dark speck in the distance.
Small at first.
Then growing larger.
And fast.
Then, Krenz pointed ahead, voice sharp with panic.
"Uh… there's another wyvern coming right at us."
Atlas barely turned his head.
"Fantastic," he muttered.
The dark figure in the distance closed in fast—far too fast.
Atlas' gut twisted.
Before he could say anything—
WHOOSH!
Atlas yanked the reins to the side, twisting their wyvern into a sharp turn. The world tilted, and Krenz nearly lost his stomach, gripping the saddle for dear life. The enemy wyvern shot past, barely missing them. But the moment Atlas steadied their ride, another tackle came.
And another.
The sky erupted into a chaotic dance of near misses, their wyvern narrowly dodging each consecutive attack. Down below, the people of Logue Valley cheered and booed from the various floors of the city, as if this were nothing more than casual street entertainment.
Maya, sitting behind Atlas, let out a laugh. "Oi, oi, are we famous now? Look at 'em, waving at us! Should I wave back?"
Then another tackle came, and then another.
Atlas twisted their wyvern through the air, narrowly dodging each hit. Their ride spiraled, spun, barely holding its balance as the enemy wyvern pressed the attack with consecutive aerial lunges. It wasn't biting or clawing, just hitting them with sheer force—forcing them off balance.
Atlas wasn't amused.
He finally caught sight of the rider.
A young man around the same age as Atlas, sharp eyes piercing that could pierce through the steel like scales of the wyvern itself, in a sharp military-style uniform, standing with eerie stillness. The red fabric of his coat barely fluttered against the wind, unlike his straight fade green hair that swayed with every thrust of the wyverns wings.
Atlas groaned.
"Great. Another poser." He raised his voice. "Oi! If this is about money, I swear I don't owe you anything!"
The man didn't answer.
Instead, he slowly—calmly—stood on one foot.
Atlas' expression deadpanned. "...Oh, for the love of—"
The man jumped.
Their wyverns crossed paths mid-air. And the moment their backs aligned—
The man dropped.
Straight onto their wyvern.
Atlas barely sidestepped in time.
The man's feet landed soundlessly on the saddle. His motion was so smooth, so effortless, that it was as if he'd been standing there all along.
And then—he stabbed.
Except—there was no weapon.
Just his hand—fingers forming a precise fencing thrust—aimed directly at Atlas' heart.
Atlas' instincts screamed.
And then—WHOOSH.
A sword appeared out of thin air.
Atlas reacted just in time, swinging his scabbard up to parry. Steel met steel, sparks flying in the air. The sword clanged away—
Then vanished.
Atlas blinked. Oh. That's new.
The man didn't stop.
His hand flicked—like throwing fish food.
And out of nowhere—
Daggers materialized in the air and shot toward Atlas.
Atlas exhaled through his nose.
In a single motion, he batted them all away with the back of his scabbard. The daggers spun into the air before disappearing into nothing.
Krenz, still clinging onto the saddle, was losing it.
"What the HELL is happening?!"
Maya, still holding the reins, let out a low whistle.
"Damn, his tricks are cool. Oi, Atlas, you gonna just keep dancing, or are you actually gonna fight back?"
Atlas rolled his shoulders.
The enemy lunged again.
This time, the sword materialized mid-swing, aimed straight for Atlas' ribs.
Atlas dodged back—but then the blade elongated.
It stretched mid-strike, going from a short sword to a full-length greatsword.
Atlas twisted—too slow.
The edge nicked his cheek. A thin cut bloomed across his skin.
"Huh— you almost got me there, man. No loan is worth killing someone, calm down. What would your mother think?" Atlas panted, trying to catch his breath, his voice laced with mockery.
Silence.
Then, without hesitation, the man swung his sword straight down at Atlas with full force.
Atlas' knew. If he dodged, the blade would pierce through the wyvern beneath him.
Tsk. He's good.
With no other choice, Atlas took the strike head-on.
BAAM.
Steel clashed against steel, the impact roaring through the sky. Atlas gritted his teeth, both hands firmly gripping his short sword as he blocked the devastating blow just above his face.
This time, there was no trickery—no shifting length, no sudden vanishing act.
Just raw power.
The sheer force vibrated through his bones, tuning them like a strained chord. It felt as if his shoulders would be crushed straight down into his waist, his knees barely holding against the weight pressing down on him.
Then—
The sword vanished.
Not again.
Atlas remained frozen in place, his body still braced against an impact that no longer existed.
Before he could react, the enemy was already below.
Swish.
A blade extended, aimed straight for his neck.
Atlas' body moved on instinct. With a desperate twist of his spine—like a cat stretching mid-yawn—he barely escaped the death blow, but not without consequence. A sharp sting tore across his chin—a clean, precise cut.
Yet there was no time to breathe.
The sword shifted again—this time, not in length, but in breadth.
The blade expanded wide, swinging toward him like a guillotine meant to slice him in half.
But Atlas had recovered.
With a swift motion, just in time, he parried—deflecting the crushing strike before it could land on his back. The impact sent a shockwave through the air.
Without waiting for another attack, Atlas leaped back in retreat, his boots skidding across the saddle as he steadied himself.
His smirk had vanished.
The man's voice was calm, precise.
"Disappointing. I expected more from someone acknowledged by Sobec himself." He studied Atlas with a neutral expression. "But I see now—you weren't much at all."
Atlas wiped the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. He looked at it.
Then he smirked.
"Oh?"
As if spring in his feet the man leapt forward.
The enemy stabbed forward.
A full-force, straight lunge. The kind meant to end things in one blow.
Atlas wasn't there.
His movement was so casual—so relaxed—that it barely seemed like he moved at all. He just… slipped past it.
And then—
A flick of the wrist.
Atlas' short sword pressed lightly against the man's back.
And in the same movement—
Snatch.
Atlas' other hand stole the enemy's sword straight out of his grip.
The man's eyes widened.
For the first time—his composure broke.
Atlas twirled the stolen sword between his fingers, unimpressed.
"Neat trick. But you should really learn to hold onto your toys."
The man was off balance.
His feet slipped. The air whistled past him as he started to fall.
Atlas reached out—grabbed his wrist.
With an effortless yank, he hauled him back onto the wyvern.
Maya erupted into laughter. "AHHAHAHAHA! OI, KRENZ, DID YOU SEE THAT?! HE JUST STOLE HIS DAMN SWORD! LOOK AT HIS FACE—PRICELESS!"
Krenz, still pale from Maya's piloting, barely managed a nod. "I… I don't even know what I just witnessed."
Atlas spun the sword one last time, then tucked it into his belt. "Finders, keepers."
The man's lips pressed into a thin line.
Atlas sighed. "Sooo. Are we done? Or do I gotta drop you off somewhere?"
Silence.
The enemy exhaled—slowly.
Then, without another word—
He leapt.
Back onto his own wyvern.
"Meet me at the guild", said the man.
Atlas watched him go, arms crossed.
Maya stretched. "Welp. That was fun." She grinned, turning the wyvern toward their destination. "Time to head up, captain."
Atlas sighed.
"Yeah, yeah."
He yawned, stretching lazily.
"Wake me up if someone else tries to kill us."