Twenty-Six Hours later...

  The landscape had changed sometime in the night while Robin slept.

  When he'd first dozed off, curled against the edge of the cloud with his tail wrapped around himself for warmth, they'd been passing over forests and farmland; the familiar patchwork of civilization that defined the continent of Kaen. Now, waking to the midday sun warm on his fur, he opened his eyes to something else entirely.

  White stone. Everywhere.

  The terrain below was covered in pale grass that looked silver-green in the sun and cypress trees grew in scattered clusters, dark against the brightness. Ruined columns stuck up from the earth: some standing alone, others leaning together while what looked like old temples and amphitheaters were carved into the hillsides, their edges worn smooth by time.

  Robin sat up, blinking sleep from his eyes. The air smelled different here. It was... drier, if a bit warmer. There was a faint scent of wild thyme and sun-baked stone.

  "Where are we?" he asked, his voice still rough from sleep.

  "Atlas," Mister Mage Sael said without looking back. He stood at the front of the cloud, pipe in hand, smoke trailing behind them in a thin line. "We crossed the strait about four hours ago."

  Robin's ears perked up. Atlas. The stories about this place always made it sound mythical, ancient beyond reckoning, home to ruins older than kingdoms, and creatures that belonged more to legend than reality. He pushed himself to his feet and padded forward to stand beside Mister Mage Sael, peering down at the landscape with renewed interest.

  Below them, a herd of something large moved through a valley. They looked like deer at first glance, but their antlers branched upward in spiraling patterns that caught the light and refracted it into rainbow prisms. One of them lifted its head as the cloud's shadow passed overhead, and Robin caught a glimpse of eyes that glowed faintly gold.

  "Prismdeer," Mister Mage Sael said, following his gaze. "Harmless unless provoked. Their antlers are valuable, but hunting them is illegal in most territories. The herds are protected."

  Robin watched them until the cloud drifted too far to see clearly anymore. "What else is down there?"

  "You're looking at the Beast Glades," Mister Mage Sael said. "One of the few places left on Atlas where the wilderness hasn't been tamed. Monsters, magical creatures, predators of every variety. Most of them won't bother us at this altitude, but some will."

  As if to punctuate his words, something huge broke the surface of a lake far below. Scaled and serpentine, it coiled once before diving back under, leaving ripples that spread outward in perfect circles. Robin's tail went still.

  "That was...?"

  "Likely a juvenile hydra. The adults don't surface during the day."

  Robin decided he didn't need more details about that. He turned his attention back to the ruins instead. "Why are there so many ruins here?"

  Mister Mage Sael turned to look at him. The movement was slight, but something about the weight of that gaze made Robin's ears flatten just a fraction.

  "You really didn't know about this place?" Mister Mage Sael asked.

  Robin shifted his weight. "I mean, I knew of it. Everyone knows Atlasian Beast Glades exists. But only high-level hunters come here, like, level 400 or higher. It's dangerous. I always wanted to come hunt here, or even on Hel, but..." He trailed off, then added, "Those are dangerous territories for adventurers. For normal people too. Still, there's a lot of money to be made from hunting all those monsters. The materials alone can set you up for life if you survive long enough to collect them."

  "Hmm."

  Robin's tail flicked uncertainly. He wasn't sure what that "hmm" meant. Approval? Disapproval? Simple acknowledgment? With Mister Mage Sael, it was sometimes hard to tell.

  Mister Mage Sael turned back to face forward, pipe in hand. "Well, Atlas was the center of an empire two thousand years ago. The Thalassan Dominion. They built cities that spanned entire regions and temples that touched the clouds. Then they collapsed in the span of a single generation. No one remembers why." He paused to tap ash from his pipe. "The land reclaimed most of it. What's left are bones."

  The cloud drifted onward in silence for a while. Robin found his gaze wandering toward the back of the platform where Oz sat.

  The chicken—no, the dragon—probably hadn't moved in hours. He was perched near the edge with his talons gripping the cloud's surface, his head tucked slightly as if he were resting. But Robin had noticed earlier that Oz's eyes weren't closed. They were half-lidded, watching.

  Robin had questions. So many questions. But every time he thought about asking them, something stopped him. Maybe it was the way Oz held himself: still and silent, like a statue that might come alive if you looked away. Maybe it was the bloodstains still visible on his white feathers, dried now to a rust-brown color that stood out sharply against the plumage.

  Or maybe it was because Oz was a dragon. And not just any dragon. The Dragon King, and Mister Mage Sael had turned him into a chicken just a few days ago in Ashams.

  Robin still didn't fully understand what had happened there. He understood it was something about punishment and teaching humility. The Dragon King, reduced to this by Mister Mage Sael. Just... turned him into a chicken like it was nothing.

  The thought made Robin's fur prickle. He respected Mister Mage Sael, admired him even, but moments like this reminded him of the sheer gulf between them. What would it be like if someone with that kind of power decided you were the problem? If those calm eyes turned cold and that gentle voice said your name with intent?

  Robin shook the thought away and focused back on Oz, who was currently sitting three paces away looking like something that should be pecking at grain in a farmyard.

  His curiosity won out over his caution. He turned toward Oz, his tail flicking once. "So," he started, keeping his voice casual. "You're really him, aren't you? The Dragon King."

  Oz's head turned slightly. One yellow eye fixed on Robin with an intensity that made the fur on the back of his neck stand up.

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  Robin swallowed but pressed on. "I've heard stories about you, you know. Like five years ago, when you took over all those kingdoms in the Great Deserts. That was... pretty impressive. Violent, sure—I heard you ate a few people and burned others alive—but still. Four kingdoms in less than a year. That's—"

  He stopped because Oz wasn't reacting. Not with words, anyway. The dragon-chicken just stared at him, unblinking.

  Robin's ears flattened slightly. "Right. Okay. You don't talk much."

  Still nothing.

  When they'd seen Oz in Ashams—back when he was still a dragon—he'd been pretty talkative to say the least. Opinionated, even. So maybe the transformation had done something to his brain? Made him more... chicken?

  Robin tried a different angle. "Do you... remember what it was like? Being a dragon, I mean. Before you were... this." He gestured vaguely at Oz's current form.

  Only silence answered him.

  "Can you still breathe fire?"

  More silence.

  Robin's tail drooped a little. This was going nowhere. He glanced toward Mister Mage Sael, who was still facing forward, seemingly uninterested in the one-sided conversation happening behind him. No help there.

  He turned back to Oz and tried one more time. "You know, for someone who used to be royalty, you're not very talkative."

  Oz blinked once. Slowly and deliberately.

  Robin took that as a victory of some kind and decided to keep going. "It's just... weird, you know? You're supposed to be this terrifying, legendary creature, but right now you look like something I'd see pecking at grain in a farmyard. It's hard to reconcile the two."

  Oz's head tilted slightly to the side.

  "Not that you're not intimidating," Robin added quickly. "You definitely are. It's just... different."

  He paused, considering his next words carefully. Then he smiled a little. "Actually, in a strange way, you're kind of... cute?"

  Suddenly, Oz's posture shifted. His feathers ruffled slightly, and he stood up, suddenly taller than he'd seemed a moment ago. His eyes narrowed, and there was a faint rustling sound as his wings tucked tighter against his sides.

  Robin's smile faltered. "Uh—"

  Barely a moment to blink and the space where Oz had been standing was empty, as if the dragon had simply ceased to exist. Robin's ears swiveled, trying to pick up some sound—wing beats, movement, anything—but there was nothing.

  Then the cloud lurched.

  Something massive slammed into it from above, and Robin yelped as he was thrown sideways. He scrambled for balance, claws digging into the cloud's surface, and looked up just in time to see a shadow blot out the sun.

  A bird. Enormous. Twice the size of the cloud itself, with a wingspan that stretched so wide it seemed to fill the entire sky. Its beak was hooked and sharp, built for tearing, and its talons were extended, reaching down toward them with obvious intent.

  Robin screamed.

  The bird's talons were ten feet away, then five. Robin threw his arms up instinctively, knowing it wouldn't help, and feeling he was about to be snatched off the cloud and carried away to become lunch for something with a beak the size of his torso—

  And then Oz was there.

  He materialized between Robin and the bird in an instant, moving faster than Robin's eyes could track. There was no buildup, no warning. Just a sudden, violent collision.

  The impact sounded like a thunderclap.

  Oz hit the bird's chest with both talons extended, and the force of it sent the massive creature reeling backward through the air. Feathers exploded outward in a spray of white and brown. The bird let out a screech—high-pitched and furious—and tried to right itself, wings beating frantically.

  It didn't get the chance.

  Oz was already moving again. He twisted mid-air, wings flaring, and drove his beak into the bird's neck. Blood sprayed. The bird's screech cut off abruptly, replaced by a wet, choking sound.

  Oz didn't stop. He raked his talons across the bird's face, tore through one of its wings. Then he opened his beak wide and breathed.

  Fire poured out—white-hot and concentrated—directly into the bird's head. The smell of burning feathers and flesh hit Robin's nose immediately. The bird convulsed once, twice, its body jerking as the flames consumed it from the inside out.

  Oz kicked off its body with enough force to send it tumbling downward in a spiral of smoke, broken feathers, and charred limbs.

  The whole thing took maybe five seconds.

  Robin stood frozen, his heart hammering in his chest, watching the bird plummet toward the earth far below. It hit the ground somewhere in the distance with a faint thud that was barely audible from their altitude.

  Oz landed back on the cloud with the same soft thump he'd had earlier. He folded his wings neatly against his sides, settled into his previous spot, and turned his head to look directly at Robin.

  His yellow eyes gleamed.

  "Call me cute again, fox," Oz said, his voice low and dangerous. "I dare you."

  Robin's mouth opened but... no sound came out.

  Mister Mage Sael's voice drifted back from the front of the cloud, calm and unbothered. "Maybe don't call him that, Robin."

  Robin swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."

  He sank down onto the cloud's surface, his legs suddenly feeling like they couldn't hold his weight anymore. His tail curled around himself protectively, and he very deliberately did not look at Oz.

  The cloud drifted on toward the horizon, silent except for the wind.

  Robin's mind was racing.

  What level was this chicken?!

  The question rattled around his skull as he stared at the spot where Oz had settled back into his resting position. That bird had been massive; easily a threat to most adventurers Robin knew. And Oz had killed it in five seconds. He'd moved so fast Robin hadn't even been able to track it properly, just seen the afterimages of violence.

  Also, he could still breathe fire. White-hot, concentrated fire that burned through flesh and bone like they were paper. That answered his earlier question, he supposed, but what the hell?

  Robin's tail curled tighter around himself. A horrible realization was crystallizing in his mind: between Mister Mage Sael and a literal chicken, he was actually the weakest member of this trio. By a significant margin. The thought sat in his stomach like a stone.

  He wished one of the kids was here. Ilsa, maybe. Or Orion. Someone to balance things out, make him feel less like the only fragile thing on this cloud. Which was completely inappropriate to think, actually, since they were kids and he was heading toward what might be an active battlefield. But it was just a thought. Nobody would know he'd even—

  Mister Mage Sael suddenly looked at him.

  Robin flinched before he could stop himself. The Archmage was tucking his pipe away into his robes with that same unhurried habit he brought to everything, but his eyes were on Robin now, calm and assessing.

  Oh god, could he read minds? Had he heard—

  "Are you alright, Robin?" Mister Mage Sael's voice was gentle. "You seem anxious."

  Robin's ears flattened. "Oh, yeah, I'm—" He gestured vaguely toward where the bird had fallen. "That was just... a lot. Big bird. Very big bird. Didn't expect that." He was talking too fast. He forced himself to slow down. "I'm fine, though. Just, you know, processing."

  Mister Mage Sael studied him for another moment, then nodded. "We should get off the cloud now."

  Robin blinked. He looked down at the landscape passing beneath them. White stone, pale grass, scattered ruins. No walls, no buildings, no signs of civilization. "But... there's no city yet. This is at best the outskirts of the Beast Glades."

  "Yes," Mister Mage Sael agreed.

  Robin waited for more. When nothing came, he ventured carefully, "So... why are we stopping?"

  "There are people here. Hiding."

  Robin's ears swiveled forward. He looked down again, scanning the terrain with more focus this time. At this altitude, he couldn't see anything that looked like people. Just ruins and grass and the occasional cluster of cypress trees. "I don't see anyone."

  "No," Mister Mage Sael said. "I suppose you wouldn't."

  Another pause. Robin was getting used to the way the mage spoke; information parceled out in small pieces, never more than necessary. He tried to fill in the gaps himself. People hiding in the Beast Glades. That probably meant they were running from something. Or someone.

  "Do you think they need help?" Robin asked.

  "Perhaps." Mister Mage Sael's gaze drifted back to the landscape below. "Or they might have information we need."

  That made sense. Robin nodded slowly. "So we're just... going down there to find them?"

  "Yes."

  "Okay." Robin hesitated, then added, "Can I ask—politely—why you think there are people down there that can help us with information? I mean, specifically?"

  Mister Mage Sael glanced at him. Something that looked like amusement flickered in his expression, though it was gone too quickly for Robin to be sure.

  "They're orcs," he said simply.

  "Orcs?"

  "Yes."

  Ah. That made sense then, given the context.

  The cloud began its descent.

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