Aileron

Kestrel stared at Icarus in disbelief. “Boreas appeared at the party?” Icarus and Simurgh had come back into the bar a few minutes earlier, and had promptly been accosted by a very excited Kestrel. Neither of them had noticed the wetness in her eyes, something that she was very grateful for.

Icarus had immediately poured a drink for each of them, for some reason even handing Kestrel the same drink as the two of them, a dark liquid that smelled rich, but had a somewhat bitter taste to it. “According to that burning griffon, yes, it was indeed Boreas. If you believe Grace and Grover, was definitely not Boreas.”

Simurgh set down his mug and balanced his arms like a pair of scales. “In his defense, he wasn’t exactly friendly in his method of identifying himself. Definitely going to throw the city into an uproar.” He grabbed a nearby glass from that morning, still halfway full of something viscous, and drank it, earning him a less than pleased look from Icarus.

“What happened next?” Kestrel asked, leaning forward in her seat, her talons gripping the table tightly.

Icarus’ beak made a slight frown. “I’m not sure. He said something about getting to the end of the world, then took off” He paused and turned to Simurgh. “I’m curious. You dashed off the moment he arrived. Where were you headed?” Simurgh said nothing. Icarus sighed and grabbed a rag from under the bar and began cleaning off the counter.

Kestrel glanced at darker griffon, who was currently lounging with his back to the wall, still sloshing . “Why would he know about the griffon?”

Icarus shrugged. “He has a habit of trying to find out things that he shouldn’t know. That, and he keeps secrets fairly often.” Simurgh gave him a sour look. Icarus didn’t even bother looking up from his scrubbing. “It’s true. There was the time back in Yakyakistan with the tribal princess, when you decided that going off and hunting yetis- without telling us, I might add.”

Simurgh stood up, gave Icarus another sour look, and stretched. “I’ve got nothing worth commenting on. I know nothing about why ‘Boreas’ showed up here.” He made quotation marks with his talons, his expression deadpan. “I am, however, curious as to where you got that necklace.” He nodded to the necklace clutched in Kestrel’s claw, a blue gemstone that neither Simurgh nor Icarus could identify.

“What do you mean?” Kestrel felt a twinge of regret for taking it, now that Simurgh mentioned the necklace, but she feigned ignorance all the same.

Simurgh grinned, and Kestrel noted a gleam in his eyes. “I’ve never seen you with that before.”

“Gift from my dad,” Kestrel muttered.

Icarus raised an eyebrow, unseen by Simurgh, but he made no comment, and Kestrel made a mental to note to beg him not to talk to her dad for a few days. Icarus sighed and folded up his cloth. “Simurgh, you have any interest in helping me prepare food for tomorrow?”

Simurgh frowned. “What kind?”

“Non-perishables. Given what happened tonight, I’m going to have a lot of orders for food that lasts. I’ll need all hands on deck.”

Kestrel sighed and made her way over to her uncle, slipping the necklace over her head as she did so. “I’ll help. Dad suggested I take up working here.”

That drew a response from both Simurgh and Icarus. “He did?” Icarus commented, his eyes shooting up.

Meanwhile, Simurgh’s response was more subdued. “Interesting.” He craned to neck to take a look out the window. “It’s a bit late tonight, but I’ll try and figure out what that griffon meant tomorrow.” His tail flicked back and forth, only reinforcing Kestrel’s opinion that it had a mind of its own. “What type of lock does Gabriel use to keep his house locked?”

Icarus set down his rag and glared at Simurgh. “No. You’re not doing anything stupid while you’re here. I have enough on my mind already, what with Kestrel and Cetan trying to join a crew whenever they get the chance,” Icarus snapped, failing to notice Kestrel’s pained look, “and you’re not going to increase that. Besides, don’t you remember what happened last time you did something this stupid?”

Simurgh took a long sip from his mug before speaking. “That was nineteen years ago, yet you act like it was yesterday.” He set his mug down, wrapped his tail around it and threw it into the air. He then deftly caught it with his talon. “I know what I’m doing.”

Icarus gave him another disapproving frown. “You’re going to get into so much trouble for this,” he muttered before returning to his work. He tossed a piece of fruit to a still perplexed Kestrel, who caught it and ate it.

“Thanks,” she muttered as she wolfed it down. The three of them sat there in silence for a moment, with a tired Cetan coming down the stairs and breaking the silence. “Whats going on?”

Simurgh and Icarus shared a glance. Neither of them spoke, leaving it to Kestrel to inform her sister. “Boreas showed up at the party,” Kestrel explained. “Simurgh wants to go and raid dad’s study to see what’s going on.”

Cetan paused in the middle of grabbing a drink, her face deadpan. “Uncle Icarus, do you make it a habit to make friends with people of Kestrel’s personality?”

Kestrel grinned, and Icarus gave her a look. “I need to start cleaning up,” he said. “Simurgh, you might want to get some sleep. Knowing this city, there’ll be so much news about the griffon that you won’t have to go anywhere near a library, or Gabriel’s study, without running into someone who knows you.” He then pointed towards Cetan and Kestrel, and then to the stairs. “I’m cleaning out the inn tonight. I need you two in bed.”

Kestrel shrugged and went up to her room, careful not to meet Icarus’ gaze. Cetan gave her uncle a long look, but eventually went up as well. Simurgh, however, stayed down. Icarus sighed. “You’re not going to bed tonight, are you?”

Simurgh gave him a massive grin and turned to look out the window. “Where’s Gabriel’s house?”

“Just go to bed,” Icarus snapped. Simurgh laughed and headed toward the stairs. Before he went up, Icarus asked him a question. “Why did you choose now, of all time, to return to the city? And don’t say anything along the lines of ‘nobody would recognize me,’ or ‘I wanted to see you.’ Those excuses never would have factored in with your plan.”

Simurgh gave his friend a soft smile. “I needed a break from my normal life. The winds of change brought me here. I’m here to see what happens.”

“So you didn't just come here to avoid the Oracles?”

Simurgh’s smile turned a bit hard. “If I wanted to, I’d be fine sailing through their lands. I’ve got bigger fish to fry.” He gave his friend a nod and took his leave.

Icarus watched him walk up the stairs, pondering the griffon’s words. ‘Winds of change’ indeed. Simurgh was up to something, and it wasn’t just a change of pace. He sighed, finished his cleaning, and went to the back of the tavern, where his solitary room sat. He pulled one of the few books he had off the shelf and flipped it open to the back. He was greeted by an old drawing that smelled of dust. Words, scrawled and marked to near incomprehensibility, ran along the pages, notes “Let’s see, Winds of Change. What about it would have brought Simurgh here?”

An ancient painting greeted him when he had finished searching the book. In it, four figures sat around a table, an old game board sitting between them. Dice, game pieces in the shape of ships and griffons, and a deck of cards sat on it. The four figures, each of their forms indistinct, each held some variety of the components required for whatever game they were playing. Their expressions, which were the only truly discernible parts of their physical forms, were all haughty.

Icarus read the words underneath the painting, and promptly swore. “Dammnit, Simurgh.

Gale stretched herself in her bed, gazing at the ceiling of her room in the Clipper, her thoughts bounding throughout her head. Outside her door, she could hear Finch shouting orders to the crew, and the odd question from Vane, who was still being introduced to the ship as a whole.

Her cabin was, for lack of a better word, spacious. Clipper was a work of runic magic, held together by over a thousand unique runes, and then some duplicates. Due to that, runes ran along the vast walls of her cabin, glowing a faint shade of red, a choice that Gale herself had decided upon, despite the preference among most runists for green or blue.

A wide oak table sat in one corner, with a pile of maps and inkwells arranged on it. Some maps hung above it as well, along with a few charts and pinned sheets from various pamphlets or documents, many of them detailing her various escapades. The Ghost Steals Seventy Thousand Bits Worth of Religious Texts and Artifacts was still her personal favorite, one that hung in a position of honor above the rest, next to the most recent versions of her wanted posters.

Beside the table sat a thin cutlass, so thin that it looked almost nonexistent. The hilt was made of some odd crystal, glinting red in the candlelight cast across her cabin, in addition to the runes. A gift from her father, before he passed away. The sole remnant from him that she possessed- the had rest ended up in the hands of her various sisters. Being third of seven, and the outcast at that, didn’t lead to much love in regards to one’s kin.

The rest of the room was decorated with portraits, relics, works of art, or various other treasures she had ‘collected’ over the years. Every time she stood in this room, she felt a swelling of pride at her achievements. No other griffon, not even Grover, how she loathed him, had reached the heights that she had reached in her ten years in the sky.

She heard a comment come from Vane that was, frankly, rather embarrassing for any sailor to say, and Gale couldn’t help wince. “I hope you were right about her,” Gale muttered, still gazing upward. “Otherwise I gave Gaius a wildcard.” She felt a twinge of regret, but it was gone in instance as she heard Finch speaking to Vane, followed by a Vane’s voice very clearly mocking her number one. She grinned slightly, taking a moment to gather her wits about her, then stood up and strode out of the cabin, swinging her doors wide open.

Her crew met her in hushed tones, gazing at their captain in awe. Gale had, for that evening at least, decided to forgo her typical cloak, letting her crew see both her face and her wings, which she displayed in radiant splendor.

Vane frowned, leaning over to Finch and muttering something into his ear. Gale grinned to herself- this was a rare occasion, one that she typically saved for the initiation of new sailors into the crew, and with Vane coming along, she was certain that the pegasus would be suitably wowed. Finch muttered something back, making Vane’s eyebrows shoot high up.

Vane had, at this point, been fitted with an eyepatch, which covered her blinded eye. Despite Gale’s urging, however, the pegasus had decided to leave her mane as it was, letting it flow free and wild, despite the crew’s urging to either cut it or tying it into a ponytail. She approached Gale, a frown creasing her features. “Wow. Didn’t expect…” She gestured with a wing towards all of Gale, her expression still incredulous.

Gale smiled slightly, making her way to a massive table that sat in the middle of Clipper. A map sat upon it, modeled off of the entirety of the east. Miniature mountains rose up to two feet into the air, with the cliffs slowly making their way down to the see. Griffonstone sat on the far left corner of it, detailed down to the last building. Moving past there, the map detailed Procella, Roc Point, the Reaches, and more, slowly but surely becoming less distinct as one headed eastward. Eventually, the map ceased to be altogether, ending at a point shortly past Dymestl, a city that many considered to be naught but a legend.

Imaginary or not, the city had been included in the map at its construction, which had occurred due to the combined skill of Raven and Finch, of which only the latter enjoyed the project. In addition to the various locations, small runes, each of them signifying a specific captain, marked the map. Grimlock’s name, scrawled in incredibly small runes, sat in the middle of the map, somewhat near the position of Sulphur Rookery, while that of Raven, for whatever strange reason, sat smack-dab in the middle of Griffonstone. Gale grimaced when she noticed that fact. “Any updates?”

Finch grimaced as well when he noticed who Gale was referring to. “Afraid not, at least from Raven. We did notice some activity last night, but it’s definitely not Raven.”

Before Gale could continue, Vane spoke. “Why’s Maelstrom moving?”

Gale chuckled as she looked at the pegasus. “It’s a sky city. Only griffon controlled one to boot. We have no clue who built it, but it, along with Dymestl and a handful of others, are rumored to exist out here in the east.”

Vane’s one good eyebrow, the other obscured by the eyepatch she was now wearing, rose. “Sky cities? You mean like Cloudsdale?”

There was a slight gasp from Finch. “You’ve got one back in Equestria?”

Vane grimaced, but nodded. She pointed on the map to the area past Griffonstone, which, unfortunately, Gale had not yet had the opportunity to either explore in person, or acquire maps of the area for, meaning that it was naught but an empty area on the map. “Well, yes,” Vane said, “but we know who built ours. Early pegasi constructed it years ago. We were building a new one, even, last time I checked.”

Finch grinned, leaning towards Vane, his talons gripping the map. “Really? You must tell me more-”

Gale cut him off, an irritable expression on her face. “Moving on. Finch, you said you detected activity yesterday?”

Finch’s smile faded, replaced with an ugly grimace. “Afraid so. Gale, I swear I’m not making this up, but the rune shut off a little while back. It shouldn’t be able to do that, not unless-”

“I know,” Gale growled, her eyes widening. “Then why is it activated now?”

Finch blanched. “Well, um, we think someone put it on-”

Gale grabbed Finch by feathers around his neck, a furious glow in her eyes. “I hope you’re wrong. If not, well, I think we know who’s to blame.”

Finch swallowed. “It gets worse. It faded out shortly afterwards, then turned back on less than thirty minutes later.” Gale dropped him, her pale talons nearly translucent.

Vane was the one who spoke. “Why would it have done that? Did someone break it and then fix?”

Gale, who was already on her way away from the map, shouted back. "No! That means that something was interfering with the magic of the necklace. And that’s bad news.” She grabbed a cloak as she made her way up the stairs, wrapping it around herself.

Vane sped to catch up with Gale. “Why?”

Finch followed close behind, making gestures to the crew not to leave their posts. “Because,” the small griffon said, massaging his neck as he moved, “it means that something of the same brand of magic as the necklace showed up nearby. And by the Stormlord, that’s damningly bad news.”

Gale, who had already made her way onto the deck of the ship, didn’t bother hiding her frustration at what she saw. A stream of curses escaped her mouth, and she tightened her cloak around her. “Of course.”

A storm was gathering in the distance. Dark clouds, rolling and spinning like a hurricane, approached them, closing the distance far too quickly for any normal clouds. Rain cascaded against the sea far below, and lightning flashed in quick beats, making an almost incessant glow of bright light.

Finch was the first to say anything other than creative curses. He turned to the crew, his feathers blowing wildly. “Tie the sails! Store all the ropes! Leave no loose ends.” He grimaced and turned to Vane. “You’ve got two options. Get below deck, or stay up here and watch it unfold.”

Vane cast her eye to the storm. “The storm?”

Finch was about to respond when Gale let out a frightening moan. The captain had collapsed on the deck of the ship, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. Finch cursed and lunged towards her, but not before Gale had pulled herself into a fetal position. She was twitching quite visibly, her wings hanging limp at her side aside from the odd spasms from the rest of her body.

Vane’s one good eye widened. “What’s wrong with her?”

Finch glanced at Vane, a grimace spreading across his face. “I was hoping that this wouldn’t happen today. She suffers from erratic spasms like this. Prophecies and the like soon follow. But we cannot have it with this storm going on.”

Vane swallowed nervously, glancing at the swirling maelstrom that was almost on top of them at this point. “That’s not natural…” she whispered, trailing off midsentence.

“Welcome to our world,” Finch snarled, dragging the twitching Gale towards the stairs. “The Griffon Empires, where chaos reigns supreme.” His captain let out a wild scream, her back arching in a painful pose. Finch let out a string of curses, his eyes furious. “Vane, help me carry her-”

A flash of lightning split the air, followed immediately afterwards by the sound of thunder. Shouts came from further down Clipper’s massive deck, screams regarding fire and the need to get the ship moving. Finch continued to curse, although this time his anger was directed towards gods of the storm and other names that Vane did not recognize.

Vane swallowed, glancing between the storm, which now raged around them, tugging at the sailors and dousing feathers, fur, ropes and sails equally, and the struggling Finch and curled-up Gale. “What should I do?”

Finch glared at her. “Unless you can get this storm to stop, or get Gale out of this, then I’m not sure what you can do.” He said something else, but it was lost in the booming of another round of thunder.

Vane glanced at the wheel of the ship, where a struggling griffon stood. She dashed towards him, her hooves slipping slightly on the soaked deck of the ship. She shot out her wings, stabilizing herself, if only barely. Scrambling up the stairs, simply leaping the last few, she made her way to the wheel, where the helmsman was still struggling in the torrential rain. “Anything I can do to help?”

The sailor grimaced, but shook he head. “Look, we just need to keep the ship from moving. Otherwise, we’ll like get torn apart. If that happens, anyone on the inside wou-” He slipped, his talons sliding on the deck of the ship. Vane’s eyes widened, and she reached to help him, only to have a massive force, whether wind or something else, sweep the griffon of the side of the ship.

Vane stood there for a second, her jaw hanging open. For a second, she thought she could see a spectral figure standing where the griffon had stood but a moment before, but it was gone when she blinked. She shook herself out of her shock, grabbing the wheel of the ship, and prayed to the Primordials that she wouldn’t kill everyone on the ship.

She grasped the wheel, doing her best to hold it in its same position. The storm raged around her, with the ship’s crew dashing about on the massive ship, giving Vane the impression of an anthill. Finch and Gale had disappeared from view, likely below the deck of the ship. The air smelled of wet feathers- a smell that Vane knew all too well from her time back in Equestria. Griffons worked on dousing flames, activating various runes, and keeping the ship in the air as the storm raged around them.

Vane held onto the wheel of the ship for dear life, refusing to let it budge. Meanwhile, the raging storm threatened to suck the air from her lungs, and the rain made it hard for her to see beyond five feet, clouding her eyes with water and dragging her mane down in front of her eyes.

The storm, at least to Vane, seemed to last an eternity. It threatened to pull her away from the wheel, or wreck the wheel itself, throwing rain, wind and lightning at her. By the time half an hour had past, she felt as if the storm itself was standing behind her, relentlessly lashing a watery whip against her back, so sodden was she.

And the storm raged on. Vane held onto the wheel through it all, her front legs growing increasingly tired. Eventually, the storm began to lighten, and Vane collapsed, exhausted, against the still tightly held wheel of the ship. She let out a long sigh, ready to fall asleep on deck and let her wings and fur dry out, when a voice stopped her. “Hm. Didn’t expect you to last that long.”

Vane turned to face the speaker behind her, a pure white griffon. “Well, you could have helped, you asshole, if you’re able to watch me so easily.”

The griffon, who seemed more and more indistinct to Vane’s blurry vision, cocked her head slightly. “Why would I have done that?”

Vane was certain that her mouth dropped open, although she was so numb that she couldn’t even feel it. “To stop of us all from drowning, you idiot.”

The griffon chuckled softly, walking down the stairs and out of Vane’s vision. “Sure. See you round.”

Vane groaned to herself, still incredibly numb and either unable or unwilling to move the various parts of her body. Some other members of the crew, noticing the sopping wet Vane, rushed to her, helping her to her feet and taking the wheel from her.

Vane was helped, although carried may have been more accurate, to the stairs of the ship, past the rest of the crew and the now stabilized ship. Most of the crew, like Vane, was drenched in some form or another, although most of them cast appreciative looks to Vane as she was aided past them.

Down below, the situation was far different. While up above the atmosphere had been one of relief, but down below the air wa rife with fear. Gale’s cabin had been sealed off, and the crew muttered in hushed tones to one another, clearly concerned about their captain’s state. Vane heard murmurs from some members, wondering why it had lasted this long, while others were concerned as to whether the storm had had any influence on their captain’s condition. Vane, if she hadn’t been so numb, would have likely scoffed at those comments.

The sopping wet Vane was deposited in front of an irritated Finch, who had just stepped out of Gale’s cabin. He looked down at Vane, his grimace deepening. “Can you walk?” Vane groaned and tried to stand up, only to fall back down. “That’s what I figured.” Finch turned to a pair of griffons who were standing nearby. “Get her into the cabin.”

A shocked gasp went up from the crew. Finch gave them a warning glare, and they carried the still soaked Vane into the cabin. Inside, a curled up Gale sat upon her bed, while Finch took in Vane. Vane, after a handful of seconds of scrutiny from the griffon, spoke. “So, what’s going on?”

Finch rolled his eyes. “Gale asked for you.”

“What!?”

Finch winced, a pained expression on his face. “Please, don’t shout. She’s sensitive enough as is.” He waved a talon towards his captain, whose cloak covered the entirety of her body, except for her barely visible beak. “She says stuff in this state. Not all the time, but it happens. So far, she’s mentioned you and the return of an era.”

Vane sat there for a moment, trying to figure out if Finch was having a go at her. She stood up, letting her wet, gray mane hang in her face as she dripped water, and glared at Gale’s majordomo. “Look. I just endured a massive storm, was carried unceremoniously by your crew, and I think I won’t be dry for at least a week. This is not the time to be having a laugh at my expense.” She tried to blow some of the mane out of her face, but it was so saturated that it simply fell back into position to block her eyes.
A slight sneer crossed Finch’s face. “I don’t joke about this kind of thing.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Finch glared at her, but he returned his attention to Gale, who was beginning to convulse once more. The captain let out a quiet moan, then her back arced in a vicious position. Finch muttered another curse, but he dashed towards an unrolled piece of parchment, fingering a quill nervously.

Gale began muttering, her words almost incomprehensible as she spoke. Vane was unable to hear large portions of it, but Finch wrote on his parchment like a madman, clearly worried about losing a single word uttered, his scribbling almost drowning out Gale. “Dymestl… eternal city…” Gale muttered, her voice feverish. “Grimlock…” Finch looked up mid-scribbling to glance at her, even if his quill kept moving. “Traitor…”

The words went on for some time, with most of them being lost on Vane’s somewhat waterlogged ears. Finch, however, seemed to catch the majority of it, scribbling down every word. Vane glanced at him as he wrote, frowning slightly. “How can you hear-”

Finch raised a talon, silencing her. He continued to write, but when Gale stopped in her mutterings, he turned to Vane, the spine-like feathers on his head bristling. “I need you to shut up when I’m working,” Finch snapped, shooting daggers at the pegasus. “It’s very, very hard to catch everything that she says, so I’d appreciate it if you shut your gab while I’m listening.” He sighed, running a talon through his feathers, flattening the brown spikes for a second, only to have them pop up later. “I’d have kicked you out by now had she not specifically said your name.”

Vane glanced at Gale. “What did she say, exactly?”

Finch sighed and looked at a spot far higher up on his parchment, running his eyes along his miniscule handwriting. “Eternity awaits,” he muttered to himself, drawing a raised eyebrow from Vane. “Immortals never die, do not trust the mask worn by birds…” Finch continued to murmur, drawing an irate sigh from Vane.

“I could have told you that without having a seizure.”

“Ah,” Finch said, grinning triumphantly continuing to scroll through his notes. “The Weather Vane points to the smoothest path.”

Vane’s eyebrow rose even higher. “Are you sure you don’t get these results by getting drunk?”

Finch sighed, leaning back in his chair. He pointed his quill at her in an accusing manner, gesturing at her as he spoke. “I’d like to point out that you’d still be sitting in a jail cell were it not for me. It was my spy that tipped me off to your existence.”

“How in Tartarus did you get half-decent spies?”

This time, Finch gave her a slight sneer. “I’m charismatic, for one. Two, you would not believe what a handful of coins and a well-drawn rune will do for a griffon down on his luck. Third, and this is the kicker,” Finch added, raising a single digit and tapping his beak, “I’m the second-in-command for the most powerful militant group on this side of the world. I’ve got plenty of deeds to my name.” He looked like he was about to continue, possibly to regale Vane with some of his exploits, but Gale’s resounding scream cut him off. “Shit,” Finch muttered, preparing his quill once again. “We’ve got a powerful one.”

Vane rushed to Gale, whose back was slammed against the wall, her eyes practically glowing bright red. The captain screamed once more, her back arching partially, only to stop mid-arch, seemingly stopped by nails pinning her back against the wall. Her scream continued, with a panicked Vane unable to do a single thing. Finch, however, had his quill ready to write, watching Gale with a mixture of fear and excitement on his face.

Gale’s scream, so high pitched at this point that there were shouts of fear coming from outside the cabin, began to transform into a panicked and erratic murmuring, her tone and pitch changing with every word. “The storm, do not go to the storm. We will be betrayed, killed the traitor. The kings… we will rule.” She stopped for a second, making Vane draw in a relieved breath. Then Gale’s scream resumed, her words mingling with it and making it impossible to tell when the scream ended and the words began. “I see it, the end of an age. Immortals, brought low. I see-” Her words were lost as her scream rose in volume, drowning out Finch’s swearing.

Vane panicked, looking from Finch, to the saber leaning against the wall, to Gale’s agonized form. Finch drew a thin, wicked looking blade from beneath a wing, and, before Vane could do anything, slashed Gale across the chest with it. Gale collapsed, her screams ceasing as blood stained her bed.

“What in the blazes?!” Vane screamed, looking from Gale’s motionless form to a grimacing Finch. “You just killed her!”

Finch snorted, sheathing his blade. “She’ll be fine. Watch.” He waved a talon at Gale’s form, which was twitching violently. “To put it bluntly: she heals fast. Unfortunately, she needs significant trauma to be removed from that state. A slashed open chest tends to cause trauma.”

Vane’s jaw, which was doing a fantastic job in stretching to the floor, merely stared at him. Finch snorted and helped a pale, somehow recovered, Gale to her feat. Her eyes were glazed over, and her talons looked like they had lost all blood, but she was alive, much to Vane’s astonishment. Gale’s stomach still showed signs of the wound- the flash looked barely healed, and she was certain it would scar. Gale let out a pained laugh, looking at nowhere in particular. It took Vane a moment to realize that, at least currently, she was unable to see. “Powerful?”

Finch nodded, his eyes cold. “Incredibly so. We need to-”

Gale shook her head, her eyes still not focusing on anything. “I’ll speak to the crew now.”

“Idiot,” Finch muttered under his breath. “I assume you’ll want me to get in touch with the six?”

Gale nodded and stumbled forward, almost falling to the floor before Finch caught her. Blood dripped from her chest, making Vane realize that her wound had reopened, if only slowly. Gale chuckled softly. “Aren’t I a wonderful phoenix?” She pushed Finch aside, managing to make her way out of her cabin, leaving Finch and Vane behind.

“Six?” Vane asked, her expression puzzled.

“The six Oracle commanders. Passerine, Grimlock, Raven, Gareth, Drake and Pandora. Surprised you’ve never heard of them.” Finch shook his head. “She’ll kill herself at this rate,” he added, more to himself than to Vane.

“I’ve seen wanted posters for a few of them,” Vane admitted, running her tongue along her lips and she looked upward. “Raven’s the one wanted for the deaths of two-hundred sixty, correct?”

“Two sixty-one, now,” Finch muttered darkly. “She might as well hang herself, given the recent news.”

Vane frowned, but said nothing, following Gale out the door, with Finch tagging along. Gale, meanwhile, was addressing Clipper’s crew, her eyes still somewhat glazed-over. No one in the crew seemed to notice the blood dripping from her chest, but Vane still noticed the steady dripping. “I have seen a real future,” Gale was saying, the crew muttering to one another as she proclaimed her revelation. “A kingdom, built by us, the Oracles. Where we reign like gods!”

A cheer went up from the crew. Vane glanced at Finch and whispered, “not exactly all that exciting, personally. Honestly…” she trailed off, the continual blood making her cease her musings.

Finch leaned back, his grimace lightening slightly. “Any news, at least from Gale’s visions, is good news. There’s a reason we’re called the Oracles, and it isn’t because of some fancy magic and a handful of useful party tricks. We’ve got the real thing here.”

“How does she do it, exactly?”

Finch sighed and shook his head. “Trade secret.”

Vane grimaced, but nodded all the same. “So, what do we now?”

“I meet with the Six- five, technically, given that Raven won’t be showing up. Four, if Grimlock’s in a bad mood. You get to work around the ship, learn some more of the ropes, and get assimilated. Gale… Gale will probably spend some time recovering from me slashing her chest open.” Finch walked away, his spiky feathers waving slightly, leaving a dumbstruck Vane to stand there.

The six leaders of Griffonstone sat in a disorganized circle, their expressions mixed. Shikra was fiddling with her dagger, not willing to meet the eyes of her fellows. Njord, an older, grey-feathered griffon, watched them with interest, his eyes worried. Iris stared disinterestedly at the wall, her icy eyes empty. Gabriel sat with his head in his talons, tears filling his feathers. Grace sat next to her mate, who sat, head down, his back to the rest of them.

It was Njord who spoke first. “This is a disaster,” he said, running a talon through his disheveled feathers. “Regardless of whether or not that was Boreas, that was undeniably a member of the Precursors. This could spell the end of Griffonstone. And we only just got it started!”

There was a murmur of agreement from the others. Following the party, the six of them had been forced to bring ‘order’ to the panicked partygoers, most of whom had likely gone to spread rumors when their panic had faded. They exchanged glances, all except Grover, who still had his back to the others.

“We’re screwed,” muttered Shikra, turning her dagger over in a talon. “A god shows up at a party, decrying us as heretics? The Oracles must be having a field day. Anyone game for sneaking out onto a ship and leaving this mess before we get lynched?”

Gabriel looked away from the floor, a pained look on his face. “We can’t just leave, not at right now, of all times. We’ve got a league of pirates, one of our gods, and far too many dissenters happy for Grover to be removed from power. Leaving would be a disaster, not just for us, but for Grover as well.”

“I’m right here,” Grover muttered under his breath, his gaze still downcast. “And if you want to leave, Shikra, you can leave now. If that was what I thought that was, I don’t blame you.” He picked up his sword, which sat next to him, and fingered it gently. “Personally, I’m surprised that I’m still alive.”

Shikra snorted. “Bah. You’re my employer. Can’t leave until I get paid for this month.”

A slight grin crossed Grover’s pain-stricken face and he nodded gratefully. “Appreciate it. Anyone else willing to stay till the next paycheck?” The rest of the room murmured their agreement. “Wonderful,” Grover said, looking at each of them in turn. “Anything else anyone wants to add before we get to business?”

Before anyone could respond, there was a knocking on the door. Njord frowned, but stood up and made his way to it. Before he could open it, however, it was kicked open, promptly hit the elderly Njord in the face, and made way for an incredibly angry Fairy Flight to enter.

“What the hay is going on in here?” The pegasus bristled with rage, a incredibly angry look on her face. “If you remember correctly, I believe you introduced me as a diplomat from Equestria. Why was I not invited to this?”

“Generals,” Shikra muttered under her breath, drawing an angry look from Gabriel, but Fairy Flight either took no notice or did not hear her, instead shoving her way past Njord towards where the other five sat.

“Alright,” Fairy Flight snapped at Grover, who had turned his gaze towards the irate admiral, “what’s going on? What in Tartarus was going on at that party? Why was a ‘god’ at your party, claiming that you’re a heretic? Why do I get the sneaking suspicious that-”

“Fairy,” Grover muttered, his voice quiet, “if you’ll take a seat, I’ll explain it all.”

Grace cast a nervous glance at her mate, but she said nothing. Iris, who had finally taken her eyes off of the wall, looked at Grover, an emotion almost like fear in her eyes. Fairy Flight, however, took no notice, taking a seat in the circle and glaring at the others. Grover looked at all of them, a worried expression on his face. “The figure at the party,” he said, his voice icy, “was certainly a Precursor.”

Fairy Flight raised a hoof, but Njord answered before Grover could. “It’s the title we give to the immortals in our beliefs,” the scholar murmured. “Depending upon the scholar you ask, every species has a variant, or a fraction thereof possess one. Primordials, in turn, are what we count Aeolus as one of.”

Fairy Flight cast him a puzzled look, but Grover continued before she could respond. “Fourteen years ago, before I came to be king, I was… bet upon, I guess you could call it, in a game played by the Precursors.” All three of the governors, as well as Fairy Flight, raised a front limb into the air. Grover snorted, but he carried on. “Suffice to say, it was not as pleasant experience. What I claim, that Boreas chose me to be her champion, is not a lie. Although, a better term might be pawn.”

Iris winced, Grace frowned, and a collective gasp went up from the other four. Gabriel was the first to speak. “Is that why you have the Idol of Boreas?”

“Essentially. Each champion was gifted by a symbol that identifies them. Mine was the Idol of Boreas, and the others were just as varied. I was one of the four to race towards the edge of the world, with unimaginable power as the reward at the end.

“Three others joined me in this race. A black-feathered madman who I never learned the name of, an unfortunate fellow who was sunk less than a month into the voyage, and a former Oracle named Stork. The-”

“Stork!” Gabriel exclaimed, fury filling his voice. “I thought Stork was just loopy! You claimed that he was merely a dangerous madman!”

“He was,” Grover snapped, running a talon through his feathers. He was standing up at this point, his eyes furious.“The race went on for over a year. Stork, after he lost, helped co-found the Oracles to dethrone me. Turns out he was a sore loser.”

“He killed at least thirty griffons over his career, claiming that they were heretics who had been deceived by you! Are you telling me he had a reason to call you that?”

“Their claims of me being a heretic have never been without bias. But I have never lied about my accomplishments or actions. Stork, no matter how much basis his claims have, was severely broken from that trip. He was insane, and he was a threat to Griffonstone.

“Not only that, but he was the champion for Zephyr. The wild west wind. Chaotic, deadly, and altogether uninterested in how many griffons died in her champion’s quest to win the day. Stork needed to die, lest he destroy our kingdom.”

There was a stunned silence from all those sitting in the room. Gabriel, Njord and Shikra appeared horrified, while Fairy Flight looked aghast. Iris’ expression was still terrified, and Grace looked worried. “And your claim to kingship?” It was Fairy Flight who spoke, her voice unabashed.

“Legitimate,” Grover muttered, his voice suddenly tired. He sat back down, Grace putting a talon on his shoulder as he continued. “I won the race, against all odds. I met with Aeolus the Stormlord, as all the legends claim. I got the sword from him, again, as the legends say. Every bit of the story I told is true, down to the names of the cities I visited. I raced past Dymestl, through the endless fall, and into the land beyond. I fought immortals, demons and dragons. Every bit of it is true. The only detail I omitted was the involvement of the other captains.

“Unfortunately, it seems that that little detail is coming back to bite me in the ass. Stork and the first champion may be dead, but that other madman is likely still alive, and if Notus showed up-”

“That was Notus?” It was hard to tell who screamed the loudest in that moment. Iris, whose pale face seemed almost transparent, Njord, whose eyes were wide as dinner plates, or Gabriel, who looked ready to pass out.

Grover sighed and continued. “If Notus wants to force everyone to the edge of the world, it likely means he’s found another champion. According to what I learned, the game only starts when every Precursor has a champion.”

“Game?” Fairy Flight’s voice was apprehensive.

Grover cast a sad look at her. “Have you ever played Wishbone?” She shook her head. “Suffice to say, the game is never played the same way twice. Sets are generally handmade by their owners, leading to each person’s set being different. Dice land slightly crooked, game boards possess more or less pieces than normal, decks are stacked, and so on. The thing is, you only play with your set, so the variety you’ve built in is matched up against how they’ve cheated, leading to you learning on the fly. Sailors love the game.”

“Sounds dumb,” Fairy Flight muttered.

Grover let off a slight chuckle, causing a smile to grace his tired features. “Be that as it may, there’s a certain enjoyability to learning how your friends prefer to cheat. That’s the game that the Precursors play. They’ve been fudging dice rolls, ‘finding’ pieces, redrawing cards, and so on since they were born of Aeolus. They want to win this game, even my ‘patron’ Boreas, and until someone wins, the East is going to be their playground.”

There was an uneasy silence. Looks were exchanged between them, none of them daring to speak for fear of finding out more terrible facts about what was going on. Iris, who was normally known for her stone-cold demeanor, looked practically on the brink of tears. The normally chilly tree felt twenty degrees colder, simply by the revelations that they had discovered. A few glances were spared for the door, like they expected someone to come bursting through at any second.

When the initial shock of the news had faded, all eyes turned to Grover. The king swallowed, the lump almost visible in his throat. After a few seconds of almost panicked silence, he finally spoke. “I suppose you’re wondering what we’re going to do about this?” They nodded, and he sighed. “Celestia warned me about this, you know. She said that things seemed to be returning. I just didn’t think it’d be this, you know?” He looked beaten, as if all the air had gone out of his sails. “Well, it’s very simple what we’re going to do. We’re going to go to the edge of the world. All of us.”

They all began shouting, getting up from their chairs as they interjected. Gabriel and Njord began shouting protest. “You can’t be serious. That’s suicide!”

“The edge of the world?” Shikra shouted, her voice filled with excitement. “I never thought-”

Meanwhile Fairy Flight voiced her outrage. “I’m not here to engage in some race. I’m here to find-”

“You almost died!” Grace screamed at her mate. “We’re not returning to that hellhole, not in a million years!”

Before the argument could advance long, however, Iris shattered it. Her scream was like an arctic gale, bitter and chilling. “Silence! All of you! Let Grover speak!” The runist stood on top of her chair, her expression an icy, hostile thing. A handful of runes had been carved on her chair, which glowed furiously, the energy contained within practically boiling off of them.

A rueful shuffling of feet followed. The governors sat down first, with a still-glaring Fairy Flight following. Grace still stood, but she quieted all the same. Grover glanced at them, his eyes sad, but he finally spoke. “Unless you want one of the Oracles ruling, and I guarantee that they will be pawns in this game, we will have to partake in this race.” He glanced at Grace. “I hope we still have our maps?”

“The rudimentary ones we made?” Grace asked, an incredulous tone in her voice. One of her eyebrows had gone up, but Grover nodded. “Yeah, I’ve still got them.”

“Wonderful.” Grover turned to Njord. “You’ll have to make duplicates for every captain we’ve got out there.”

“Won’t that give them chances for this grand power Notus referred to?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Grover said. “I don’t want the Oracles winning this race, not until hell freezes over. Get as many made as you physically can.” He turned to Gabriel. “Get every bit of information we have on rogue captains, Oracles, outlaws, anyone who might have an interest in this power, to every captain as well. I don’t want griffons dying because we’re underprepared.”

Gabriel nodded, but Shikra frowned. “What about me?”

“Look through our records. Check to see if there have been any odd ships turning up recently. Any mysterious circumstances that could give us clues as to the other three champions. If there are bizarre storms, heat waves, unexplained phenomenon, odds are we’ve got a Precursor on the loose.”

Shikra’s beak formed an ‘o’ of surprise. “Makes sense…”

Grover sighed and turned to Iris. “I want you to help me prepare my announcement for tomorrow. I assume you can do some decent sending runes to governors in other cities?”

“I can do anything with runes,” Iris sneered.

“Wonderful,” Grover said, standing up and making his way for the door. “Because we’re going to need to the impossible to win this race.”