The four colossal chains connecting the floating Capital to the earth were more than mere metal; they were conduits of raw gravitational energy. Up close, each link was a jagged, obsidian-colored block of enchanted iron, humming with a vibration that made Kael's marrow shudder.
"You're insane," Silas shouted over the roar of the wind as they stood at the base of the South-Chain. "The Griffon-Knights patrol the clouds every ten minutes. If they see us hanging there, we're just target practice!"
"Then we'll give them a target they can't hit," Kael said.
He didn't wait for an argument. He leaped onto the first link, his fingers digging into the cold iron. Varg responded instantly, flowing down Kael's limbs and forming Gecko-Grip Spikes—thousands of microscopic obsidian hooks that anchored him to the vertical surface.
"Climb, Silas! Or stay in the mud!"
Silas cursed, drew a pair of climbing daggers, and began the grueling ascent.
They were a thousand feet up, the Sinks looking like a tiny charcoal smudge below, when the first screech echoed through the clouds.
REEEEE—!
From the mist above, three Storm-Griffons dove. Their riders were clad in aerodynamic blue armor, wielding long-range Mana-Lances that crackled with yellow electricity.
"Intruders on the South-Chain!" a rider yelled, his voice magically amplified. "Identify yourselves or be purged!"
Kael didn't look up. He kept climbing, his muscles burning. Ten more links. Twenty.
"Fire!" the Captain ordered.
Three bolts of lightning slammed into the chain. The iron groaned, conducting the heat. Silas screamed as the electricity jolted through his daggers, nearly sending him plummeting into the abyss.
"Varg!" Kael roared. "Insulation: The Rubber-Soul."
The Shifter turned from obsidian to a dull, matte grey, wrapping around Kael and then extending a long, whip-like tether to Silas. The rubbery matter absorbed the shock, grounding the lightning into the massive chain itself.
"My turn," Kael hissed.
He didn't use the axe. The wind was too high for a heavy swing. Instead, he reached into the memory of the Skies of Valhalla—specifically, the Homing Ravens of Odin.
"Mimicry: The Shard-Swarm."
Varg exploded from Kael's back, but instead of wings, it shattered into hundreds of tiny, razor-sharp obsidian feathers. They didn't fall; they hovered in the air, caught in Kael's gravitational aura.
With a flick of his wrist, Kael sent the shards upward.
The Griffon-Knights laughed, thinking it was just debris. But the shards weren't random. They were guided by the Silver-Stitch tracker on Kael's arm. They swerved mid-air, slicing through the leather straps of the Griffons' saddles and nicking the beasts' wings.
The lead Griffon bucked in pain, its rider nearly falling.
"Form up!" the Captain yelled, his face turning red. "Use the Wide-Beam!"
The three knights circled back, their lances glowing. They began to channel a combined blast—a "Purge-Wave" designed to sweep a whole section of the chain clean.
"Kael! They're going to cook us!" Silas yelled, clinging to a bolt for dear life.
Kael stopped. He stood horizontally on the side of the chain, his boots locked in by Varg's hooks. He looked at the knights, then at the palace floating above. He felt the silver tattoo on his arm pulse with heat. The Norns were watching.
"Varg... remember the Bifrost-Bridge," Kael whispered. "Not the light... but the friction."
He didn't block the blast. He reached out and caught it.
As the massive wave of yellow lightning hit him, Kael used Varg to channel the energy into the Fenris-Chains he had used in the alley. The iron links glowed white-hot, but they didn't melt. They acted as a lightning rod.
Kael spun the glowing, electrified chains in a massive circle.
"THOR'S WHIP!"
He lashed out. The electrified chain caught the lead Griffon, the current surging through the beast and rider. The knight's armor acted as a cage, short-circuiting his mana-core. The beast spiraled downward, unconscious.
The other two knights broke formation, terrified. They had never seen a "low-tier" merc turn a Lance-Blast into a counter-attack.
"He's a monster!" one shouted, pulling his mount into a steep climb toward the city. "Call the High-Inquisition! Summon the—"
Kael didn't let him finish. He used the momentum of the chain to catapult himself upward, leaping three links at a time. He moved with the predatory grace of a lynx, leaving the knights in his dust.
Thirty minutes later, they reached the final link.
The gravity-plate hummed beneath their feet as they crawled onto the silver ledge of the Capital's underside. Silas collapsed, his lungs burning, his hands raw.
Kael stood up and looked at his right hand. The Silver-Stitch marks were no longer just a tattoo—they were glowing bright white, pointing directly toward the Star-Spire that pierced the clouds above the palace.
"We're inside the perimeter," Kael said.
He looked at his reflection in the polished silver floor. His eyes were no longer blue; they had turned a permanent, haunting violet, the color of the Shifters and the Gods.
"Silas... the boy Kael is almost gone," he said softly.
"What do you mean?" Silas asked, looking up.
Kael didn't answer. He just looked at the palace. The memories of Skane were becoming too vivid, the rage too heavy. The merge was nearly complete.
"Let's go find the weavers," Kael said. "I have a thread for them to cut."