The black jet screamed high above, but the cabin inside was heavily silent, like the deep ocean. Caspian sat in the middle of the hold. His body was stiff with pain.
The third fragment, which was the soul of Soren the Tactician, would not fully integrate with his core. It was fighting back.
All the knowledge of a thousand ancient battles rushed into Caspian's mind at once. It was too much for a human brain and his damaged meridians to handle.
He saw every possible future. He saw every way he could die. He saw the city of Oakhaven burning in a hundred different ways. He saw Lyra falling in a thousand different places.
The golden light in his eyes was not steady anymore. It was blinking like a broken light bulb. It threw sharp, twisted shadows against the metal walls of the aircraft.
Thorne rushed toward the cockpit, but the jet suddenly jerked as if it had hit a solid wall. The engines let out a loud, high sound, and then they stopped.
The cabin lights flashed and died, leaving them with only the sick, purple light of the emergency crystals.
"We have hit a dead zone, sir," the pilot replied, his voice rising in panic. "Something is stopping the spirit reactors from outside. We are falling."
Caspian forced himself to stand up. His legs felt like heavy metal, and his vision was blurry with golden spots.
He looked out the small round window. He saw the clouds below them beginning to spin into a massive, strange whirlwind.
In the center of the swirl, one figure floated in the air. It was a Void Monk. These were simple warriors who served the High Regents not for power, but for the idea of nothingness.
The Monk wore tattered clothes that flapped in the strong wind. His face was a smooth, plain mask of white porcelain.
"I will handle him," Caspian said. He did not wait for an answer.
He kicked the emergency handle on the jump hatch. The wind rushed into the cabin. It was freezing and violent.
Caspian stepped out into the sky, but he did not fall. He began to walk down the air, as if going down stairs made of glass.
His movement was a blur of gold, but it was slower than the night before. His body was fighting him, and his meridians were screaming in pain.
Caspian moved, and he did not swing his sword. He became the sword.
He flew through the air in a straight, impossible line. He passed directly through the body of the Void Monk.
The Monk froze. For one second, the plain mask seemed to crack before he vanished into the air.
Caspian hung in the sky for a moment, breathing heavily. He looked at his hands and saw that they were see-through. He could see the clouds through his own skin.
He had used the Logic of the Void against the Monk, but the cost was his own solid form. He was beginning to fade into the very nothingness he had just beaten.
He felt gravity take hold of him, and he began to fall.
Back in the city, the Sovereign Barrier started to ripple.
Lyra stood in her office at the Valerius Tower. She was watching the golden dome of light above the city. It was no longer a solid shield. It was flickering, and dark spots were showing up.
"Something is wrong with him, Silas," she whispered.
She walked to the window and looked toward the south. She did not see the dragon. She only saw the dark, gathering clouds of a storm that looked like it was made of shadows.
"If Caspian falls, the city falls," Lyra said as she turned back to her brother. "We cannot just wait for him to save us again."
"Tell the kitchen to open the food stores. Tell the guards to bring the elderly and the children into the lower levels of the tower. If the Regents are coming for this city, then we will make them fight for every inch of it."
Silas looked at his sister. He saw the flicker of the Sovereign in her eyes. He realized then that Caspian had not just given the city a wall. He had given his wife a throne.
A thousand miles away, in a small, rocky cove by the southern sea, the black jet made a rough, bone-shaking landing on the sand.
The engines were dead, and the main body was scorched.
Thorne jumped out of the hatch and ran toward the figure lying in the waves. Caspian was unconscious. His skin was cold. The obsidian sword lay a few feet away, covered in a layer of grey frost.
The Commander was alive, but he was broken. The joining of the third bone had failed to finish. The effort of killing the Monk had left him completely exhausted in spirit.
He had reached the edge of the southern sea. He was at the gates of the Sunken Citadel. But the Dragon was no longer flying. He was crawling in the sand, and the water began to rise over his legs.
Thorne looked up at the moon. He saw the red light of the Regents satellites passing above. They knew where they were. They were being watched by the high-flying cameras of the Third Legion. The cove was no longer a safe place to hide. It was a kill box.
Caspian opened his eyes for a second. He saw the dark ocean water. He felt the third bone throbbing in his chest. He heard the voice of Soren the Tactician one last time before the darkness took him again.
The war is not won with fire, the voice whispered. It is won with the will to survive the ash.
The tide kept rising. The silence of the cove was broken only by the sound of an engine approaching in the distance. The sound was deep and mechanical. It was coming from the water.
Thorne gripped his obsidian blades. He stepped in front of Caspian's body. He watched the horizon as a dark shape began to rise from the waves.