Jareth held the Godblade high, its radiant edge gleaming under the sunlight. As if imbued with a will of its own, the blade hummed softly, tilting slightly toward the edge of the newly sanctified border. The elf girl, now cloaked in a simple robe, stood silently beside him. Her delicate features were shadowed by the hood, and she slipped a silver ring onto her finger, a faint shimmer masking the aura of her Godgear.
Bahamut raised his hand, chanting an ancient spell. A faint, shimmering light surrounded the elf girl before fading into nothingness. "The spell will cloak her presence," Bahamut said. "To the Demon Gods, she will seem no different from any mortal."
The elf girl glanced at Jareth, hesitating before speaking. "My name is Lyra," she said softly. "Thank you for freeing me."
Jareth nodded curtly but frowned. "Lyra, in your current state, you'll be a liability in future battles."
Bahamut interrupted with a rare smirk. "I've placed a curse she can lift herself when the time comes. Don't worry, boy. Her strength isn't gone—it's merely hidden."
Jareth sighed but didn't press further. Instead, his gaze returned to the Godblade. "How does this sword always seem to know where to go?"
Bahamut's expression turned somber. "The Goddess is not just the Goddess of Time, Jareth. Her father was the God of Fate. A fragment of his power resides within that blade. It does not merely guide you—it reveals the destined path."
Before Jareth could respond, the blade's hum intensified, its tip pointing toward the cursed lands just beyond the holy border. Jareth's eyes narrowed as he observed the rocky terrain. They moved quickly, passing into the ashen, crumbling landscape until they arrived at what appeared to be the remnants of a collapsed mine.
The entrance was sealed by massive boulders, scorched black by past battles. Lyra stepped closer, inspecting the stones. "This mine… I've heard of it. It was once used by the survivors as a sanctuary. They must have destroyed the entrance to keep the demons out."
Jareth gripped the Godblade tightly. "Then it's our job to clear it."
With a single, powerful strike, he cleaved through the rocks, each swing of the blade radiating divine energy. The rubble crumbled, revealing an archway carved with unfamiliar runes.
Beyond the arch, a faint, swirling light shimmered—a portal. Bahamut's eyes glinted. "This is no ordinary mine. This is a Void Portal, a gateway to another dimension. The survivors must have escaped through here."
Jareth glanced at Lyra, then at Bahamut. "And the Godblade will guide us through?"
Bahamut nodded. "It will. But be warned—Void Portals connect worlds in ways that defy logic. Whatever lies on the other side will be unlike anything you've seen."
Without hesitation, Jareth stepped through, Lyra following close behind.
The Skybound Realm
On the other side, Jareth felt as though he had stepped into a dream. A vast expanse of sky stretched infinitely, filled with drifting islands suspended in midair. Waterfalls cascaded from the edges of these islands, vanishing into the void below. The air was cool and carried a faint, sweet scent.
Lyra gasped. "This… this is the Skybound Realm."
Jareth raised the Godblade. Its glow intensified, pointing toward the largest island at the peak of the floating archipelago. It was a colossal landmass, its edges lined with towering waterfalls.
"That's our destination," Jareth said.
As they began their ascent, Jareth carried Lyra effortlessly, holding her like a princess. "Hold on tight," he warned before leaping into the air. His wings, granted by the Godgear, unfolded, shimmering with energy.
They landed briefly on smaller islands along the way. These islands held scattered villages, each marked by signs of life—small gardens, simple structures, and glowing lanterns. Jareth noticed movement in the shadows, but the villagers remained hidden, fearful of the strangers.
"Survivors," Lyra whispered.
Jareth nodded but didn't stop. "We'll return for them. The blade points higher."
Finally, they reached the summit, where the largest island held a sprawling city. Its architecture was grand and ancient, with spires that seemed to touch the clouds. Yet, despite its majesty, the city showed signs of disrepair—cracked walls, broken streets, and a silence that was unnerving.
As they entered, the Godblade's glow dimmed, its purpose fulfilled for the moment. Lyra looked around nervously. "It's too quiet…"
Bahamut's voice rumbled. "Be alert. This city holds answers, but it may also hold dangers."
Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows—a tall man clad in worn armor, his eyes wary but hopeful. He stared at Jareth and Lyra, then fell to his knees.
"You… you've come at last," he said, his voice trembling. "The Chosen One and the Herald of Bahamut."
Jareth stepped forward, gripping the hilt of the Godblade. "Who are you?"
The man bowed his head. "I am Captain Eryndor, leader of the Skybound survivors. You've arrived in our darkest hour. The Demon Gods' reach has found us even here."
Jareth's jaw tightened. "Then we'll fight. But first, tell me—how many survivors remain?"
Eryndor's expression darkened. "Not many. And those who remain are scattered and weak. But with you here, there is hope."
Jareth nodded, his resolve hardening. "Then let's rebuild. Together, we'll reclaim this world."
Above them, the sky churned, and distant thunder rumbled—a reminder that their fight was far from over.