Serra Crystalstine's Arc

Chapter 2 of 7

Serra wrapped the finished wing-blade in cloth and climbed to the castle's highest terrace. The warlord knew she was here. She needed to move before he arrived in force. But first she had to know how he was finding her. She spread her wings and scanned the sky. Far below, between the floating crystal spires, something small circled and watched. A scout. If it reported her exact position, she lost the one thing she still held: the chance to strike first. A voice came from behind her. "It's been marking you for an hour." Celestia Stardust stood at the terrace edge, her amethyst body dark against the city lights, her wings folded tight. She wrestled in the orbital circuit, where a missed landing meant a long fall and no ropes. Serra had watched her fight once and never forgot the control. Celestia did not offer help often. She offered facts. "You followed me," Serra said. "I followed the scout." Celestia pointed. The small shape dipped between two spires and climbed again. "It flies a pattern. Three passes, then it leaves to report. It's on the third." Serra's clock ticked louder in her chest. "I can't catch it. It's too fast and too far." "You can't," Celestia agreed. "I can." Serra stared at her. "Why?" "The warlord drains my time too." Celestia stepped onto the rail. "I don't want him knowing where anyone is." She did not explain further. The scout broke from its circle and shot upward, its pattern finished. It was leaving to report. Celestia dropped off the rail without a word. She fell, then opened her wings and cut sideways across the open air. No ropes. No net. Just the gap between spires and the scout racing for the edge of the city. Serra lifted the wing-blade and threw the cloth aside. If Celestia could turn the scout, Serra could end it. She spread her own wings and tilted them to catch the city's light, the trick she used to blind opponents in the ring. A sheet of glare flashed across the sky. The scout flinched. For half a second it lost its line. Celestia closed the gap and clipped its wing with her shoulder. The thing spun, blinded and off course, straight toward the terrace. Serra swung the wing-blade. It rang that same high note it had sung on the anvil. The blade split the scout clean through. Shards of crystal and gear rained onto the stone and went still. Serra sank to her knees, breathing hard. The scout was dead. Nothing had reported her. Celestia landed beside her, barely winded. She looked at the wreckage, then at the singing blade. "He'll send more," she said. "And when the next one doesn't come back, he'll know you killed this one." She turned for the stairs. "You bought a day. Maybe two."