Cursed Odyssey

Joseph, heart hammering against his ribs, clambered through the gaping hole in the prison ceiling, hauling himself onto a small, rocky hill.

Wind rushed through his system.

He paused, catching his breath, the night air crisp, biting with a chill that cut through even the thickest cloaks. Above, the silver moon hung like a watchful eye, casting long, stark shadows across the rich but desolate landscape.

The sky was woven with threads of midnight black, sparsely studded with odd patterns and constellations of stars, their light seeming to struggle against the overwhelming darkness.

Ahead of him lay a field of grass, an unnatural, almost phosphorescent dark green, the wind whispering through the tall blades, their tips shimmering with an unearthly luminescence.

In the distance, strange, gnarled trees, more like massive, twisted stubs, reached up like skeletal fingers against the starry expanse.

He inhaled deeply, the air unlike anything he'd known. It was fresh, rejuvenating even, carrying a subtle sweetness, yet laced with an almost metallic tang.

Then his gaze drifted, tracing the curve of the horizon.

Unease…

It was wrong, somehow. The familiar, comforting curve of Earth's horizon was absent, replaced by an endless expanse that defied the laws of perspective. It curved inwards, creating a disorienting sense of claustrophobic infinity.

This was Sanctum.

The world beyond those gray walls, his first taste of true reality. In so many ways, it resembled Earth, yet in others, it was utterly alien. Not just in appearance, but in its very essence.

The colors, though seemingly familiar, held a subtle dissonance, a shift in hue that defied categorization.

The sky, the stars, the very air he breathed – all whispered of an underlying difference, an uncanny valley that tugged at his senses and played with his heart.

It was all so hard to describe, One must be there in person to fully understand this magnitude.

Ahead, flickering lights from arcane explosions illuminated the darkness, casting shadows that danced and contorted like tortured spirits.

Clashes of energy, shouts, screams— the battle had already begun on the surface.

Joseph scanned the fighting, assessing the strength of the escaping prisoners already present.

Their abilities varied wildly, some wielding power that rivalled seasoned arcanists, others barely stronger than dregs. But he knew, with an unsettling certainty, that each one held some significance, some hidden value that had earned them a place in this prison.

Then, a sudden gust of wind buffeted him from behind, and he turned. He stood overlooking a sheer cliff.

Below, clouds, thick and swirling, churned like a tumultuous sea, their depths hidden in their roiling embrace. The vastness below was immeasurable, as if the very world dropped away into an endless abyss.

This prison… was a floating island.

Panic rippled through the escaping prisoners behind him as they too grasped this horrifying reality.

They had reached the surface, but escape seemed even more impossible. Morale plummeted, replaced by a creeping dread. Was it all for naught?

But was that truly the case?

Joseph's calmness was almost disturbing.

For this to be a floating island, there must have been a way for people to come in and out.

Joseph's gaze swept across the chaos, finally settling on a sight that rekindled a flicker of hope – an outpost on the far edge of the island, several large silhouettes docked and secured. They were too far to properly see, but he knew exactly what they were…

Those ships that he had long seen drifting above the open sky-hole.

He turned, looking back at the hole from which he'd emerged, watching as more figures clambered through, their faces pale in the moonlight, their eyes filled with a mix of fear and hope.

They stood behind him, motionless, awaiting his orders. He was the one who'd brought them this far, their fate now rested on his next move.

Without a word, he pointed towards the outpost and the airships. A collective gasp arose as understanding dawned.

On such an open field, with little to no cover, sneaking there was out of the question. The path ahead was clear, escape lay in those vessels, the only obstacle–the guards who now stood between them and freedom.

Several figures on the battlefield, alerted to their arrival, turned, their gazes fixed on the hilltop. Time was short, the element of surprise waning. Joseph took a deep breath, gathering his dwindling energy, and amplified his voice with Temporal Echo.

"Advance!!"

"ALL HAIL LORD WOLF!!" The cry echoed back, a wave of fervor sweeping through the ranks.

More figures on the battlefield turned, their attention drawn to the newcomers. The prisoners surged forward, pouring down the hill like a tidal wave. Joseph remained on the hilltop, his eyes glued to the unfolding chaos.

Both waves crashed, bodies flung high in the air. Guards and prisoners collided in a whirlwind of blades, arcane energy, and desperate screams.

Joseph bore witness to powers he'd never seen, channeling raw arcane power, conjured bolts of lightning, waves of frost, or hurled chunks of earth with brutal force. Others, possessing more esoteric abilities, twisted space, manipulated gravity, or unleashed swarms of shadowy creatures.

One girl, her face contorted in concentration, summoned a tempest of wind that swept across the battlefield, flinging guards off their feet and disrupting formations.

The guards, though outnumbered, held their ground —backed by more experienced mastery of the arcane. Unlike the prisoners who only had access to their core spirits, the only ones that could have not been confiscated from them, the guards had access to their full arsenal of powerful spirits along with actual weapons.

They dismantled all with coordinated attacks with ruthless efficiency. Their ranks held firm, their blades a wall of steel against the desperate onslaught. One by one, prisoners fell, their bodies littering the ground amidst the swirling chaos. The tide of the battle seemed to be turning against them.

The glowing grass ran dry with rivers of young prisoner blood…

It was an all-out war. They were systematically being crushed in the most brutal, ruthless ways…

Yet even still, Joseph kept an almost unnerving, casual calm. From his vantage point, Joseph, his eyes and mind moving at lightning speed, analyzed the battlefield.

He saw every movement, every spell cast, every flicker of weakness, every subtle shift in the battle's flow.

With a snap of his fingers, he activated Temporal Echo, amplifying his voice once more.

"Left flank, PUSH FORWARD NOW!"

His commands, clear and precise, cut through the chaos, somehow reaching the ears of the prisoners on the battlefield clear as day.

"What's going on!?"

"Who's that!?"

"Those words… Could it be?!"

"ALL HAIL LORD WOLF!! HE HAS GRANTED US DIRECTION!!"

A surge of energy rippled through the left flank, the prisoners responding with renewed ferocity. They pressed their attack, forcing the guards back, creating a gap in their lines.

"Center formation, HOLD THE LINE! DO NOT FALTER!"

The prisoners in the center, their ranks thinning, held firm, their resolve strengthened by Joseph's words. They fought like cornered animals, buying precious time for their comrades on the flanks.

"Right flank, CIRCLE AROUND, TARGET THEIR REAR!"

The right flank, responding with surprising discipline, peeled away from the main battle, their movements swift and silent. They circled wide, taking advantage of the mayhem, flanking the unsuspecting guards.

On the battlefield, most were too caught up in the frenzy to comprehend the larger picture. But the few who could see it, who could understand the flow of battle, felt a surge of hope, and made victory known to all their comrades, their voices like an amplifier for the crushing tsunami.

"Who is that boy giving us orders!? Should come down here and—"

"Shut the fuck up and fight. That boy there is Zephyr..."

"Who??? Am I supposed to know who that is?"

"I don't know much either, but I heard he was a direct servant of Lord Wolf also..."

"Whatever he's doing, is working... Look ahead of you! WE'RE WINNING!!"

The battle, a tangled mess only moments ago, was transforming, reshaping under Joseph's guidance.

The guards, trained for years in the art of war, found themselves outmaneuvered, their carefully crafted formations crumbling under the weight of the prisoners' renewed assault.

Maneuvers were unlike anything they'd ever experienced or trained for— so unorthodox, almost otherworldly.

Joseph watched, a faint smile playing upon his lips. The tide had turned. The prisoners, once on the verge of defeat, were now on the cusp of victory.

His commands were no longer necessary. The momentum was theirs, all that remained was to crush the opposition.

Two waves had crashed, but it seemed like one wave had now overpowered the other.

But then, his lips drooped neutral—

"ZEPHYR!!"

… a sound that pierced through the cheers.

Footsteps, light and hurried, ascended the hill. A figure emerged from the shadows, panting, their voice laced with desperation.

Masked, with waving hair of midnight blue. An old friend…

S— samsara?

Samsara, her mask askew, her usually impeccable attire disheveled, stood behind him.

For a moment, Joseph's heart skipped a beat, and his eyes twinkled

"Oh, so you managed to get this far huh? As expected!" Joseph chuckled, his gaze lingering on the battle, not turning to face her.

"Where were you?! What happened?! To the plan!?" She exclaimed, her chest heaving, as she tried to catch her breath, "I almost died getting here..."

"There were some… minor alterations," His tone was calm, almost nonchalant, "But all's well that ends well, right? Just look, victory is now pretty much assured!"

"I suppose…" She let out a heavy sigh, eyes momentarily glancing towards the battle below in shock.

"By the way, have you seen Arthur and Skylar?" he asked casually, his tone a practiced monotone.

"Arthur? It's like he just disappeared. Skylar? I don't know…. Why ask about Skylar??"

Joseph replied, a coldness creeping into his voice. "I wanted to know where she is so I can kill that traitorous bitch... She played with my heart, my feelings, you think I could just let her leave!?"

"Hahaha... I suppose not..." Samsara's lips curled in a chilling smile. "Honestly, I thought you had disappeared like them too, but to think you managed to actually unite all the prisoners like this, huh? Color me impressed Not-Zephyr! Our preparations have succeeded after all!" She chuckled.

"It was all thanks to you… I may not sound like it, but I'm truly happy you made it out safe… Not that was that I was necessarily worried. You're a crazy strong girl after all… But still… " he responded, his gaze still fixed on the fight.

"Ummm… Hey… Not-Zephyr…"

"Why are you calling me that again?" There was a flicker of irritation in his voice.

"Just listen, you buffoon! I know that we've almost won… But, there's still a chance we all just die here, right…?"

"Why speak like that!? Change that mentality of yours!"

"Well, it's still possible, is it not?" she pressed, a subtle edge creeping into her voice.

"I guess so… but—"

"Well, before that happens! I just have to let you know that… YOU'RE THE FIRST PERSON I FELT A GENUINE CONNECTION TO! LIKE— I MEAN… AHHH LOOK! YOU IDIOT!! I MAY LOVE YOU!!"

The wind picked up, a cold gust that whipped their hair and sent shivers down their spines. They stood there, for a long, tense moment, their words hanging in the air, heavy as the looming storm clouds.

Joseph's eyes widened, his voice stammering. "And… and I may also lo—"

But before the words could form on his lips, before he could reciprocate, a searing pain ripped through his chest.

He looked down, his vision blurring, to see the hilt of a blade protruding from in front, its metallic sheen glinting in the moonlight.

He gasped horror, a mouthful of blood spilling onto his lips, staining his ashen hair crimson.

"You really are an idiot after all… Not-Zephyr…" Samsara's voice was a whisper, colder than the chill of night

A stab to the heart…