Draven didn't look up from the child in his arms.
"Wait," he said calmly. "I'll be done in a moment."
His tone carried no urgency. No tension. Just the quiet certainty that the rest of the world could pause until he finished what he was doing.
Lyriana held his gaze for a brief moment longer.
"…Understood."
Without another word, she turned and stepped back through the doorway.
The door slid shut behind her with a soft mechanical hiss.
Silence returned to the chamber.
Vaelith adjusted her stance slightly but said nothing. Lucifer made a faint, sleepy sound before settling once more. Elenya remained still, cradled carefully in Draven's arms.
As though nothing beyond the room mattered at all.
---
Outside in the corridor, Lyriana stopped just beyond the door.
For a moment, she didn't move.
Her expression remained composed, but her eyes shifted slightly, her focus turning inward rather than outward.
He said he learned recently.
Her gaze lowered by a fraction.
That was not the kind of answer meant to inspire confidence. And yet Draven had spoken with complete certainty, as though he were stating fact rather than speculation.
A soft breath escaped through her nose.
Airship piloting is not something one "learns recently."
Her thoughts immediately began breaking the problem apart with cold precision.
Controls. Mana routing. Stabilization. Altitude compensation. Emergency redistribution.
None of it was simple.
But neither was it mystical.
In theory, someone intelligent enough could grasp the mechanics quickly with sufficient exposure.
But "sufficient exposure" implied time.
Training.
Experience.
Time they had not had aboard this vessel.
And more importantly—
Her head tilted slightly.
When did he even have the opportunity to learn?
Between recovering the artifact, managing the children, dealing with cultists, his own instability, and the countless crises aboard the ship, there had been no visible opportunity for formal instruction.
Unless…
Her eyes narrowed faintly.
He had been learning passively through observation.
Or worse—
Intuitively.
That possibility lingered longer than she liked.
At last, she resumed walking down the corridor at a measured pace.
The ship's hum vibrated faintly beneath her feet, steady but strained, like a system operating far closer to its limits than it wished to admit.
If the pilot dies…
Her expression did not change, but her thoughts sharpened further.
It would not be ideal. The current pilot was exhausted, unstable, and increasingly unreliable. Yet he still understood the vessel's behavior better than anyone else aboard.
Replacing him with someone untested—even Draven—introduced dangerous variables.
And yet…
Her gaze shifted slightly toward the distant direction of the bridge.
Draven was not someone who spoke carelessly.
If he claimed he could do it, then he likely believed it completely.
That alone complicated the situation.
Her pace slowed slightly.
I could learn it as well.
The thought arrived without emotion.
Not ambition.
Not doubt.
Simply another viable option.
She had already observed enough of the ship's systems to understand the foundations. Mana flow distribution. Core stabilization principles. Directional correction through auxiliary control arrays.
Structured logic layered over energy manipulation.
Not unlike an advanced ritual framework.
Only scaled differently.
Her eyes narrowed slightly again.
It cannot be that difficult.
A brief pause followed.
Then a quieter correction surfaced within her thoughts.
It can be difficult. But not impossible.
She continued forward.
The corridor lights flickered faintly overhead, reacting to subtle fluctuations in mana consumption throughout the ship.
Somewhere deep within the vessel, the core pulsed again.
Slightly weaker than before.
She felt it immediately.
So did everyone else, whether they consciously understood it or not.
Lyriana's gaze sharpened.
If Draven attempted to take control and failed, the consequences would be immediate and catastrophic. If the pilot collapsed beforehand, there would be no margin left at all.
Which meant only a narrow window of stability remained.
Her steps slowed once more.
Then I simply need to ensure there is no gap.
A simple conclusion.
If the pilot failed, she would take over if necessary.
If Draven's attempt proved insufficient, she would correct it.
And if neither option worked—
Her expression remained perfectly calm.
Then she would ensure the ship continued flying regardless.
Not ideal.
Not safe.
But functional.
As she walked, her fingers brushed lightly against the corridor wall, feeling the faint vibrations of mana conduits running beneath the metal surface.
I should prepare.
Not for panic.
Not for failure.
For continuity.
Behind her, the door to Draven's chamber slid open once more.
No footsteps followed immediately.
Instead, Draven's voice carried calmly into the corridor, unchanged from before.
"I meant for you to wait outside."
Lyriana stopped and turned slightly.
Draven now stood in the doorway, still holding Elenya carefully in his arms as though the conversation from moments earlier had carried no particular weight at all.
Lyriana studied him briefly.
Then nodded once.
"Understood."
A short silence passed.
Then, as though nothing unusual had happened:
"I will remain nearby in case assistance is required."
Draven gave a small, absent-minded nod.
The door slid closed behind him once more.
Lyriana turned forward again.
And resumed walking.
Her thoughts continued in precise, quiet lines as the ship sailed onward through the endless sky.
If he truly could pilot it…
She would observe.
If he could not…
She would adapt.
Either way—
the ship would not fall.