Seven days had passed since the Invictus was swallowed by the sea.
Deep within his subconscious, Ethan had made a calculated choice. He had felt the shift in the environment—from the cold, damp misery of the brig to the sterilized, high-energy warmth of the White-Rhino's medical wing. Sensing no immediate killing intent, he had finally stopped forcing his consciousness to the surface. He allowed his spirit to retreat into the core of the Lightning Seed, letting his body enter a deep state of regenerative stasis. He needed every drop of energy; he knew that whatever lay at the end of this voyage would be far more complex than a simple prison.
On the observation deck of the White-Rhino, the wind whipped against the white and gold banners of the Soaring Dragon Kingdom. Commander Malphas stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching the horizon where the faint silhouette of the mainland was beginning to appear.
