Ahab stared long at the space the old man had vanished into, then without a word, bent to lift the wooden box. It was surprisingly light… yet something about it made the air around him heavier.
Kalindra raised a brow, arms crossed. "Why are we taking that creepy thing?"
He glanced at her, face firm, the sea breeze tugging his coat like a second voice. "Because we might need it. Not today. Maybe not even tomorrow. But I got the feelin' we're not done dancin' with death yet."
Without another word, he turned, the box tucked under one arm like a captain's last bet. And so The Leviathan set sail once more.
From the frozen docks of Rhimegarde, it took eleven days to reach the isle Velendra had marked on her map—known to old charts as Narthendur.
Gone were the dark clouds and howling winds. These waters shimmered with tranquil waves, glassy and still like the world had exhaled after a thousand winters. The ocean itself changed color as they ventured deeper—midnight blue shifting to turquoise, then to a pale green so clear they could see ancient ruins slumbering far below the waves, encrusted in coral and cloaked in kelp.
Massive skywhales drifted above the clouds, casting slow-moving shadows over the deck, their distant songs echoing like mourning choirs from the heavens. Flocks of crystal-winged gullions flew alongside The Leviathan, leaving trails of sparkles like shattered stardust in their wake. One even perched briefly on the mast before vanishing in a burst of light.
At night, the skies unfolded in their full majesty. No clouds. No storms. Only a dome of stars, and above them, the Aurora Diemaris—a celestial ribbon of green and violet weaving across the heavens. The sea itself shimmered with bioluminescent currents, making it look as though the ship sailed atop a galaxy.
Squib swore he saw a mermaid riding a manta-ray, waving at him before vanishing into the deep. Dregor claimed he saw a sea-turtle the size of a barge, its shell covered in glowing runes. Even Old Harsk, crusty and unmoved by wonder, had to admit the air "smelled like dreamin'."
Jonas painted every sunset, while Kalindra spent hours leaning on the rails, her usual sharpness dulled by the sea's lullaby. Even Pecks was silent at times—too enchanted to offer his usual crude remarks.
After nearly two weeks on the sea, the outline of land began to rise on the horizon—a jagged emerald crown resting on the silver-blue canvas of the ocean. Narthendur, the Sleeping Isle.
As The Leviathan pulled into the natural harbor—a cove surrounded by crescent cliffs thick with glowing vines and moss—an unnatural calm fell upon the crew. Even the wind whispered instead of howled, as if it, too, were holding its breath.
They disembarked quickly, eyes wide with the strange beauty that greeted them. Faerin was the first to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. "This place… it's alive."
The island pulsed with enchantment. The trees shimmered with a soft internal glow, their trunks silver, their leaves translucent green that rustled with a music of their own. Wildflowers in colors unseen on any mainland danced across the hillsides, releasing clouds of sparkling pollen with each breeze.
A narrow path, marked with ancient stones covered in spiraling runes, beckoned them inward. Birds that looked carved from glass chirped tunes that echoed through the woods like a lullaby from another age. Pools of water mirrored the sky perfectly, as if the stars themselves had fallen and settled in the springs.
Squib muttered, "I feel like I'm walkin' in someone else's dream."
No beasts roamed. No monsters lurked. But the silence wasn't hollow—it was sacred. A deep slumbering presence hummed in the roots of the earth and the breeze through the canopies. Kalindra's steps slowed, her normally fierce eyes softening. "It's not just sleeping," she whispered. "It's watching."
Briggs rubbed the back of his neck. "That supposed to be comfortin' or creepy?"
Ahab led the way, his pace firm but cautious, eyes scanning every leaf and glimmer of light for signs of the Solvarn Aegis. "Keep your heads straight. We're not here for a sightseeing tour. Somewhere in this dreamscape sleeps our ticket to saving Helga."
They ventured deeper into Narthendur's heart, where the glowing moss grew thicker and the trees leaned closer, arching high like natural cathedrals. Every footstep was muffled by soft, silver-coated grass, and the sun above filtered through the translucent canopy in shimmering beams—like light refracted through crystal.
Faerin, scanning the surroundings with his elven intuition, frowned. "Velendra didn't give us a map, a direction, or even a clue…"
Pecks fluttered to Ahab's shoulder, squinting. "Maybe we just follow the glitter and hope it doesn't lead to a giant man-eating flower."
Ahab's jaw tightened. "We need a landmark. Something that says 'legendary magical armor buried here.' Keep your eyes open."
And then they saw it. Beyond a clearing of glowing mushrooms and mist-dancing ponds stood a colossal statue, half-buried by roots and vines—but unmistakable. It was a warrior, tall as a lighthouse, clad in a cloak of stars and helm shaped like a frozen crown. One hand rested on the hilt of a sword planted in the ground, the other lifted skyward, palm open, as though cradling light that had long since faded.
Squib gasped. "Aye… I think that counts as 'eye-catchin.'"
Kalindra stepped forward, brushing moss from the statue's base, revealing runes that pulsed faintly when touched.
Old Harsk muttered, "This ain't no ordinary rock garden…"
Jonas tilted his head. "Think the armor's in the statue?"
Suddenly, a gentle tremor passed through the ground beneath their feet.
Dregor unslung his waraxe, cautious. "That ain't good."
"No," Ahab said, stepping closer to the base, eyes glinting. "That's a welcome."
And as the runes flared brighter, the clearing began to shift—revealing a spiral staircase of crystalline steps descending beneath the island. The crew stared into the depths of the glowing cavern.
"Well, mates…" Ahab smirked. "Let's go knock on the vault of legends."
They descended the crystal spiral like ants into the throat of a dreaming god, each step humming beneath their boots, singing a tune older than any of them had heard. The deeper they went, the colder it became—not the bite of deathly frost, but a regal chill, the kind that made your spine straighten as if standing in the presence of royalty.
At the bottom, the tunnel opened into a cavernous sanctum, bathed in gentle blue and violet light. Frozen waterfalls hung mid-fall across the walls, never dripping, never melting. And in the center of it all, on a dais of woven ice and silverstone, rested a chest. No ordinary chest.
It was resplendent, etched with filigree of starlight threads, frozen sapphire roses curling up its sides. A lock glimmered with a heartbeat of its own—pulsing once, then again, like it knew they were coming. The very air shimmered around it.
Ahab halted, blinking. "That's... That's the fanciest damn box I've ever seen."
Pecks whistled. "It's like a wedding gift from the gods."
Kalindra narrowed her eyes. "If this isn't it, I'm marrying that chest instead."
Faerin stepped forward cautiously, running a hand across the carvings. "This is ancient elven work. Sacred. Preserved beyond time. No doubt—it's the vault of the Solvarn Aegis."
Ahab exchanged glances with the crew, then stepped to the front, fingers hovering above the latch.
"Right then," he muttered. "Let's see if fate likes us today."
Click. The chest opened with a slow exhale of light—no creak, no grind—just the smooth whisper of history unveiling itself. And there it was. The Armor of Northern Light.
A masterwork of gleaming silver-blue plates, so finely crafted they looked poured from moonlight. A mantle of frozen auroras shimmered at its collar, dancing like a living curtain of light. The breastplate bore the sigil of the original Frost King—three stars above a sleeping dragon. It radiated warmth and cold at once, the balance of chaos and clarity.
Jonas muttered in awe, "I think I just peed a little."
Squib reached out but flinched. "I feel like it's judging me."
Ahab didn't speak for a moment. Then finally, he whispered, "Jackpot."
Kalindra smirked. "Now let's just hope it fits."
Without wasting a breath, they hauled the enchanted chest back through the crystalline tunnels, up the spiral, and through the still-sleeping forest of Narthendur. Even the winds seemed to whisper in approval, brushing softly against their faces as they reached the Leviathan, docked like a steel beast in waiting.
Ahab didn't speak. The crew parted as he passed, the chest in his hands pulsing gently with the magic of ages. They all stood around the sleeping body of Helga—her breath shallow, her skin pale blue, covered in frost-rimed veins like winter vines claiming her inch by inch.
Ahab placed the chest beside her. His fingers trembled just slightly as he unlatched it again. The moment the lid cracked open, the Armor of Northern Light responded.
The armor shimmered into vapor—a thousand ethereal shards of frozen stars and aurora-colored mist. The pieces dissolved into light, lifting into the air and swirling around Helga in a gentle, radiant storm. Soft blue orbs spiraled like miniature moons, tracing lines across her arms, her heart, her face.
She levitated an inch from the bed. Magic hummed in the air—a low, melodic sound like an old lullaby sung by the sea. The storm of light grew brighter, then suddenly collapsed inward, drawn into her with a flash. Then silence. Total, absolute silence. No breath. No wind. No sound. Then—Helga gasped.
A ragged, alive, furious breath—as if yanked from the edge of death itself. She coughed, choked, then sat upright, eyes wide and wild, fog pouring from her lips.
"Ahab?" she rasped.
He staggered back in disbelief. "By the Abyss... she's back."
Kalindra exhaled sharply, hand over her chest. Squib fainted. Jonas sobbed with joy.
Old Harsk whispered, "Never thought I'd see her blink again."
Helga blinked, then frowned. "...Why the hell do I feel like I've been kissed by winter and dropkicked by the gods?"
Ahab grinned wide, eyes glinting. "Welcome back, Helga. We've got a frost curse to finish... and some bastards to thank."