The tension on the Tanhì a Txampay had become a physical weight, heavier than the humidity of the forest below.
Mark stood at the edge of the central promenade, watching the former Windtraders sharpen bone spears with a rhythmic, detached intensity. They were here, but they were not yet his.
Saeyla approached him, her footsteps silent on the glowing moss of the deck. She didn't look at the horizon; she looked at Mark, her eyes reflecting the sapphire pulse of the ship.
"They see the stars on your back, Mark, but they do not see the soul of the leader who earned them," she said softly, her voice carrying a sharp edge of warning. "To the Sanhìsip, this ship is a miracle, but you are still the Ghost—the one who commands from the shadows of the neural trunks. In the High Clouds, an Olo'eyktan is not the one who thinks for the people; he is the one who bleeds for them. If you do not prove that you can dance with the wind as they do, you will lose them before the first Sky-Person bullet is even fired."
Mark looked at his hands, then at the massive, pulsing heart of the ship. "I built this for them, Saeyla. To keep them safe."
"Safety is a cage if it lacks respect," she countered, stepping closer and placing a firm hand on his chest. "You must jump, Mark. You must show them that if the Great Mother claimed this ship today, you would still be the master of the sky."
The Weaver's Innovation:
Mark took Saeyla's words to heart. For three days, he submerged himself in the lower "loom" of the ship, working alongside the Anurai weavers. He wasn't just building equipment; he was translating human tactical theory into Pandoran biology.
He designed the Re-active Leather saddles by curing the hide of the Hexaped in the Medusoid's own vascular enzymes. This created a material that was not only tougher than steel but sensitive to the bio-electric field of the rider.
When the work was done, he gathered his nine chosen hunters in the central hangar. These were no longer just primitive harnesses. Mark had integrated tactical hardpoints into the leather—bio-luminescent signal nodes for formation flying, reinforced stirrups for high-G maneuvers, and specialized quivers that allowed for rapid-draw firing while at a vertical bank.
"These are for you," Mark said, gesturing to the sleek, dark-grained saddles. "They are not just seats. They are bridges. The leather is etched with bio-conductive patterns keyed to your Kuru. When you dive, the fibers contract to flatten against the beast's skin, streamlining you against the gale. When you bank, the leather tenses to lock your thighs in place."
He turned to Saeyla, his mate and his most trusted advisor. He held out the Lead Command Saddle. It was armored with plates of carbon-silicate and featured an array of sensory nodes that would allow her to relay Mark's long-range scans to the rest of the wing.
"Saeyla, I name you First Wing," Mark declared, his voice echoing for the clan to hear. "You are the leader of the Sky-Scouts. Your song will be the one the others follow when the mists grow thick."
Saeyla took the saddle, her fingers tracing the tactical nodes. She looked at Mark—her mate—with a gaze that was a mix of pride and terrifying expectation.
[SADDLE SYSTEM INITIALIZED]
[ENCRYPTED BIO-LINK: SKY-SCOUT SQUADRON-01]
[STATUS: COMMANDER SAEYLA - LINKED]
[TACTICAL HUD: SQUADRON OVERLAY ACTIVE]
Severing his Link:
The ship groaned as it clawed its way to thirty thousand feet. Mark stood at the very tip of the forward outrigger, the wind a high-pitched whistle that vibrated through his bones. Behind him, the entire Sanhìsip clan gathered in a wide semi-circle, their breaths hitching in the thin, freezing cold.
Mark looked down at the Primary Neural Trunk rising from the deck. Without a word, he uncoiled his Kuru and pulled the braid free from the ship's interface.
The effect was a physical shock. The bioluminescent HUDs that usually hovered in his peripheral vision flickered and died. The tactical scans and the comforting hum of the ship's "mind" vanished into total darkness.
[WARNING: NEURAL LINK SEVERED]
[USER STATUS: OFFLINE]
The Leap:
Mark turned back to the abyss and stepped off the edge.
The first few seconds were a chaotic blur. Gravity took hold of him with a violent, jarring force. He accelerated rapidly, reaching terminal velocity until the air felt like a solid wall of pressure against his skin.
He didn't open his eyes. He focused every ounce of his will on the 34 stars etched into his back. He visualized them as glowing embers, pushing his own bio-electric energy into the star-map. He "pulsed" the signal—a raw, rhythmic shriek into the vast, interconnected neural network of the atmosphere.
Hidden within the Mist:
Mark plunged into the grey, damp heart of a massive thunderhead. Lightning flickered, illuminating the mist in jagged strobes of violet. Then, he felt it. A displacement of air so massive it felt like the sky itself was folding.
He opened his eyes. A shadow darker than the storm was rising through the mist. It was a Stormglider, an apex predator of the upper atmosphere. Unlike the four-winged Banshees, this titan possessed two massively long, scythe-like wings that spanned nearly fifty feet, built for high-speed gliding and silent, lethal strikes.
The beast screamed, a sound that vibrated in Mark's chest. It banked sharply, its two gargantuan wings cutting through the air like blades. Mark twisted his body in mid-air, using the air resistance to plane his fall.
The Primal Grip:
He slammed into the Stormglider's back. There was no saddle; he had to rely on raw muscle. He lunged forward, his fingers digging into the gaps between the creature's neck plates as the beast rolled into a violent corkscrew to dislodge him.
With a desperate cry, he swung his Kuru forward and connected.
[NEW NEURAL LINK DETECTED: UNCLASSIFIED APEX PREDATOR]
[SENSORY OVERLOAD: 400% ABOVE BASELINE]
[INITIATING COMPATIBILITY HANDSHAKE...]
The world exploded. Mark's mind was flooded with the Stormglider's primal fury. He pushed the light of his 34 stars into the beast's mind, showing it the ship, the clan, and the coming shadow of the Sky-People.
The Stormglider leveled out, its two massive wings catching a thermal with effortless grace. It let out a roar that silenced the thunder.
Return of the Storm-King:
Back on the ship, the clouds below erupted. The Stormglider rose like a vengeful god, its two long wings creating visible vapor cones. Mark sat astride the beast's neck, his skin glowing with a brilliant cyan light that pierced the gloom.
He dismounted on the deck, his legs shaking with exhaustion. The silence was absolute until, one by one, the former Windtraders—the harshest critics of the "Ghost"—dropped to their knees.
Saeyla stepped forward, her eyes bright with a fierce love. She touched the 34th star on his shoulder. "The wind has spoken, Olo'eyktan."
Mark looked at his nine Sky-Scouts standing ready with their tactical re-active saddles. He was no longer a pilot in a machine. He was the Storm-King.
[NEURAL BOND: STORMGLIDER - ESTABLISHED]
[CLAN STATUS: FULLY UNIFIED]
[SYSTEM NOTE: THE SONG HAS CHANGED]