Chapter Text
Red crystal bolts whizzed past the side of his head. Bright and sizzling, they missed by mere inches before flying off into the darkening clouds. One skimmer led the charge, a red-haired young man and his blue-furred co-pilot tucked into the sidecar. Three others followed him. Behind them, a hoard of Talons, swarming and diving into formation.
"I know, I know," Aerrow said through clenched teeth. It was his fault they were in this position. A quick scouting mission along the Cyclonian border, he'd told his team. Heightened activity in the area told him about the chance of an uncharted crystal mine or some other related build-up of resources. The little jaunt had not given them the information they needed. All it told them was that the Dark Ace's cruiser had also been scouting the location, and it had taken no time for the Cyclonian commander to recognize their unwanted presence. He led his own charge, thunderbolt crystal firmly embedded in his blade, firing at whatever he could to stop the young squadron.
No use in dwelling on it now, Aerrow thought. The Storm Hawks’ four skimmers were outnumbered twenty to one by the Talons that poured out of the cruiser. Whatever was down there, they simply didn't have the numbers to fight over it. Aerrow was not about to put his squadron in that level of danger just for a scouting mission. Talons were a common enemy they’d fought plenty before, but never like this. They had hardly any resources on hand, and the Dark Ace’s presence complicated things immensely.
The Condor was in sight now. Dark blue clouds obscured it as the red bolts of crystal energy sailed forward. Storms were brewing around them. They had no vision on any Talons aside from the ones hotly pursuing them.
"Aerrow!" came the call to his right. Piper, the Storm Hawks' navigator, looked panic-stricken.
"The shields on the Condor are still disabled!" she called. "We can't let them get close or they'll ground us completely."
Aerrow cursed. Their first ever brush-up with the Dark Ace had ended in the Condor losing her shields while defending Terra Atmosia. She wouldn't be able to survive the Talons that were on them already, much less the Cyclonian cruiser should it draw nearer. They were trapped.
And the Dark Ace knew it. Behind him, Aerrow heard the commander's taunting laugh.
"Give up Aerrow!" he called over the racing winds and brewing storm. "Make it easy for yourself!"
No. Surrendering was not an option. The young sky knight glanced around at his surroundings. Beneath him, the skimmer choked and sputtered, the engines faltering under the blistering and unyielding pace.
"Come on baby, hold up for now!” Aerrow pleaded. Radarr pricked his head up, balling up a fist and smacking the offending engine. It did nothing.
The storm clouds began to close in around them, a darkening barrier between them and the Condor. Going through the clouds in an attempt to lose the Talons wouldn't work. Dark Ace had foiled that scheme before.
"Dive!" Aerrow called. It was a last-ditch effort, and the Dark Ace read it perfectly. As the four Storm Hawks plummeted down toward the Wastelands obscured beneath the clouds, a flood of Talons suddenly appeared below them. Aerrow grunted as he forced the skimmer up. Judging by the similar noises coming from his friends' rides, they were forced away as well. His head whipped around. Dark Ace was closing on them. The little gaps of light they had were closing rapidly. Finding a seam, Aerrow shoved the throttle forward, the skimmer roaring in response. The choppy sound of Piper's heliscooter was close behind him, flanked on either side by the squadron's sharpshooter, Finn, and their Wallop gunner, Junko. Even with their long list of victories against the Cyclonians, it seemed more and more like their luck had finally run out. He glanced behind him. Even Piper, who was normally able to come up with some sort of plan to barely avoid their demise, seemed to have nothing. He pressed his finger to his ear.
"Stork, do you have visuals on any Talons?" he asked.
"Visuals? No," Stork said. "But they're closing, I can hear them, and she has no shields."
Aerrow cut the transmission.
"You three, get out of here!" he yelled over the intense noises of the engines. "I'll hold them off!"
"No way, dude!" Finn shouted back, his crossbow in one hand while the other shakily piloted his own skimmer. "We can fight them off with you!"
"I'll make it back," Aerrow said with confidence. "We just need to save the Condor. This brigade could take her down."
"Aerrow!" Piper cried as she weaved away from incoming crystal bolts. "Don't do this!"
He shook his head in frustration. "Go!" he finally yelled back. "That's an order!"
He's after me, he thought, but didn't say it. The others peeled off. Several Talons trailed them, but the unmistakable sound of Finn's crossbow echoed in the air around them. The young sky knight had full belief they could get back.
"Okay buddy, I'm counting on you to save yourself," he said, turning his gaze to Radarr, who watched as the others sailed into the clouds with longing. The creature snapped his ears up, clearly not wanting to leave his friend behind.
"You're my backup," he continued. "But if things go wrong, you get out of here, understand."
With a solemn and reluctant nod, Radarr gripped the sidecar controls. Aerrow pulled the skimmer into a momentous climb, away from his fleeing squadron. The sound of Talon skimmers roared behind him. Surely, Dark Ace led them. The crackling thunderbolt crystal shots had ceased. The Storm Hawk dared a look over his shoulder.
They were closing in. Aerrow faced up again, urging the skimmer for more. The ride, usually responsive to his every movement, had nothing left. But he had to push it, he’d done so before.
He lurched forward as a crystal bolt finally made contact. Their speed slowed considerably as the skimmer faltered under him. Another curse. He looked over to Radarr once more.
"Get yourself out of here," he said. Relinquishing control of the skimmer, Aerrow let himself fall out of the seat. The sound of a panicked screech from Radarr was all he heard of his co-pilot's pleads. The wind whooshed in his ears, and he ripped his twin blades from their sheaths on his back. A faint blue glow edged his vision as he stuck his arms out at his sides. The Talons scattered as the sky knight knifed through the air, his weapons scraping and tearing at the skimmers' unfortified wings. Even Dark Ace blinked first, reluctantly swinging out of the way. Aerrow heard his frustrated grunts.
Engaging his wings, the redhead's momentum suddenly halted. Reuniting his weapons to their sheaths on his back, his gaze swung wildly for any sign of the Dark Ace. So long as he could keep the Cyclonian commander engaged, the others could get away. The Condor's faint outline was visible as the thick grey clouds receded slightly. Please let them have returned safely, he thought.
"Heroic."
The voice came from above, followed by the loud rumble of an engine swooping overhead. Aerrow banked out of the way as fast as he could. The whizzing of the Dark Ace's blade passed mere inches from his wings.
But Aerrow could only look one way. Moments later, his face connected with something solid. He groaned as the familiar feeling of the free wind against his body was replaced instead with cold, unyielding metal. Pain shot throughout his face and torso from the collision as the wings flattened. He went to scramble to his feet, but a hand pulled him up roughly by the back of his neck. The Dark Ace.
Aerrow thrashed against the Cyclonian's tight grasp.
"Thought they were going to get away?" Dark Ace sneered before casting Aerrow aside.
The boy crumpled against the skimmer's seat. Get up, he shouted at himself in his mind. He heard Dark Ace step behind him as he lifted himself to prop his his upper body on his elbows, raising his head slightly to look ahead of him. The Condor was in full view now, turning toward where the Dark Ace's skimmer hovered. They were coming back for him.
"No…" Aerrow murmured. The sky knight reached behind him to pull one of the blades out, slashing wildly at the air. Dark Ace parried the blue crystal energy with ease. Aerrow scrambled to his feet, reaching for his other blade, but then…
It was as if everything halted. Aerrow felt his breath forced out of him. There was no pain, at least not at first. He dared a glance down. Dark Ace's blade was embedded in his stomach. The copper taste of blood hit his mouth.
"I've waited so long for this," Dark Ace growled with a sinister smile on his face. "And your precious squadron will get to watch."
His vision started to blur. All he could manage was one final look to the side at the Condor and his helpless squadron, consciousness slipping away.
Everything around him was misty white. Nothing was in focus, only vague shapes and blurry shadows danced around the edges of his vision. Was he dead? Was this what lay beyond? He felt as though he were floating, but he couldn't move or even feel any of his limbs. Yet, there was no sense of panic. It was strangely peaceful.
The shapes began to come into focus. It was an interior, the interior of a ship. The Condor; it was unmistakable. However, it wasn't the Condor that he knew. This was a different Condor, pristine and gleaming, as if it had just come off the yard. No popped rusty bolts or lifting, unevenly-matched metal sheeting. The Storm Hawks logo was bright blue on the table in the centre of the bridge.
Aerrow felt his feet touch the floor, and then he was in the position he was in when the Dark Ace had sunk his blade into the young sky knight's midsection. Arm reaching back, one arm jutting out in front, though the blade was gone from his grip. He straightened, lifting one hand in front of him. The movement felt strange, almost alien. Slowly, he risked looking down at where the Dark Ace’s blade had pierced him. There was nothing, just wispy curls of a smoke-like substance encircling the area. He lay a hand overtop of his stomach. The smoke did not interact with him in the slightest.
"I'm definitely dead," he muttered before looking up once more. He nearly fell to his knees.
Someone else was on the bridge with him now. A man, older than Aerrow, someone he had never seen and yet seemed so familiar. His red-spiked hair was almost a carbon copy in colour. His armour, while far more intricate and polished, featured the similar blue patchwork of Aerrow’s own uniform. Even the way he stood, shoulders back with a boyish grin on his face, was exactly the same. Lightning Strike.
"Dad."
Aerrow nearly choked on the word. It was so unfamiliar on his lips. He couldn't remember a time he'd ever uttered it before.
"Aerrow," Lightning Strike said with a knowing smile. "It's been a long time, my boy."
The boy’s legs acted on their own, crossing the floor and closing the distance between him and his father. He slammed himself into Lightning Strike’s chest, arms wrapped tightly around the older man’s ribcage. Tears threatened to spill out, but he swallowed them back. He felt Lightning Strike return the embrace. An overwhelming wave of emotions crashed over him. Many nights were spent thinking about what he would do if he ever met Lightning Strike. He always thought that he would be calm, rational, able to have a conversation. But he was not Lightning Strike, sky knight of legend, at least not now. To Aerrow in this moment, he was simply “Dad”.
“Am I dead?" Aerrow finally asked.
Lighting Strike shut his eyes, but did not answer. Instead, he lightly pulled back from Aerrow’s grasp, one arm still slung over his son’s shoulder. They turned to face the unending mountains of clouds outside, tinged gold by the rising sun.
“The sky is beautiful, isn’t it?” Lightning Strike asked. Aerrow tilted his head to the side in confusion, but nodded.
“Who was it?” The older man’s voice dropped low, barely above a whisper.
"The Dark Ace," Aerrow answered, face dropping. "Stabbed in front of my entire squadron." Lightning Strike's face flickered with a mix of sadness and anger.
"Unfortunately fitting," was his only response. The older man knew all too well the feeling of betrayal. The Dark Ace was previously his co-pilot, many would even say his protégé, prior to betraying the Atmos Alliance and swearing fealty to Cyclonia. The weapon the Cyclonian now wielded was previously the trusted blade of the Storm Hawks' leader. The same one that killed me, Aerrow thought. His hand balled into a fist behind Lightning Strike’s back.
Outside, the gold clouds gave way to increasingly reddening ones.
“I know this war is not your own,” Lightning Strike began, breaking the brief silence. “It was always my destiny to become a sky knight and die for the Free Atmos. It’s not a life I would’ve chosen for you.” He paused, lifting his chin. “I wished for nothing more than for these red clouds to be extinguished for good.”
Aerrow knew little of Lightning Strike’s demise, only that the Dark Ace had betrayed him and all but crippled the Atmos Alliance, with many other sky knights and squadrons meeting their maker that fateful day. He looked up at his father, who seemed rather absent-minded, warm brown eyes trailing along the wispy forms of the Cyclonian clouds.
“That said,” Lightning Strike continued, directing his loving gaze down at his son. “I must know, how is the squadron doing under your leadership?”
Aerrow took a moment to breathe before he answered. "Well, before we came along, no one had bested the Dark Ace in combat," he boasted, confidence returning to his voice as Lightning Strike smiled proudly. “Although, Cyclonia is still a major threat, the sky knights are not very interested in cooperating with each other…" He trailed off. "It's been difficult, Dad. I feel like everyone looks to me because they see the Storm Hawks name and nothing more, but they refuse to give us any credit or legitimacy because of how young we are. We can’t win, it seems, and Cyclonia expands by the day. The other sky knights see me and they see a pretender, someone who is just trying to be you but doesn't have the skill or the maturity. You're a legend; I’m just an orphan who looks like you.”
Lightning Strike nodded as he considered Aerrow’s words. “Egos rule the skies,” he said finally. Then he gave a hearty laugh. "A legend, you say? Well, that's certainly a rose-tinted viewpoint. No Aerrow, I too faced those comments. I tried to unite them all, but I couldn't do it on my own." He shook Aerrow's shoulder slightly as he saw the boy's face drop.
“The mantle you've taken up, I know it's not easy. I didn’t mean for you to become stuck with it in the first place. But you've come this far. Don't do it all on your own like I tried to. And don't be so blind as to stand in front of those who may be capable of greatness."
The last line visibly confused Aerrow. He knew that it was the Dark Ace who had ultimately betrayed and murdered Lightning Strike, ripping apart any semblance of a normal life for Aerrow and the end of the Free Atmos. But who could Lightning Strike be referencing? Was there someone?
“And, you’re not just an orphan who looks like me,” the word seemed to pain Lightning Strike. Outside, the reddening clouds began to damp out the light. “I haven’t seen these clouds in over ten years.”
Aerrow’s throat felt dry. So many questions raced through his mind that it was impossible to parse a single one.
“Is this…” he began. “Where you…uh…fell?”
Lightning Strike’ face darkened with sorrow, and Aerrow opened his mouth to apologize. “Yes,” he murmured before his son could say anything further. This was the site where their budding family had been ripped apart, set on a path no one could’ve imagined.
The smoke and mist began to swirl around them. The interior of the Condor began to blur. Lightning Strike stepped back, and Aerrow jolted forward. Glancing down at his stomach, he saw his uniform torn at his injury site, a sprawling red line sprouting along the skin.
"Dad!" Aerrow cried. The pain was coming back to him, and he stumbled forward, clutching at his injured midsection, forced to his knees. But Lightning Strike did not move. Instead he gazed down at his son with a warm adoration.
“Your mother and I could not be more proud of you, Aerrow,” he said. “But it is not your time.”
“Please don’t leave me!” Aerrow begged, his free hand reached for his father. Invisible hands seemed to be tugging him backward, white mist closing in. It was borderline cruel to bring him to Lightning Strike, the man Aerrow had so desperately wanted to meet, his father, to be unceremoniously ripped away after just a few short moments.
“We will meet again, son.”
Aerrow woke with a start, his eyes shooting open. Immediately, a wave of pain washed over him, forcing him back down onto his back. Gasping, his eyes watered as his midsection burned hotter than a flame crystal. His gaze darted around as panic rose in him. What surrounded him wasn't the Condor. It was a dimly lit, red metal room, the hint of smoke in the air. Low rumbles rattled the room irregularly. He was laying on some sort of hospital bed, his uniform and armour gone.
A look down at his wrists confirmed where he was. Both wrists were cuffed to the respective rails of the bed, a glowing purple crystal pulsing in the centre. It was impossible to know what it was doing. Piper would know, he thought to himself, and his heart ached at the thought of his squadron and what they saw. For all they knew, he was dead. He tugged slightly on one of the cuffs, testing to see just how secure it was, though most of his strength had left him.
"You'll find no weaknesses, Aerrow; you might as well rest while you can."
Aerrow shot up as much as he could, wincing as the pain from his wound blossomed along his midsection. The voice was airy and unfortunately familiar.
"Why did you bring me here, Cyclonis?" he snapped. His voice, usually so defiant in the face of his enemies, was far weaker than before. A slight cough racked his body. The metallic taste of blood still lingered in his mouth.
The Cyclonian leader stepped toward him, out of the shadows and into the dim light. Her face was shrouded in darkness from her hooded cloak, and her hands were clasped in front of her. To say she was pleased to see one of her greatest annoyances finally brought before her was an understatement. Never had Aerrow seen her look so…happy. It was not a pleasant sight.
"What would be the fun in telling you?" she asked, not waiting for an answer. "I wouldn't move too much if I were you. My medics had to work very hard and waste many crystals ensuring you'd survive that injury."
As if that was his fault. "Maybe you should've called your dog off before he stabbed me," Aerrow retorted, his emerald eyes blazing.
Cyclonis chuckled darkly. "Do you think that was intentional?" she asked. "You're alive out of luck, Aerrow, but I'm adaptable. You still prove to be useful to me."
Aerrow scoffed and rolled his eyes. Luck, hardly. For the briefest of moments, he’d been in his father’s arms, desperately trying to cling to the fading memory. No pain, just peace. They’d spoken with each other. And she’d pulled him away from it all.
“I’m not joining your Talons," he spat.
“I’m not here to convince you to join me," she responded coolly. "You have more use than that.”
Aerrow's eyes wandered to the door behind her, which had since been filled with a tall figure. Panic began to rise again. Cyclonis saw the change in his expression and a malicious grin spread across her face.
"Welcome, Dark Ace," she said, keeping her cold stare fixed on the young sky knight. "I figured you'd be around in time."
Dark Ace approached Cyclonis from behind, but did not step past her. Instead, he stopped just off her shoulder and crossed his arms, clearly enjoying seeing Aerrow so vulnerable. Panic turned to anger as Aerrow stared the older man down, memories of his father rushing back. How he longed to return to the pristine Condor, to be put out of pain and to finally be able to say such alien words like “dad” and “mom”. But instead, he'd been brought back, forced to face the Cyclonians alone.
"You see Aerrow, while my plan requires you to stay alive, it is my understanding that the Dark Ace has some unfinished business with you," Cyclonis said, her voice dripping with malice. "And who am I do deny him revenge?"
Aerrow shifted nervously, wincing as the cuffs dug into his wrists and his existing wound stung.
"Just make sure he suffers," Cyclonis said, turning to Dark Ace. "I still have reservations over my storm engine." And with that, she left the hall, leaving Aerrow and the Dark Ace alone.
"I saw him before she pulled me back,” Aerrow muttered when Cyclonis was gone. "My father. Lightning Strike.”
Dark Ace snapped his gaze to the young sky knight at the mention of his former squadron leader’s name. Aerrow had clearly struck a nerve. If just the name was enough to set him off–
"If I had my way, you'd be back there with him," Dark Ace growled, pulling his blade, Lightning Strike’s blade, off his back and engaging the crystal. The heat of the crystal blade rushed over Aerrow's bare skin, and he tilted his head away as the red energy slinked closer to his face, halting just below his throat. It wasn't enough to burn him, but it was definitely uncomfortable and with the added exposed injury, Aerrow had to fight the urge to flinch. He couldn't be showing any weakness in front of the Dark Ace, even though he knew what was in his future and he was absolutely powerless to do anything. Dark Ace was a vindictive man. His perfect battle record had only been tarnished by the young sky knight. And, unlike Aerrow, the Dark Ace’s vendetta ran deeper than just him.
"But Cyclonis apparently has use for you,” Dark Ace sneered.
"I still lived," Aerrow choked out. "So you've lost to me. Again."
It was taking all of Dark Ace's energy to not simply let the blade fall or touch the young sky knight. Aerrow was half expecting some sort of prod, but Dark Ace withdrew the weapon instead, disengaging the crystal. "In due time," he said, then turned to leave.
Aerrow tried to think of a quip, but the Dark Ace was gone before he could figure something out. He was left alone in the cavernous room once again. Glancing over to his right hand, he twisted his wrist again, wiggling his fingers in the direction of the crystal. If it was Cyclonis who had designed the cuffs, as he expected, she had made sure to take care of even the finest details. She was meticulous. There was no chance his long fingers could reach the crystal. The bars his hands were cuffed to showed no edge he could potentially use to pry them free. His skin was already starting to turn red from the repeated harsh pressure. Comfort was definitely not one of Cyclonis' concerns when it came to designing them. She just wanted to ensure he would stay put.
However, Aerrow had a feeling that the uncomfortableness of the cuffs was going to be the least of his worries the longer he remained behind enemy lines.
Night had fallen on the Condor. The air around the ship was eerie as it hovered close to an uninhabited area of the Atmos, charted just a few hours prior. There was only one person still awake, unable to sleep – the ship's navigator, Piper. She was on the vacant bridge, staring out the massive windshields. Part of her didn't want to believe what she witnessed earlier that day, hoping to see Aerrow's skimmer rising over the clouds with him racing back, his usual smile plastered over his face, or that he’d come walking down the hallway asking what their coordinates were. But she knew it would not be the case. Aerrow's skimmer was in the hangar, silent and unmoving, and Aerrow himself was gone, taken back to Cyclonia.
Piper had no idea if he were alive. He had to be, in order for the Dark Ace to bring him back. Even Cyclonis wouldn't have taken his body back as a trophy. Evil and dark-minded as she was, she wouldn't go that far. At least, that was what Piper hoped. Aerrow would’ve met the same fate as the original leader of the Storm Hawks, cast into the Wastelands. Her belief that he was alive was all that was driving her now, through the initial shock and anguish that had followed the scene.
All night, the moment of Aerrow, reeled back to slash before the Dark Ace sunk his own weapon into him, played in her mind. She'd stood right on the bridge, mouth agape, helpless to do anything. The sounds that came off the bridge were inhuman. Radarr, normally extraordinarily chattery, was completely silent. It was as if the Dark Ace had plunged that blade into the heart of all of them. Piper’s knees had gone weak, her head swam. Aerrow blamed himself, she knew. After all, it was his idea. However, she couldn't blame him. Monitoring Cyclonian movements and gathering intelligence was something she constantly pushed him to do. Having the intel on the Cyclonians was one of the few advantages they had and needed to exploit. Cyclonia's numbers vastly outweighed the sky knights, let alone the ones who took the Storm Hawks seriously as a squadron and not just a bunch of pretenders.
Why had she pushed so hard? The feeling of her heart dropping was one she’d never forget. Not just Talons, but a full Cyclonian cruiser. The brewing of a storm acted as the crest of the cruiser’s owner well enough. And it wasn’t a commander they could fight without luck on their side.
Piper shut her eyes, drawing her legs up to her chest and pressing her thumb and two fingers against her forehead. The scene of the Dark Ace holding up Aerrow's body by the shoulder, blood quickly soaking the young sky knight's uniform filled her mind. How triumphant Dark Ace looked as he proudly showed Aerrow off like a trophy, almost as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, a stain on his reputation finally wiped clean. He had grabbed Aerrow's wrist shortly after, and Piper was certain that the Cyclonian had been checking for a pulse. Not long after, the Talons retreated around the Dark Ace, the swarm disappearing beyond the clouds.
She'd borderline screamed at Stork for them to follow the Talons, for Finn and Junko to start blasting them out of the sky. But all three had been too stunned. It was Stork who had come to his senses first. "Regroup, then we'll go after them." Those were his words. In her anguish, Piper couldn't handle any conflicting options. She wanted Dark Ace's head, and she wanted him to feel it. To a certain extent, she still did. But as the hours went by, the emotions drained sapped her energy, and she was forced to think slightly more rationally.
Maps of Cyclonia and its surrounding territories were splayed out on the table in front of her. Her notebook was propped open, haphazardly scribbled notes on secret entrances and potential weak spots littered the pages with hardly any organization. Time was limited to get Aerrow back, if he was even still alive. If he was, who knew what horrors he was being subjected to. Cyclonians were not exactly forgiving people; Cyclonis and Dark Ace having a particularly personal, long-running vendetta. Sitting up, Piper rubbed her eyes before placing her elbows down on the table again. Her body was exhausted, but her mind was racing. The last thing she wanted was to fall asleep, forced to rewatch one of her best friends being stabbed, potentially fatally, in front of her. Furrowing her brow, she traced their current path before moving to the map of Cyclonia. They were still hours away. Reason said that they needed to be stealthy, but Piper's heart wanted nothing more than to blast their way in, forcing their way to wherever they were holding Aerrow before turning their fury on the Dark Ace and Cyclonis herself. No doubt the Cyclonian leader was the mastermind behind all of this.
"You should rest, Piper."
She snapped her head up, turning behind her. It was Stork, who didn't even break stride as he reached the Condor's helm.
"I could say the same thing to you," she responded, rising from her seat to join him at the helm.
"I prefer the ship at night," Stork replied. "It's much more eerie and quiet, just the way I like it."
"Of course you do," Piper muttered under her breath. If he heard her, Stork didn't retort.
"How go your plans to land us inside the Cyclonian dungeons?" he asked. So unlike you to be clever, she thought, glancing at him through the corner of her amber eyes.
Piper scoffed. "If you must know," she began. "Stealth is looking like the best way in."
"But…" Stork prodded.
"But…" Piper repeated in the same slightly-condescending tone. "I want Cyclonia to pay for this. Really pay.”
She forcefully slammed her palm against the inner glass of the windshield. Stork jumped, his eyes widening at her hand. Not out of concern for her, surely, but to make sure the Condor didn't receive any new marks. She rolled her eyes and withdrew her hand.
"Your precious ship is fine," she snapped. Stork raised an eyebrow at her, and she gave him a quick glance. "Sorry."
"None taken," he responded.
“Why did I want that intel so bad?” she asked herself, her voice cracking on the edge of tears. The helmsman stepped to the side, away from her. Emotions were never his strong suit, unless they were indulging in his paranoia. Piper didn’t seem to mind. Or she didn’t notice. Stork was fine with either.
“It’s my fault,” she whispered, lifting her head to gaze out at the blackened sky. Many times, they’d looked out over the same view. With each blink, the fateful moment of crystal-powered weapon tearing through uniform and flesh stamped itself into the far reaches of the cloudless skies.
Wallowing in self-pity would get her nowhere. “Can I ask you something?" she asked. Stork said nothing, and she took it as a sign to continue. "Do you think he could still be alive?"
"You're asking a lifelong cynic?" he asked. Piper let the silence hang in the air, her way of daring him. "I suppose it's possible," he continued with a shrug. "Likely? Probably not. But possible."
She looked back out at the vast dark sky. "I have to believe he's still alive," she said wistfully. "He just has to be. We need him."
Sleep was shallow and restless for Aerrow, forced onto his back, his wrists and midsection burning at all hours of the day. Every time he closed his eyes, it was a toss-up between what would be playing in his mind. Either he would be in his father’s embrace again, the memory of finally meeting him one of the sweetest he had, or he was standing in front of the Dark Ace again, watching as his father's two-pronged blade reeled back to strike. Every time, Aerrow was brought back to the burning pain across his abdomen, taking a few seconds to remember where he was. The crushing understanding when he realized was demoralizing. He had no idea how long he'd been in Cyclonia now; for all he knew, it could be hours, days, or even weeks. Nonetheless, hope was already difficult to hold onto, thinking that he'd be rescued and return to his squadron alive.
This time when he closed his eyes, he saw Lightning Strike again. Aerrow reached for him, but this was different. His father was distant, almost unable to speak. His brown eyes seemed to pass right through Aerrow, staring far beyond where his son stood. The boy cried out for him, desperate for any kind of acknowledgement. Suddenly, there was a searing pain in his arm. The dream immediately melted away, and the young sky knight was dragged back into the conscious world to the sound of a buzzing energy blade. He shot up as far as he could, gasping, at first from the searing pain in his arm and then from the cuffs digging into his already-mangled wrists. The smell of burning skin wafted up his nostrils, causing him to physically recoil. His own.
"Good morning, Aerrow," the Dark Ace spoke with an air of boredom. Aerrow, still trying to catch his breath, glanced over at his left arm. A fresh new burn mark sat on his bicep, about three inches long. Chest heaving, he looked back at the Cyclonian. Dark Ace was standing over his bed, crystal blade in hand and very much amused.
“What did you do to me?” Aerrow stammered, eyes uncharacteristically widened in fear.
"Cyclonis was very clear in that you must stay alive for her plan to work," Dark Ace drawled. "But, I'm allowed to exact revenge, so long as you’re still breathing. And Aerrow, I have a lot of scores to settle.”
He spun the blade in his hand, and Aerrow drew himself as far away from Dark Ace as possible. "Stay away from me." The sky knight's voice was uncharacteristically shaky.
Dark Ace laughed, that awful laugh Aerrow had heard so many times. "And where do you think you're going to go?" he asked. “You're still cuffed to that bed.”
Aerrow went to draw his legs up in an attempt to kick, but grunted and winced as his existing stab wound flared up angrily. He threw his head back as pain rippled across his body. Dark Ace halted his advance momentarily, clearly enjoying seeing one of his most hated enemies in such distress. Aerrow pulled against the cuffs again, hard, hoping that for a split second the crystal powering them would fail. Of course, they did not, and his wrists reddened worse than the clouds outside the tower.
Growing impatient, Dark Ace's free hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of Aerrow's fiery red hair. The boy cried out as Dark Ace forced his head back, exposing his throat.
"I could kill you just like I killed your father," Dark Ace said thoughtfully, as if he were pondering some profound text as opposed to weighing the options of murdering someone. "Or maybe, you experience the pain that I felt when you defeated me."
Dark Ace's blade hovered dangerously close to Aerrow's exposed skin, passing near his throat. The sky knight's green eyes were wide with terror as every muscle in his body wanted him to try and fight, to do anything to break himself free, and yet, he remained frozen in place, completely at the mercy of the Dark Ace.
"Please…” was all Aerrow was able to choke out.
"Please?" Dark Ace scoffed. "You know Aerrow, I was expecting more of a fight from you. Turns out all I needed to do was ground you and suddenly, you're weak. Just like your father."
And then the smell of burning skin filled the air again. Aerrow fought to stifle a scream as the Dark Ace's blade touched his arm again, pain exploding from the site.
"For the Aurora Stone."
He pulled the weapon back, and the young sky knight gasped. Gods, did it hurt. He’d been hit with a shot from Dark Ace’s blade once before and it had knocked him out cold. Never did he feel the pain from it.
"For Terra Gale."
Another burn. He chomped down on his tongue, slamming his eyes shut.
"For Terra Rex."
And again. Aerrow couldn't hold it in anymore. As the burns ripped through his body, shaking him to his core, he couldn't help but scream out. But it was exactly what Dark Ace wanted, and the Cyclonian’s unsettling smile proved it.
The blade pulled away for the third time, and Aerrow whimpered. He couldn't bring himself to look at his arm. He knew that there was a multitude of burns now, marring his skin, adding to the many injuries that the Dark Ace had inflicted on him over their time as enemies. The sky knight's head began to spin as his head crashed against the pillow, chest heaving, nearly paralyzed from the pain. He shut his eyes.
"Medic," Dark Ace called, clearly out of obligation. And then the Cyclonian was gone.
Aerrow didn't open his eyes as he heard another being enter the room. Slowly, he felt exhaustion taking over, a welcome reprieve, if only for a few hours.