Leaving the Storm Court wasn't as simple as walking out the door—mainly because the Court didn't have doors. It had currents. And those currents had opinions.
Rose, Basil, and Nimbus were flung out of the sky like coins from an offended slot machine.
They crash-landed in a grassy field surrounded by jagged peaks and heavy mist, the impact softened only slightly by Nimbus' frantic efforts to cushion them with wind. Basil rolled once before coming to a stop, sword clattering beside him. Rose hit the grass with a grunt and immediately burst out laughing.
"That," she gasped, brushing hair from her eyes, "is the most polite rejection I've ever received."
Basil groaned from the ground. "I think my spine is still airborne."
Nimbus flopped into the grass, wheezing. "I hate sky courts. So dramatic. So floaty. So unreasonable. You try making a good impression when everyone's got clouds in their skulls."
Rose sat up and took stock of their surroundings. The land felt different here—older, quieter. Less touched by magic, but still watchful. There were symbols carved into the rocks, mostly worn down by time. They glowed faintly as if remembering something.
"Where are we?" she asked aloud.
Basil pushed himself upright. "Somewhere in the western ridges, I think. Near Thunderbird territory."
Rose's eyes lit up. "Thunderbirds? As in sky-hunting, lightning-hoarding, talon-the-size-of-your-face Thunderbirds?"
"Yes," Basil said flatly. "And they don't usually like visitors."
As if summoned by narrative timing, a shadow passed overhead.
A massive Thunderbird spiraled down, wings crackling with electric pulses. It landed with a gust of wind strong enough to knock them back a step. Its feathers shimmered with stormlight, and its eyes—silver and knowing—locked on Rose.
She held her ground.
The Thunderbird lowered its head, beak nearly touching her chest. Then, with a strange chirrup, it tapped her glyph-marked hand gently and let out a deep, echoing caw.
Nimbus blinked. "Is it… greeting you?"
"I think it's accepting me," Rose whispered. "Storm recognizes storm."
The Thunderbird extended one wing and waited.
Rose turned to Basil. "Well, when in doubt, climb the sky monster?"
He gave her a dubious look but nodded.
They mounted the great beast, its back warm and pulsing with energy. As it launched into the air, Rose clung to its feathers, heart pounding not with fear—but with wonder.
"Where do you think it's taking us?" Basil shouted over the wind.
"Hopefully not lunch!" Nimbus called.
Rose closed her eyes, feeling the sky hum beneath her.
"Wherever it is," she said, "it's exactly where we're meant to go."
Above them, the clouds parted.
And far below, in the shadow of mountains long forgotten, something stirred.
A flame reignited. A name whispered through the soil.
Mortain was watching.
And he was no longer alone.