Tofi had emerged from the tunnel beneath a stone bridge spanning a stream that flowed down from the mountains. He climbed the slope, scanning the surroundings to ensure the coast was clear. Once satisfied, he started running along the dirt path toward the rendezvous point. In the distance, he spotted a totem marking the meeting site—and beside it, a young man with his visor flipped up, staring at the screen of his handheld device while sitting astride a motoplovák, a hover vehicle with an antigravitational core powered by two roaring turbines at the rear. A side compartment was built to carry a passenger.
Tofi hesitated, unsure. The rider noticed him.
"Come on! What are you waiting for?" he shouted.
Tofi took a step back, startled—just as a large pear-shaped figure appeared beside the vehicle. The boy recognized him immediately: Momta.
"It's all right, lad," said the elf, his voice still thick with the remnants of drink. "This is Relik. He'll take you to the passage, where old Lujk is waiting."
"The smuggler?" asked Tofi.
"The very same," Momta replied. "A good friend. He'll get you across the mountains in his airship."
Tofi hurried to climb into the side compartment as Relik powered up the motoplovák. The turbines roared, the landing struts folded in, and the vehicle lifted from the ground, hovering in place.
"Where are the others?" asked Momta.
"The soldiers arrived," Tofi answered.
Momta cursed under his breath.
"No time to lose." He reached into his coat and pulled out a weapon. "Here—an ectobuzz," he said, handing it over. "Fires energy bursts—pretty lethal ones. It's an old model, though. There's a delay between shots, so aim carefully."
Tofi examined the weapon curiously, then tucked it into his jacket pocket. Momta signaled to the rider. Relik lowered his visor, gripped the handlebars, and accelerated. The motoplovák surged forward down the trail.
Glancing back, Tofi caught sight of dark shapes against the storm-lit sky—the winged soldiers descending.
"They're coming after us!" he shouted.
Relik swerved sharply into the forest, weaving between the trees at breakneck speed. The winged troops fanned out above, scanning through their visors.
"Target in sight," one reported, locking onto the glowing blur of the hovercraft below.
"Take it down," ordered the captain.
The soldier soared upward and then dove like a hawk. Plasma fire burst from his gauntlet cannon, lighting the forest in flashes of blue. Relik dodged between the trees, the motoplovák jerking violently as bolts exploded around them. Then one struck home.
"Jump!" Relik shouted as the vehicle spun toward a massive sequoia.
They leapt an instant before impact. The motoplovák slammed into the trunk and exploded in a fireball, scattering debris and burning branches. Tofi hit the ground hard, rolling through wet leaves. Dizzy, he sat up, panting, checking himself—alive. He scrambled toward Relik, who lay motionless but breathing.
Could've been worse, Tofi thought grimly.
He dashed for cover beneath an overhang of rock. When the plasma fire quieted, he broke from hiding, sprinting into a clearing. Raising the ectobuzz, he waited. A winged soldier burst through the canopy—Tofi fired. A blinding bolt of light shot out, but missed, striking a nearby tree. He ran again as fiery darts rained down around him, each impact lighting the forest floor. Diving into the underbrush, he crawled until the noise faded.
When he dared to believe he'd shaken pursuit, he bolted toward the canyon pass—only for an armored trooper to drop from the sky, landing directly in his path. The soldier aimed his plasma weapon. Tofi raised the ectobuzz and fired; another orb of energy erupted, hitting a tree just meters away. The soldier didn't even flinch. Tofi pulled the trigger again—nothing.
The trooper clicked his tongue and shook his head.
"Sorry, kid," he said, aiming his forearm blaster. "An ectobuzz only works if you know how to use it."
Tofi bit his lip, bracing for the end—then heard a sharp crack, followed by a heavy thud. Silence. Only the rustling of wind through the trees.
He opened one eye. He was still alive. Feeling his chest, his stomach—no wound. When he looked up, the soldier lay crushed beneath a fallen tree. Tofi realized, with a rush of disbelief, that his missed shot had struck the trunk, severing it just enough to send it crashing down.
"Holy hell…" he gasped, staring upward, then bolted through the forest before the others could find him.
At last, he reached the canyon passage. Scrambling between boulders and roots, his lungs burned, heart pounding. Finally he emerged into a clearing deep within the gorge—where a small airship hovered, its gas envelope shimmering silver in the rainlight.
The smugglers were waiting. Old Lujk, pipe clenched between his teeth, was checking a handheld screen while a younger man adjusted the ship's valves.
"We're late," the old elf muttered. "The Silver Eagle patrol will be over this sector any minute."
"What about the Oranteks?" asked a crewman from the gondola.
"I'm the only one who made it," said Tofi, stepping out of the shadows.
"Damn it!" the smugglers shouted, raising their weapons. Tofi lifted a hand.
"I'm Tofías of Orantek."
"Gods above, boy!" barked Lujk. "What happened to your uncle? And where the blazes is Relik?"
Tofi shook his head.
"I see the Eagle," called the lookout from the cockpit, staring at the radar display.
"Then to hell with questions—you'll tell us on the way. Let's move!"
Tofi climbed aboard the gondola. It was cramped, lined with cargo crates and contraband barrels. He found a spot between them as the engines began to hum. Lujk seized the tiller, pulled the throttle levers, and the airship lifted, rising through the mist.
The higher they climbed, the more the mountains fell away beneath them. The engines roared, pushing them eastward. Tofi gazed through the porthole, watching the jagged peaks glide by so close he could almost touch them. His stomach fluttered—half fear, half wonder—as he faced the unknown.
Soon the airship leveled its course. Ahead, through the drifting clouds, the faint blue glow of Utgard shone in the heavens—distant, silent, and utterly indifferent to the troubles of Midgard below.