18. Chapter Eighteen #3
We stood at the mouth of a massive cavern—no, a chasm —that stretched upward farther than I could see.
The ceiling was lost to shadow, but soft golden light spilled from glowing lanterns strung like constellations across the vast dome.
A waterfall—no, a geyser —burst from the far cliff wall, its mist catching the light as it rained down into a lake that glowed faintly turquoise at its base.
Wooden walkways crisscrossed the open space like spider webs.
Structures clung to the walls like swallows’ nests—homes, shops, outposts, balconies—all suspended by magic or stubborn engineering.
Vines and flowers bloomed in the impossible dark.
I caught the scent of woodsmoke, wet stone, and something sweet… baking?
The hum of life rolled out in waves. Laughter echoed from above. Children with wings darted between hanging walkways. A horned man sat on a porch, carving something with intricate precision. Music drifted faintly from somewhere deeper in the city.
My knees nearly gave out.
I wasn’t just looking at survival. This wasn’t a hole in the ground where rebels cowered. This was… civilization. Defiant, hidden, thriving. A rebellion with roots. I blinked hard, eyes stinging. I didn’t know if it was the mist or the weight of what I was seeing.
“This,” Drake said quietly beside me, “is Riftreach.”
Far across and high up the cavern wall, something caught my eye—and stole my breath.
A massive wooden ship jutted out from the rock, sails unfurled as if caught mid-voyage.
It perched there impossibly, halfway between air and stone, as though frozen in time.
The wood gleamed with age and care, anchored into the cliff like it belonged to both sea and sky.
“Is that a ship? How did you even?—”
Drake chuckled beside me. “It’s been here since the beginning. A remnant of a forgotten age, repurposed into our council hall and chambers,” his pride was palpable. I realized I was gripping his sleeve, my knuckles white with the force of my astonishment.
Embarrassed, I let go, glancing at him. He was already smiling.
“Welcome home,” he said, softer this time.
He guided me onto one of the wooden walkways, and I found myself moving in a daze.
The closer we got, the more details emerged.
Each home clinging to the stone walls was alive with color and personality—hanging baskets overflowing with vines and flowers, wind chimes made from old metal scraps, stained-glass lanterns casting soft rainbows on the planks.
The city didn’t just exist—it expressed itself.
And its people… They were beautiful. A woman with translucent wings fluttering like silk passed us, nodding politely.
A man with shimmering blue skin and gentle eyes offered a warm wave.
Horned children chased one another in laughing loops across a nearby bridge.
I waved back, awkward but genuine, and felt Drake’s warmth at my side as he returned greetings by name.
It felt like stepping into a fable. A dream. But it was real. A city carved from hardship and still somehow—miraculously—still full of joy.
“Pinch me,” I whispered to Drake, still overwhelmed.
“Where?” he murmured back, low and teasing. I flushed, laughing despite myself.
We passed a cluster of Riftborn who paused to watch us. Their gazes weren’t cold but curious—assessing, even hopeful.
“Were they expecting us?” I asked, trying to shake off the weight of all the attention.
Drake’s tone shifted. “We’re not the only ones who know you’re our last chance,” his words sank deep.
I looked around again—not just at the homes, or the flowers, or the lights—but at the people.
Their eyes. The way they looked at me, not with fear or resentment…
but with hope. They weren’t just living.
They were waiting. For something. For someone.
For me.
I swallowed hard and clenched my hands into fists. I let the air fill my lungs. If they believe I’m their last hope…
Then I will be.
We crossed the wooden footbridges, each creaking plank a testament to the craftsmanship of the Riftborn people, and wound our way higher and higher through the cavern.
The pathway seemed to rise endlessly, giving me glimpses of the bustling city below.
At last, we arrived at the doorway to the massive wooden ship embedded in the wall.
The structure was breathtaking, an impossible feat of engineering and magic combined.
It jutted outward from the rock as though it had crashed into the cavern mid-sail and somehow remained frozen in place.
Its great bow seemed poised to tip forward, teetering over the abyss of the city below, but it held firm.
“This… this is incredible,” I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper.
“It was the first Riftborn vessel to escape the King’s fleet during the Change,” Drake said, his voice tinged with reverence.
“It carried our ancestors to safety, where they found this cavern and built Riftreach. The ship was their salvation, and so it remains—our meeting hall, our place of counsel.”
Stationed on either side of the entrance to the ship’s top deck stood two men, imposing and stoic.
They both shared Drake’s commanding presence, their tall and muscular frames clad in long woolen cloaks adorned with the same silver emblem I’d come to recognize.
Though they lacked some of his rugged charm.
The man on the left had cropped black hair and a patch of shimmering blue scales that crawled up his throat, catching the golden light of the cavern.
Another Dragonblood. The other bore tall, spiraling horns that jutted proudly from his forehead, polished to a sheen.
Hellwrought. Their swords hung at their sides, the hilts glinting faintly in the lantern light, and they carried themselves with the kind of quiet authority that suggested they were Riftreach’s equivalent of palace guards.
As we approached, both men inclined their heads slightly in acknowledgment.
“Captain,” one of them greeted in a deep, steady voice.
Drake gave a curt nod, his back straightening as he walked past. The men stepped aside to let us through, their watchful eyes lingering on me momentarily before resuming their vigilant stance.
When we stepped onto the main deck of the ship, my breath hit my throat.
It wasn’t just a ship—it was a masterpiece of art and magic.
The warm glow of lanterns illuminated every inch of the space, bathing it in a soft, golden light.
Silken tapestries in vibrant shades of crimson and gold flowed gently in the cavern’s breeze, strung from the towering masts.
Golden statues stood sentinel along the deck, their craftsmanship so fine that they seemed almost alive.
Each piece was unique—one depicted a warrior mid-battle, their blade raised high, while another captured a serene Goddess with flowing robes.
The largest statue, a towering winged Goddess in gleaming gold, commanded attention near the bow.
Her sorrowful expression seemed to carry the weight of ages; her slender hand was raised and pointed solemnly toward the distant geyser cascading down the cavern wall.
Around her feet sprawled an intricate garden, lush and vibrant despite the lack of sunlight.
Planters brimming with flowering vines, herbs, and miniature trees turned the deck into a verdant oasis.
The floor was adorned with richly patterned rugs, their intricate designs hinting at distant cultures and histories, and benches carved from dark wood lined the edges, inviting quiet reflection.
It felt like a royal garden from some ancient legend, but there was something more to it.
This place carried the heart of a people who had poured their souls into it—a labor of love and survival.
Where the captain’s quarters once stood, there now rose a grand wooden archway carved with ornate knot work that shimmered faintly with enchantments. The craftsmanship was extraordinary. Twin staircases flanked the archway, winding gracefully downward into the ship’s depths.
“You must be Evandra!” I jumped as a loud, enthusiastic voice echoed through the space, and a man hurried toward me with outstretched arms. He was about my father’s age but much leaner, with long, lanky limbs and an energy that seemed to fill the entire room.
His attire was immaculate, far more refined than I expected for someone leading a rebellion.
He wore a suede navy tailcoat adorned with golden buttons, striped pantaloons tucked neatly into polished leather boots, and a handlebar mustache that wiggled with every word he spoke.
Before I could react, he cupped my face in his long-fingered hands and planted several kisses on each cheek. His mustache tickled, and I fought the urge to pull away. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Drake’s jaw feather as he clenched it tightly.
“Wonderful, marvelous, spectacular!” he declared. “Our Lady of the Hour, in the flesh!”
Felix leaned close, his voice dry at my shoulder. “Brace yourself. He does this to everyone. Even me.”
Julian pulled back, blue eyes gleaming. “Drake, Felix, welcome home!”
Drake took a slight bow, his voice steady as he introduced the man. “Evandra, this is our Commander and fearless leader, Julian.”
“It’s a pleasure,” I managed, dipping into a polite bow, but Julian stopped me with a gentle hand on my shoulder.
“No, no, no,” he said warmly. “We bow to kings, not to one another. Here, we raise one another up!” His words carried weight even through the flourish. “Anything she desires,” he added, his gaze sweeping the hall, “she shall have.”
Anything she desires? Even Drake? I wondered mischievously but kept the thought to myself.
Julian clapped his hands together and gestured grandly toward the archway. “Come, Lady Evandra. Let me show you what we fight to protect.”