Chapter 84: Drake’s Epiphany

The silence that followed the golden flash was thicker than mountain fog.

No wind stirred the pines. The evening clouds had been wiped clean from the skybox. That left a crystal dome of twilight blue golden stardust drifted down through the crisp mountain air, sparkling like warm rain.

Down on the clover lawn, Sky-Captain Drake slowly sank to his knees.

The forty-eight-year-old pirate admiral didn’t draw his cutlass. He didn’t reach for his flintlock.

His notched steel blade lay loose at his hip. His weathered hands hung limp at his sides, trembling so hard his knuckles knocked against his knees.

Drake looked up at the empty sky where a six-mile iron meteor had been plummeting seconds ago.

There was nothing left.

Not a single chunk of rock. Not a single trace of iron melted rock waste.

A space boulder capable of cracking a continent had been dissolved into golden party glitter.

"He didn’t even stand up," Drake whispered, his voice cracking like dry wood. "He didn’t even put down his teacup."

Beside the flagship ramp, First Mate Bones crawled down the metal gangway on his hands and knees.

The seasoned corsair looked up at Drake, his face grey with terror.

"Captain..." Bones whimpered, clutching Drake’s boot. "The sky rock... Where did the mountain go?"

"It’s gone, Bones," Drake murmured, tears of awe prickling his eyes. "The lad blew it away with a breath."

Drake’s mind, sharpened by thirty years of surviving deadly sky battles, began to race in dizzying loops.

He looked at the peaceful wooden cottage.

He looked at the sleeping gryphon, the gardening ghost king, and the young man in frayed straw slippers.

Then the truth struck Drake’s chest like a kicked cannonball.

He didn’t use a magic spell, Drake thought, his breath hitching in his throat. He didn’t channel an ancient array. That was just excess heat leaking from his throat while he stretched!

Drake felt a cold shiver run down his spine.* If a casual, half-asleep yawn can erase a six-mile void meteor... What happens if he actually wakes up?*

The horrifying realization blossomed in Drake’s mind:

This kid could crack whole planets like walnuts!

If Felix Vance ever stood up with both feet, drew a weapon. Then he put in ten percent effort, the eastern continent would be split into kindling. The royal capital, the pirate fleets, and the nine sacred sects only existed because this young sovereign preferred taking fourteen-hour naps!

The entire world lives on his snooze button, Drake realized, clutching his duster coat.

Across the mountain gorge, Inquisitor Valen was still kneeling on his flying sword.

The royal investigator cried into his white sleeves, fully undone by the spectacle.

"The mercy of the Slumbering God," Valen sobbed softly. "He spared the realm. With a single sigh, he blessed the high sky and scattered life across the valleys!"

Up on the deck of the Iron Gale, fifty hardened sky-pirates knelt against the wooden planks.

These were men who had raided royal treasuries and fought void sea monsters without flinching. Now, every single one of them was crying like a baby. They pressed their foreheads against the deck in total submission.

"Forgive us, young sovereign!" a pirate deckhand cried out.

"We'll scrub your porch!" another wailed. "We'll polish your roof shingles!"

Down in the clover, Drake bowed his head until his salt-and-pepper hair brushed the grass.

He didn’t bow because of royal orders. He bowed out of pure, primal respect.

In the pirate fleets of the outer skies, strength was the only law. And the youth resting on that porch was stronger than all the kings and emperors combined.

And right then, in the middle of this deep cosmic discovery, Drake’s stomach roared again.

A pirate site took this chapter from its author's official page. The writer, not the site, deserves your attention.

GURRRRR-RUMBLE-CLANK.

The sound was shockingly loud in the quiet twilight air.

Drake’s cheeks flushed bright red beneath his grey stubble.

He had just witnessed a god destroy an asteroid. His empty belly was screaming for dinner like a hungry hog.

On the cedar porch, Felix Vance shifted in his Zero-Gravity Recliner.

He lifted his straw hat by an inch, peering down at the pirate captain kneeling in the clover.

A semi-clear blue HUD box flickered into view over Drake’s head:

Felix blinked his sleepy hazel eyes.

To Felix, the scene made zero sense.

The older guy in the brown trench coat had fallen to his knees, his pirate crew was begging on their knees on the ship deck. The guy’s stomach was making noises like a broken lawnmower.

"Man, that pirate crew really is starving," Felix muttered to himself. "Look at him. His hunger debuff is probably tanking his stats into the negative numbers."

Felix had played enough survival RPGs to know how brutal hunger penalties could be.

Your food meter hit zero. Then, your screen blurred, your health drained, and your character moved at half speed.

Felix was lazy, but he was never cruel. Leaving a hungry guest on the lawn while smelling fresh dinner was simply bad manners.

Felix sat up slightly, resting his elbows on the wooden armrests.

"Hey, Captain," Felix called out, his voice smooth and casual. "You don’t need to stay on your knees. The grass is damp, and you’ll get mud on your pants."

Drake slowly raised his head, blinking in surprise.

"Young master...?" Drake rasped, his voice trembling.

"You’re clearly running on zero stamina," Felix said, waving a lazy hand. "How long has it been since you had a proper hot meal?"

Drake swallowed hard, feeling his throat tighten with emotion.

"Three weeks, young master," Drake admitted, looking down in shame. "Our provisions spoiled when our cold-storage magic charm shattered. We’ve been chewing dried leather and wild cliff lichen."

Felix grimaced in disgust.

"Chewing leather? That's awful," Felix said, shaking his head. "No wonder your HP bar looks miserable. Stand up. Take a seat on that wooden bench by the steps."

Drake paused, his weathered face filled with disbelief.

"You... You offer me a seat, young master? After my warship trespassed upon your sovereign sky-island?"

"It’s just a yard, man," Felix sighed, picking up his Never-Cold Jade Teacup. "Don’t overthink it. Just don’t crush the pumpkins."

Over by the garden patch, Senior Groundskeeper Nether-Bane gave Drake a solemn nod.

The seven-foot Ghost King leaned against his wooden hoe. He pointed one bony finger toward a low cedar stool resting near the porch rail.

"Obey the Master," Nether-Bane whispered in a hollow, gravelly tone. "Take the stool. Don't let your boots crush the four-leaf clover. Or I'll use your skull as a radish planter."

Drake nodded rapidly, scrambling to his feet with clumsy haste.

He dusted the damp grass from his brown leather duster. He walked carefully around the glowing emerald leaves of the Sun-Lotus Cabbage.

He stepped closer to the porch. Then, the air grew wonderfully warm the soothing sixty-nine-degree micro-climate generated by Felix’s garden washed away the bone-deep chill of the high cloud sea. Drake felt the aching arthritis in his knees fade into pure, heavenly comfort.

On the porch railing, Barnaby the clockwork owl watched Drake take a seat on the low pine stool.

The brass iron-puppet’s glass lenses zoomed in, inspecting the pirate’s scuffed leather coat. Barnaby clicked his balance wheel once, his hand-carved oak bottle cork resting securely alongside the shiny copper penny clamped beneath his brass talon.

Felix looked at Drake with a faint, sympathetic smile.

"Sit tight," Felix said. "Food should be ready any second."

He turned his head toward the open screen door of the cottage.

A delicious, savory aroma was already wafting out from the kitchen. The rich, intoxicating scent of minced pork, fresh scallions, crushed ginger, and hot sesame oil.

Felix’s own stomach gave a small, happy flutter.

"Hey, Lyra!" Felix shouted toward the kitchen. "How are those dumplings coming along? We’ve got company out here!"

Drake sat awkwardly on the edge of the pine stool, his rough hands resting flat upon his knees.

He glanced toward the cedar table beside Felix’s chair.

His pirate eyes caught the gentle amber glow streaming from the Never-Cold Jade Teacup.

The teacup had no steam vents, no heating stones, and no spirit circuits. Yet the fragrant jasmine tea inside swirled with steady, perfect heat, defying every known law of heat loss.

"That vessel..." Drake murmured, unable to hold back his curiosity. "Is that... An ancient soul-kiln relic?"

Felix glanced at the jade cup, taking another small sip.

"Nah," Felix said with a casual shrug. "It’s just an iron-hard teacup I pulled from the milestone gacha earlier. Keeps my tea warm so I don't have to get up. Also doesn't spill."

Felix showed by giving the cup a firm, careless tilt toward the porch floor.

The amber tea bulged against the lip like a clear golden dome, held firmly in place by magic water's skin. Not a single drop fell onto the wood.

Drake stared at the teacup, his breath catching in his throat once more.

An ancient relic of total heat-powered frozen stillness... Drake thought. It shook his head in silent wonder. Emperors would wage fifty-year wars to claim a single cup like that and he uses it to save himself three steps to the kitchen!

Drake let out a raspy, self-deprecating chuckle.

For twenty years, Drake had chased gold, glory, and legendary artifacts across the outer skies. He had risked his life a thousand times over, only to end up starving on a broken ship.

Yet here was this young sovereign, who possessed the power to shatter planets and command the stars, caring only about hot tea, comfortable chairs, and avoiding unnecessary labor.

Maybe the pirates have it all wrong, Drake thought, resting his back against the railing. Maybe true freedom isn't raiding empires. Maybe true freedom is taking a nap whenever you want.

From inside the quiet cottage, a clear, melodic voice answered right away:

"The steamer is ready, Senior Brother! Bringing them out right now!"