Invincible Blood Sorceror

Chapter 27: Returning to the isles

The skiff rose with remarkable grace, responding to Jorghan’s will as though it were an extension of his own body.

Below, the settlement dwindled rapidly, becoming a circular pattern of tents and pathways before disappearing entirely beneath the forest canopy.

Only then did Jorghan allow himself a genuine smile, the first since his ”rescue.”

He turned the vessel toward the northwest, where the Floating Isles hung like impossible dreams among the clouds. The journey that had taken nearly a full day on Chycor-back would require mere hours in this craft.

As he soared higher, breaking through the cloud barrier, Jorghan reached into his tunic and withdrew a small object—a tracking device the technician had secreted beneath the control panel when she thought he wasn’t looking.

With a whispered word in the ancient tongue and a flare of crimson energy from his fingertips, he crushed it to dust that scattered on the wind.

Let them wonder what became of their prize, he thought grimly.

The mana stone responded to his surge of emotion, drawing more deeply on his reserves than strictly necessary. Rather than resist, Jorghan allowed a measured portion of his essence to flow into the crystal, feeling the vessel leap forward with renewed vigor. The sensation was not unlike communing with Chycor, though the beast’s familiar presence was sorely missed.

Learning to pilot the skiff came with startling ease.

-

The Floating Isles appeared on the horizon by midday—several massive landmasses suspended impossibly in the sky, connected by bridges of living wood and energy flows visible only to those with the mana sight.

Jorghan guided the skiff toward the third and largest isle, Turtle Rock, where the clan had made their seat of power for generations unnumbered.

As he approached, he noted unusual activity at the Sacred Spire—the central gathering place reserved for clan councils and major rituals. Figures moved about the elevated platform, their postures suggesting tension rather than ceremony.

Drawing closer, Jorghan recognized Sigora’s distinctive silver-streaked hair, her tall form flanked by her children.

Facing them stood Korreth, the clan’s chief, his massive frame intimidating even at a distance, and beside him stood another elf, No’tra, one of the elders of the clan, his staff of service glowing with activated runes.

The gathering was no peaceful council.

Even from afar, Jorghan could sense the charged atmosphere—accusations hurled like spears, defenses raised like shields.

He guided the vessel toward a secluded landing platform on the isle’s edge, away from the main docks where his arrival would immediately be noticed. The skiff settled with barely a whisper, the mana stone dimming as Jorghan withdrew his influence from it.

His bare feet clung to the moss-covered rock as he leaned forward, eyes locked on the skiff.

Jorghan stretched his hand; fingers, wiry but strong, caught the skiff’s edge.

With a simple motion, he twisted his body, pulling it forward before whipping it downward with surprising strength for one so young.

The vessel screeched as its crystals faltered, and then it plunged from the island’s edge like a stone cast into a river.

Wind tore past, whistling in his ears.

Jorghan watched the skiff tumble for a mile, its metal belly flashing in the sunlight, desperately sputtering as it fell.

He didn’t blink.

Then—calmly, as though this were no more difficult than flicking a pebble—he raised his right hand. Thumb cocked up, index finger pointing out, he shaped it like a child’s toy gun.

The air shimmered around his fingertip, the space around him holding its breath.

A bright red spark bloomed at his fingertip, swelling into a glowing dot. It hummed with dangerous energy, casting crimson light across his cheek.

”Bang!”

The dot leapt from his finger like a star loosed from the heavens. It tore through the sky in a straight, merciless line and struck the skiff square in the middle.

The explosion cracked down below, echoing like thunder.

A fireball bloomed in midair, pieces of twisted metal scattering and then vanishing into the clouds below. Smoke curled up, painting dark streaks against the perfect blue sky.

Jorghan lowered his hand slowly, his face expressionless.

But in his sharp crimson eyes, a strange glimmer lingered—pride, mischief, and a touch of something older than his years.