You wake to the sound of shovels and coughing — the mines. The air is thick with blue dust that clings to your skin like glittering poison. From above, a voice cuts through the din.

“He’s awake,” Blackbeard drawls, descending on a platform, his coat flowing like wings. “Our miracle boy.” He crouches beside you, eyes gleaming. “Do you feel it? The hum in the air — the song of dying fairies. That’s the sound of eternity, my dear boy. The price of flight.”