Sleep.

The vast world of dreams, leaden as oceans deep.

In the depths we find our dear prince, but this time—dreamless—in a place of ether and temporal energy.

Woven throughout a nebula are paths of light leading to distant gates and far off doorways.

Plinths of stone floating about… Orbiting…

On one such path our prince finds himself, his means of arrival… not remembered.

If this is not a dream, then how can I be drawing breath? Where am I?

The luminous pink and blue gasses impart nothing. The twinkling dust scattered all around only twinkles.

This place is beautiful… and has such strong magic, on a scale I have not seen before.

Calypso looks to the path on which he stands. Made of energy, it winds, curves, dips, rises, and connects with many others. A few end at what appear to be large doorways… portals…

He starts to walk down the path.

With barely three steps taken, Calypso senses something… a slight breeze… he stops and turns to see a storm.

A massive squall line of dark rolling clouds with sporadic flashes of light emanating from within.

Thunder, ominous.

What brought that about?

No sooner had the question formed in his mind than he realized the speed at which the storm was traveling. In a mere minute, it seemed to have moved a mile closer; another minute and he will be in its clutches.

Tracing geometric patterns in the air with his hands and using words of enchantment, Calypso creates a sphere of magical energy around himself.

The storm, an unstoppable force of magic and nature, consumes the prince.

The shield, conjured by one of the most powerful sorcerers, holds.

There is darkness…

The clouds move around Calypso’s magic sphere, lightning flashes nearby and everything is lit for an instant. A moment passes, and the hairs on the back of his neck start to tingle…

And a massive bolt of lightning connects with his shield, turning its blue hue to fiery orange—and another arcs into the path close by—Calypso, eyes closed, is thrown from the path by the shockwave.

Through space, the prince flies…

On stone, does he land…

His shield, gone.

The hungry wind starts sweeping him from the plinth—lightning flashes—he finds a hold and grips the stone with all of his strength.

But such is the strength of the wind… Is this it, then?

And in an instant, the storm passes, the wind moves on…

Silence.

Calypso pulls his battered body to the middle of the floating stone and stands. His wonder, greater than anything he had felt before. Moments pass… he senses something…

A slight breeze…

He turns and looks.

Out in the distance, in the void between the stars… a silver sail.