The island shuddered. The hum stopped. The compass needle dropped—and pointed north again.
“That’s the source,” Ringo said. “A generator. Prehistoric, maybe. The old records called it the ‘Heart of the Sky.’ If we can recalibrate it, the compass will point north again. Plus, the salvage rights alone…”
Baloo cracked his knuckles. “Kit, you get the generator. Rebecca, you distract Karnage with corporate jargon. Ringo… try not to get stabbed.”
“That’s impossible ,” Baloo corrected. “Unless…”
Then the clouds parted.
“Exactly!” Ringo said.
The island hung in the sky like a green-and-gold jewel, tethered to nothing. Rivers cascaded off its edges into endless mist. Ancient stone towers, carved with spiral symbols, emerged from the jungle canopy. And in the center, a flat mesa held what looked like an empty hangar bay.