Feyfalken: The Lost Expedition

The ship was abuzz with activity. It was precisely the kind of controlled chaos Integra thrived on. As the helmsman guided the Feyfalken in for a landing, her voice boomed through the acoustic horn, relaying commands to every department.

Once they landed, she ordered a medical team to the cargo bay, to set up a quarantine zone, just like they'd planned. Any member of the away team attempting to return to the ship needed to be thoroughly examined before they could be allowed to reenter the general population.

With a clipboard in hand, she rattled off a list of engineers who would be sent out to gather artifacts and technology. They didn’t' have to go far. The road the Feyfalken had landed on was littered with futuristic automobiles. Not only would dismantling the vehicles themselves yield valuable information, but the possessions of the vanished drivers and passengers were also worthy of investigation.

Lastly, she assembled a research team. While the engineers were focused on technology, it was the researchers' duty to study the culture of this lost city. Their language, their writings, their architecture and traditions… all of it was right here, waiting to be discovered.

She named about a dozen researchers, speaking in the same droll monotone she always used. But there was a pause before the last name. It was subtle, but those who knew her well could tell when something vaguely resembling emotion was leaking through the vice captain's stony façade.

"Geoffrey Avrin," she said. His was the last name to be spoken but always first in her mind.

In the past week, they had spent far more time together than was appropriate. Then again, her definition of "appropriateness" was far narrower than most. Their relationship was strictly professional, but that didn't stop people from talking. Geof was her personal understudy. In secret, she taught him how to shut his mind to the formless energies of Transmundus. And, when they weren't practising breathing and meditation exercises together, they did actual reasearch. He was invaluable to her.

Together, they'd soaked up every morsel of knowledge those Arcanian corpses had to offer. Due to her prowess with a scalpel, the small vial of red dust was now a large jar of the same, meticulously extracted from the dead and stored for purposes she would never tell a soul, not even Geof. Thanks to his training, he was now capable of being near it without pain or distraction. She had taught him well.

But those dead Arcanians and the forest from whence they'd come were old news. She'd dissected, carved out every bone and organ, and translated every scrap of paper on their person. She was done with that. Now it was time to find something new to study. Behind the frames of her tiny glasses, Reina Lancaster's eyes burned with the desire to learn everything this city had to offer, even if she had to tear it down, brick from brick, to find out.

The ship had barely landed, yet she was already in the cargo bay, impatiently tamping her foot on the floor as she awaited her research team. They were slowing her down. Such inefficient creatures, these humans.

 

editing

 

"Just give me a fucking gun, Cartwright." Ainsley said, fixing him in her stare through the thick glass of the quartermaster's window. "I'm already late."

"Why Airman Gravesong! Such language! It's unbecoming of an air naval enlisted man... err ...woman, such as yourself." he said, with the same gaptoothed smile and nasally soprano he'd been annoying her with since boot camp. "You should really take more pride in the unifo-- ."

"I'm not kidding, I should have been in the cargo bay ten minutes ago!" She bypassed the service window and went to the door that normally gave her access to the arms room. When the handle didn't budge she began to shake it furiously. With real anger in her voice she spoke again. "Open this door!" She loosened the straps on her pack, ready to drop it in case she needed to fly through the window and beat the life out of him.

"I'm not kidding either, Ainsley." His trademark smile disappeared as he held a piece of paper to the window. "According to this list, soldier or not, you're attatched to the science division personnel roster. Nerds aren't on the pre-approved list for weapon withdrawal. You'd need Trixie or someone of higher rank here to authorize." he shrugged at her through the glass. "And sorry about the door, protocol has changed; it's to remain locked at all times to non arms room personnel. Security has been pretty tight ever since the whole...." What followed was what Ainsley guessed to be a crude and insensitive pantomime of the bludgeoning Sven Garret recently gave to Helmsman Naaru. Up until the discovery of a futuristic city, it was all anyone had been talking about. "The captain doesn't want any crazies getting hold of any guns."

"Johnathan." she said softly, trying a different tack. "I'm on the away team. Who knows what we'll encounter out there. Yes, there will be security, but would you feel safe out there without protection?" she reached through the service port and touched his pale clammy hand. "Johnathan, please."

Jonathan Cartwright went silent. Ainsley could almost smell the tang of the rust that fell away from the dusty seldom-used gears that began to turn in his over-sized head. She briefly toyed with the idea of putting him in a wrist lock before he finally came to a decision. "Alright... You can have my sidearm." He unfastened the holster from his leg and belt strap and handed the whole set to her through the porthole. When she reached for it he put his hand on top of hers. "Ainsley, I could get in a whole load of trouble for this, I need you to promise th--"

She snatched the gun and took off down the hall.

"I promise!"

***************************************************************************************

The cargo bay was controlled chaos. Ship security, Quarantine personnel, and a few others needed to write her name down on several different lists before she was admitted to approach the exit doors, where most of the departure groups were already formed.

Ainsley spotted Dr Solomon, the Arcanian linguistics professor she'd been translating documents for for the past few months, and she fell in line with him. The vice captain waited impatiently nearby.

 

Geof had been lost in his studies and his training with Integra. He had barely ventured out of the library since the incident, other than to meet with Integra so that she could train him to control his "ability."

Slowly but surely he was gaining some control over the crackling, buzzing sensation that filled his skull every time he was near something that may have been... what? What was the right word? Magical? Otherworldly? He didn't know. This entire experience had left him confused and questioning.

He had been worried about Tessa as well, but had been so wrapped up in his own problems that he hadn't been able to visit her. He would have to do something about that soon...

But at the moment, he had been selected to be part of the research team that went down to the city. He arrived early to the bay. He wore a long desert cloak over his normal clothes, and had his messenger bag slung over his shoulder as usual. He was in the far end of the bay when he saw Integra come in and stalk about impatiently. She scared him lately. Her intensity and resolve to solve the mysteries of the desert were bordering on an obsession now, and he was afraid of the path that that would lead her down. Something told him that some of the mysteries here were better left alone.

Like, whatever had caused those corpses to reanimate... Or this city to be abandoned. There was a strong sense of dread growing within Geof, and he almost wished that he had never agreed to this expedition. Almost. Still his curiosity egged him on though, that morbid, dreadful curiosity. Combine that with the energies he could sense swirling around them, it was almost more than he could bear even after Integra's training, and Geof was trapped between his desire for knowledge and his fear of the unknown.

"Vice-Captain," he said finally, stepping out from behind the crate that had blocked her vision of him. "Do you sense anything here?" he asked in a hushed voice.

 

The Guard quickly made his way through the city back to the sip, aiming to find Sabre, but to his dismay found that no matter what the others told him he always seemed to miss the other man by a few minutes. He slipped into the infirmary for a moment, but scowled when he missed Sabre yet again.


“Ah Doctor, do you happen to know where I might find Sabre? We found a library further in the city.” he said.


Johnathon had just been hurrying out of the bustling Medical Ward when the member of security spoke, but reluctantly stopped before him. His interest was perked immensely however when the man mentioned a library. He was a little disappointed that one had already been found already but quickly replaced it with the growing excitement of examining such a font of knowledge as a library.


Dropping a mental gear from thinking about the future to the present he engaged with the man.


“Mr Sabre?” he said, stroking his trimmed beard. “I swear I saw him a moment ago in here but I don’t know where he went to. He might still be around however, there was a scuffle between some crewmen, hence the bustle in here. Before you go however, you mentioned that a library had been found in the city. Could you please give me directions to it, I would very much like to see it.”



Christoph stepped out from behind one of the medical screens upon hearing his name. He'd came along to the medbay to establish why a fight had broken out and whether any further precautions needed to be taken. It was largely a waste of his time but it had at least delayed his thoughts of throwing himself off the ship to get back to the thrill of flying.



"What's the problem now?



"Ah, no problem, sir. Albion merely wanted me to tell you that you can take half the guard on the ship to stay near the researchers while Albion continues scouting." the guard replied, then turned to the doctor again. "It's near the edge of the current safe-zone, down Arnold Yegeriss Avenue and on the right by the fountain."



Johnathon nodded, and restrained himself as his foot itched towards the door. Instead of flurrying to the exit however he calmly turned to Christoph. “Mr Sabre, a pleasure as always. It appears we are heading in the same direction, shall we walk together?”



Christoph was relieved to hear there wasn't another disturbance on the ship. Better yet the invitation to escape the Feyfalken was a very welcome one. It was strange how he could put up with a month on board but the moment people disembarked he began to feel terribly claustrophobic and started counting the seconds where he couldn't be out exploring and seeing new scenery that wasn't viewed from several hundred feet in the air.



"Thanks for relaying the news." He clapped the messenger on the shoulder as he set off to the cargo bay to organise the rest of the security team. The doctor fell into pace with him as he spoke to the man.



"Of course, it's always a pleasure to have good company. How has the medbay been treating you this week? For a crew confined to a couple of hundred feet we sure seem to have a fair need for the medbay."


Johnathon chuckled. “Yes for a supposed scientific venture there sure has been a lot of bloodshed.” He paused as they stepped to the side of a group of crewmen who hurried by. “However things have quietened down lately, not including the aftermath of that scuffle you saw my team treating. But enough about me, how have you been? Enjoying your new position?”



"Would it sound crazy if I said this job was a bit too quiet for my taste? I having thrown myself head long off an airship or a building properly for months or been under fire. This is probably the tamest thing I've done all year even accounting for an undead attack. Or perhaps I shouldn't say that before you get me committed on grounds of insanity." He flashed a smile at the doctor as they disembarked the ship with half the security detail and set a fast walk following the directions towards the library.



"As for the promotion this is really my first opportunity to actually notice the difference apart from a bit of extra command in day to day duties that I get mainly out of respect from the appointment. For the sake of the rest of the crew over my boredom I guess we shall hope it remains largely that way."



“Don’t worry,” Johnathon snorted. “I won’t have you admitted just yet. It’s only natural to wish for excitement and blood pounding action, but when you reach my age you learn to enjoy the calm moments between storms.” The smile faded from his lips however and his look became pensive. Inevitably his thoughts had returned to his past at the notion of conflict and he struggled to keep his emotions in check. The pain he had experienced still twisting in his stomach enough to make him sick.



In the awkward silence that followed, as they passed the weird vehicles and generally strange looking things, heading deeper into the city, he was able to get himself under control. “I believe we’re here.” he said, breaking the silence as he looked across the street to their left at a grey pillared building. A wide spread of stairs leading up to its large doors which lay open.

 

"Vice-Captain," Geof said. The vice captain turned to see him step out from behind a crate and he lowered his voice as he spoke: "Do you sense anything here?"

"I don't need to open my senses to know we've stumbled upon something worthy of study," she said in a deadpan whisper, "And I hope you will reach the stage in your training where you don't need to either. We are scientists first, Geof. Remember that, always." She straightened and turned her attention to the small crowd of researchers growing around them. "Now, let's get out there and scientifically deduce the meaning of all of this."

Integra's hawkish blue gaze did a quick sweep of the gathered faces, applying names to each and gobbling up any pertinent details she spotted. The head linguist, Dr. Solomon had brought a thick portfolio of research notes; good, they might need to translate some stuff. Gravesong had a gun on her hip; good, she had the right idea. Avrin was also prepared, with his usual messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

Unfortunately, not every member of the research team was as composed and thoughtful. Dr. Kingsley, an expert on geography and ancient architecture, didn't even have a field kit! Unacceptable! Integra's eyes narrowed upon him instantly, like the sun honing in on an ant under the magnifying glass. Dr. Pearson was wearing the wrong shoes entirely and Dr. Cheshire looked like he'd just woken up from an all-night bender.

Do they think this is a game? Integra thought, outraged. She was becoming rather tired of these researchers. Half of them were exceptional. The other half… well, let's just say she wouldn't complain if they took a long step off the catwalk at ten thousand feet.

She paced in front of her gathering of 'intellectuals,' like a general addressing the troops before battle, and delivered the ultimatum. "Avrin, move a little to the left," she said, with a flick of her wrist. "You too, Dr. Chambers. Step over here." The two men inched a little to the side, closer to Ainsley, the linguist, and one of her favorite botanists.

"The rest of you," she said to everyone on the right side, "get lost. These six will be enough. I want the laboratories cleaned and ready for when we return. You have your orders. Shoo."

Simple as that, their group of twelve became six. Her tolerance for half-assedness had finally reached its limit. The left-behinds grumbled as they slunk away, muttering curses under their breath.

"Now, let's go," Integra said as she checked the knife and pistol on her hip before lifting her large pack and turning toward the exit. "Try to keep up."

 

“This is ridiculous.” Tessa huffed stepping out of the cargo bay. A heavy mesh of bandages still sat neatly on her head and she winced sensitively at the evening sun’s glare.

“What is?” Trixy asked staying close to Tessa’s side.

“This.” Tessa pointed at the minimal personal space between them. “I feel like a damned child. Do you see anybody else here tied up with a bodyguard?”

The clearing where the Feyfalken had landed was taken shape pretty quickly, swiftly becoming the main base of operations for the Aeterians. The bridge was littered with large olive tents and crates of all shapes and sizes, each loaded out by greasy labourers. There were a number of security checkpoints along the bridge leading into the floating city, with solid barricades to prevent another Black Forest incident.

It actually surprised her to see how serious Dorian had taken set up, but quickly remembered that Integra was also on this mission. Regardless, the heightened security meant that Tessa would have even more trouble gaining access to the city. Especially with the human ankle weight accompany her.

“I don’t need a bloody babysitter.” She moaned, throwing her hands down by her side before crossing them into her chest tightly. It was at that moment a huge, lumbering shadow loamed over her, casting out all light and warmth and leaving her in darkness. A heavyset labourer passed the pair idly, carrying a large steel box in his hands. He stopped in confusion, turning to see Trixy standing there with her curvaceous figure and big smile, while another woman cowered behind her, shivering and wide eyed. He waited for a moment with a dumb look on his face, then shrugged and moved on.

“Ehem…err…I…um…” Tessa slunk out from behind Trixy red faced, her eyes still locked on the departing labourer.

"Listen." Trixy sighed, crossing her arms across her chest. "I don't like it any more than you do. But you need a bodyguard and I have to follow orders. So, lets make the most of it, shall we? I can teach you poker, you can...I don't know...what can you do besides fly the ship?"

“Poker? Poker!?” Tessa shoved a palm into her own face. “There’s a fantastical floating city literally a bridge length away and you want to play poker? Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Trixy huffed in frustration. “My sense of adventure got put on the back burner when you were dumped on me. Orders forbid you from entering the city.”

“You’re wearing your uniform like that” She pointed at Trixy’s exposed cleavage, “but you want to follow orders?” Tessa paced on the black hard top of the bridge, cautiously avoiding any of the larger workers. “So…” She started, “Neither of us wants to be stuck on the bridge. And I don’t have access off this blasted thing… but you do.” Tessa stopped in front of Trixy, smiled and poked her in the arm. “How strong are you feeling today?”

------------

Trixy pushed a large crate, on a cart, down the ramp and off the ship. She hummed happily to herself as they approached the first security checkpoint leading into the city.
"Hold up!" A guard said, signaling Trixy to stop. He held a variety of papers and a writing utensil in his hand.
"What's in the crate?" He asked, though his eyes were on her cleavage rather than the wooden box.
"Oh, just some supplies the research team needs." Trixy crooned, running her fingers across the rose tattoo on her collar-bone. "Some axes, rope, cataloging supplies, food, fuel for the lanterns...."
"Well, I need to look in the crate, Miss. Vice-Captain's orders."
"It was the Vice-Captain who told me to bring the crate down. You know how she is, all uptight and always in a hurry." Trixy pouted and began to play with the buttons on the guards shirt while moving in close. "I swear, she's probably never even been with a man the way she goes on and on about rules and regulations, disciplinary marks and what-not."

She sighs and a small tear forms at the corner of her eyes. "If I don't get this crate to the team in next five minutes she's going to rip me a new one and I'm honestly not sure I can handle it right now. You know how long an inspection takes. Opening the crate, taking everything out, putting it back in, closing it back up again...then having to do the same damn thing all over again when I hit the next checkpoint or when I get to the research team."

Trixy stared up into the guards eyes, batting her eyelashes and resting a hand on his chest. "Can you do a girl a favor and let her through. Just this once? She might be so inclined to repay the favor..."
The guard stared at her hungrily for a long moment then finally sighed, "All right, all right. Get on through. But don't breath a word of this to anyone. Got it?"

"Yes sir! Of course!" She flashes a bright smile and skips back to the crate, pushing it past the check point, swinging her hips as she goes. Trixy rounded a bend and pushed the box into an abandoned building before prying the top off with a crowbar. "Well that was fun." She said cheerily.

 

Ainsley did her best to keep her head high and move with purpose as the vice-captain readjusted the formation of researchers. The woman had a pithy, somewhat mirthless, command of language and an air that exuded much more authority than her squat frame would suggest. When she finally had the formation as she liked it, she dismissed half the group... just like that.

"Now, let's go," Integra said as she checked the knife and pistol on her hip before lifting her large pack and turning toward the exit. "Try to keep up."

"Ten pounds of feisty bitch in a five pound bag, that one." Dr Solomon whispered in that smug, silvery voice of his . He followed the statement with a good natured elbow that hit Ainsley in the breast. Somehow she didn't think it was an accident. "But the lady recognizes true talent when she sees it, i'll give her that." His chin was held high and for the first time since Ainsley knew him, he seemed to be in good spirits. "Come now. Keep up, Gravesong, don't doddle." he patted his leg as if he were gesturing for a dog. High spirits or not, the man was still a condescending, chauvinist dick.

"Prepare to take notes. I want my first impressions documented for posterity. We're about to make history, Gravesong. Literally. I shall play the role of it's author, and you it's scribe." Dr. Solomon cleared his voice. " Ready? Begin. Led by the fearless vice-captain of the glorious Feyfalken vessel, the greatest minds ever assembled took their first steps out into unknown territory..."

Solomon rattled on as Ainsley pulled a small notepad and pencil from a cargo pocket and pretended to take notes. The vice captain led them through the the first few checkpoints. For the first time in what seemed like years, Ainsley felt the sweet kiss of a natural breeze on her face. She hungrily drank from her new surroundings with all five of her senses. Any new sensory information was welcome. Anything that broke the monotony of the airship's incessant creaks, howls, and vibrations and the constant sound of Dr. Solomon's voice. When the man didn't have her on some tedious errand to translate some dusty old Arcanian tome, he had her standby with writing utensils as he droned on and on about possible meanings for some obscure Arcanian symbol or idol or something. He never missed an opportunity to remind her of just how fortunate she was to be aiding him in his "important research" when she "wasn't even a scientist." It was true, she wasn't a scientist, she was just a soldier who happened to be able to speak Arcanian and had a storied history in the field of linguistics-- though her contribution was more as a research subject than expert-- but he didn't have to be a jerk about it.

Solomon continued to dictate as Integra led them through shadows of huge steel and glass structures at a brisk pace. The group barely had time to finish marvelling at one thing before some new and exciting structure or technology stole their attentions. Ainsley was furiously sketching outlines in her notepad, getting down the basic shapes, so she could complete the drawings from memory later. She was drawing the odd poles that seemed to be on ever corner of every intersection when she noticed a strange pattern.

"The street names." Ainsley said pensively.

"Hmm?" Dr Solomon said, angry at the interruption. "What was that? You've derailed my train of thought. Read that last bit back to me."

"The street names." she said again. "They're the same as in downtown Holdenheim. How is this possible?"

"Hmm? Oh that... Well, the prevailing theory is that the city in which we now find ourselves is Holdenheim. Holdenheim from another time, of course. The future to be specific. I'm sure that will be determined easily enough once we get around to the library. Now, if you'll just read that last bit back to me..." he said, circling his hand in the air.

"Wait. There's a library?"

"Ainsley." he only called her that when he was frustrated with her; which happened to be very often. He drew a long breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. He stood still for a second with his eyes closed, and then suddenly his mood seemed to shift. When he spoke again there was no trace of irritation in his voice, but it was thick with condescension. "I'm sorry for being so insensitive. I can't imagine what it must be like for a layman such as yourself to be at the forefront of such cutting edge scientific discovery. But you must learn to contain your excitement and conduct yourself in the appropriate manner. I'll not have you embarrass me, understand?" He smiled and snaked an arm around her. "And to answer your question: Yes there is a library. And soon hundreds of years of knowledge and research will be at our fingertips."

"There's only one thing I want to know." Ainsley said, deftly escaping his embrace with a ballerina-like twirl.

"One thing?" Dr Solomon asked, disgusted. "What one piece of knowledge could be--"

"I want to know if the Feyfalken makes it back." she said, her eyes flitting from Dr Solomon to the Vice Captain. "Otherwise, what's the point?"

 

There was something majestic about an abandoned city. It was eerie, in many ways, but once Dorian was able to ignore the morbidity of it all, he found beauty in this “New Holdenheim.” It had a feel not unlike the city he knew and loved. The aura of an Aeternian capital was still there. He felt a kinship with this place, as if he belonged here.

This was proof. More than any map, these feelings were proof that this was Holdenheim. It made no sense. He couldn’t explain the how or the why, but he just knew he was right where he needed to be.

After the checkpoints were set up, he wandered off alone. Well, wandering off alone was not allowed, even for the captain. He wandered off with a small two security personnel but, the moment he put some distance between himself and the checkpoints, he asked them to “go check out that building over there.” Like good little lemmings, the two men obeyed.

Dorian did, however remain in the street, where he could easily be seen. He wanted a moment to himself, but was wise not to put himself in a situation where others couldn’t find him, if needed. So, while the two soldiers scouted out an empty department store on the corner, he took a lazy stroll around the block, with his hands in his pockets, enjoying the sights.

Speaking of enjoyable sights, it was here that he spotted Trixianne rolling a heavy cart down the street, with a crate on it. How the laborers let her pass without offering assistance was something Dorian couldn’t understand., Men could be so dense sometimes! Never one to ignore a damsel in need of a strapping man, he doubled his steps and began to close the distance.

She disappeared inside an empty building. He and the security team had scouted it out earlier; it was a hotel, by the looks of it, at least a dozen stories high. Needless to say, they hadn’t searched every room. I wonder what she’s up to in there? He thought as he entered. By the time he arrived on the scene, Trixy had pried the lid off of her crate and seemed to be speaking to the contents.

Well, she is the quartermaster after all, he thought. I suppose all of those long hours handling gear and equipment has taken its toll. Look at the poor girl, talking to a crate of spare parts as if -- HOLY SHIT THERE’S BODY IN THERE!!

To his relief, it wasn’t a dead body. Dorian lightly cleared his throat and tried not to look like a moron as he stepped into the room where Trixy was helping Tessa out of the crate. "Ah, it must be my birthday," Dorian said, announcing his presence. "I prefer my gift boxes wrapped in colorful paper and the beautiful woman inside wrapped in nothing, but I'll make an exception, just this once."

He winked at Trixy before offering a hand to Tessa. “May I, milady?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The vice-captain listened to the conversation between Dr. Solomon and Gravesong with only mild interest. Calling it a conversation might be too kind to Solomon, a man far too enamored with the sound of his own voice. Integra was tempted to order him to shut up; the only thing stopping her was a nagging suspicion that this might be considered an abuse of power.

"There's only one thing I want to know," Ainsley said in response to the linguist’s desire to devour every morsel of knowledge the library had to offer. "I want to know if the Feyfalken makes it back. Otherwise, what's the point?"

“Admittedly, I am dying to know as well,” the vice-captain said, without missing a step or slowing her pace. A glint in the corner of her eye was the only indication that she’d been watching Ainsley and Solomon all along, waiting for one of them to say something she could swoop down upon and sink her talons into.

“Did you know most Arcanian mages believe time, in Transmundus, is nonlinear? A moment in time there is like a point in space, no different from the X, Y, and Z coordinates on a map,” she explained. “But unlike the material plane, where time moves forward at a constant rate and cannot bet traversed faster, slower, or in reverse, time there is merely another direction of travel and can be navigated as easily as we are walking these streets now.”

“Who cares what Arcanians believe?” one of the researchers said. “They’ll believe anything. I find their mythology fascinating but, let’s be honest, they’re a people fond of making shit up as it suits them… no offense Ainsley.”

“You, sir, have missed the point,” Integra said, pausing to give him a cold stare before turning to ascend the stone steps of the library. Once the group had triumphantly arrived atop the landing, and stood before the doors, between the gray columns, she looked to Ainsley once more. “We are here to move past the age of believing and into the age of knowing… even the things once believed to be beyond our comprehension.” Her gaze flickered to Geof momentarily before settling on the woman again.

“Those same Arcanian mages believe there is a permeable barrier between this world and Transmundus, that the two are somehow linked,” Integra said, as if growing tired of this topic of discussion. “I suppose what I’m trying to say is even if we don’t make it back, that doesn’t mean we didn’t make it back, if you follow my meaning.” The eerie smile she gave could scare the scales off a snake.

“Anyway, knowledge awaits,” Integra said as she pushed through the doors. “Let us leave our beliefs here. Spread out and gather anything of scientific value. Leave a note of every book's original location, so our acquisitions officer can do his job.” She didn’t have to look at Edward Seymour to make it clear those last words were more threat than warning.

 

"Leave a note of every book's original location, so our acquisitions officer can do his job.” The vice captain didn't have to look at Edward to make it clear those last words were more of a humble request than an order.

"Don't worry darling," Edward smiled gallantly at Integra. His advice was sound; from a top-down perspective, Edward was qualified for his position. Being from a similar socioeconomic position as Integra, Edward was educated, naturally inquisitive, privileged, and thoroughly refined. He'd studied at several academies (although the number of academies from which he'd graduated was significantly smaller) and spent a fair amount of time studying relics (although these studies were frequently "particularly impressive crazy kool undertakings (of) polished, literate, intelligent, (and) nebulous education"s). In addition, were Edward in Integra's position, he would most certainly not experience any concern towards his own performance as idiosyncratic acquisitions specialist. All of this summed up to validate his advice that Integra should, indeed, not worry. "You know I'll do my best."

Integra's withering glare suggested otherwise.

Careful not to be misunderstood, Edward clarified. "Doing my job. I'll do my best doing my job." His smile was suffering beneath the Integra's fury which roughly equated the burning of a billion suns. "Like I always do. You know." It was sheepish by this point and dangled on the verge of drooping into a childish pout. "I'll be inside if you need me." Edward shuffled into the library and started rifling through a bookshelf labeled in large, block lettering: FICTION.

 

Vlad was busy jotting down what they had already found when he heard the click of boots heading his way. The stride was different than what he was used to hearing from the passing guard, and when he looked up and spied Dr Johnathon and Sabre heading towards him his lips quirked in a smile. “I didn’t expect you along, doctor.” he said. “But don’t take my surprise as an offense. In fact I should have expected one of you to end up down here as soon as word got out.”

Johnathon smiled in response, pausing for a moment to stare fascinated at the rows and rows of books stacked on their shelves while Christoph greeted Mr Albion. After they had exchanged a few words he finally mustered the will to tear his eyes away, resting them on Vlad. “Mr Albion,” he said as he approached. His head beginning to throb. “This place is marvellous, I.” he paused as his throbbing head worsened with each step towards Vlad. Moving from barely noticeable to a full blown headache after moving to a few paces from the head of Security.

Frowning, Johnathon raised a hand to his temple, lowering his head as he tried to push the pain away. It was more difficult than he was used to but after a small moment he had partial success and was able to lower his hand and look up again at Vlad. He didn’t know how, or why, but he was sure Vlad was the cause of the now dull ache in his head.

“Are you okay?” Vlad’s brows drew together at the man’s reaction and he took a step closer to Johnathon, but when he saw the man wince he took that same step back. He bit his lip. He’d been able to hide what was wrong with him for the last week, but was that a bad thing to do? He felt no urge to sleep, and no longer felt tired even after a hard workout. It had taken every ounce of the actor he could conjure to make himself look that way, but he wasn’t ready to bring up the subject with anyone- especially since he doubted that anyone else believed in Magic.

What is wrong with me? He tried to hide it, but he couldn’t mask the slight tinge of fear in his eyes.

A tinge that Johnathon didn’t fail to notice. “I’ll be fine.” he said, Vlad’s reaction confirming his suspicions. He was certain as well though that Vlad wasn’t intentionally causing the headaches. “A better question though is whether you are okay? Because while from a distance you seem fine, standing here in front of you I can see you’re wired to all hell. And while it hurts to try,” he said scrunching up his brow in concentration.” I can tell you energy seems to be just radiating off you, though I don’t even know myself how I know that. It’s giving me a headache.”

Vlad rubbed at his forehead. So he’d been found out. It had made him wonder how long it would take before someone noticed. He just hadn’t expected it in this manner. “Honestly I’m not sure. I feel fine, but I’m…” he sighed. “I haven’t slept in over a week. I can’t explain how, or why, but I have. Every time I try to sleep I end up jolting awake as if struck by lightning. I haven’t told anyone or gone to see you because it hasn’t really done anything negative. But lately I’ve been getting more stressed out and now I find it hard to even sit still for a few minutes at a time. It’s just… this is so silly in a way I thought if I just let it be it might go away.” he was careful to hold his tongue that he believed in magic, and that magic had something to do with this at all, but he was just as clueless there.

“Interesting.” Johnathon replied, scratching his beard. “I would say some sort of insomnia if it wasn’t for the lack of any fatigue. Tell me, when did these symptoms first began to appear?"

The doctor watched as Vlad's face turned a shade of grey. "Right after the Black Forest Incident."

 

"Doing my job. I'll do my best doing my job." Edward said. "Like I always do. You know... I'll be inside if you need me."

"I won't," she murmured under her breath as she held the door for him to enter. She didn't intend for him to hear it but, frankly, she didn't care if he did. Integra always catalogued her own specimens and samples. Even though Edward's good-for-nothing chickenscratch notes were what went into the ship's official logs, she had always felt they --and the man who wrote them-- were worth less than the ink and paper wasted upon him.

Once inside the library, the researchers began to branch off, each going their separate ways, some in pairs, some alone. Integra left her sheep to pasture and went her own way, meandering through the tall cases of books, like a bespectacled minotaur becoming accustomed to its maze.

On an adjacent aisle, she caught wind of Dr. Kane's voice. She wasn't sure if it was the quiet of the library or the fact that the man was probably accustomed to barking out orders to an army of medics amidst the din of battle, but she heard him quite clearly. The sound was soon joined by Vladimir's voice; the two men were conversing.

The vice captain was making her way toward the "history" section, but decided to make a slight detour. She wasn't eavesdropping, mind you. Such behavior would be far beneath her. She was a Lancaster, after all, and Lancasters don't eavesdrop... they have people for that. In any case, her tiny footfalls were unnaturally quiet on the library's carpeted floors, which were covered in either dust or aging mold. She couldn't tell which.

So, Albion, the great tactician, the Emperor's golden boy, hadn't slept in a week? Well, that's not the sort of thing the head of security should be keeping to himself. Lucky for him, snitching would also be unbecoming of a Lancaster. What she found more interesting was Vladimir's insinuation that he didn't need sleep.

He's having a reaction, she thought. Avrin, Kane, and now Albion. The list is growing.

Under any other circumstances, on any other ship, Integra Lancaster, black sheep of the Lancaster dynasty, would be pleased by this revelation. But the Feyfalken wasn't just any ship and the Sands wasn't just any place. She rememebered the Arcanian mages, their bodies dead in the sand, strafed by burns. These men's sensitivity put them in danger; it might even be putting the entire ship in danger.

How long before she takes notice? Integra thought as she made her way toward the history section, quiet as a mouse. What if she already has?

She could just go down to engineering and ask her directly... but that, too, would be unbecoming of a Lancaster.

 

Huge levitanium signs floated untethered over the many sections of the library. Although they were covered in dust, they were still readable thanks to the beveled lettering. Ainsley now stood under a sign that read 'History', and was surrounded on all sides by many a dusty volume. The selection of books was vast, probably numbering in the tens of thousands in the history section alone. The researchers could likely spend their entire lifetimes in this oasis and and still die thirsty of the full breadth of knowledge contained in these walls.

Ainsley knew what she was looking for, but had no clue how she would find it. There was no library staff to help her, and although the books where arranged alphabetically by author's names, she had no knowledge of future authors, nor their areas of expertise. At first she went from aisle to aisle, hoping to chance upon a book with 'Feyfalken' in the title, but quickly realized how stupid a tactic that was. She paused to think for a moment. If the Feyfalken made it back from the Sands, it would have been the first vessel in history to do so. The crew would be famous. Many of them would have written books of their accounts, especially the researchers. Especially the head researcher.

When she reached the L section, she found that there was literally a wall of books dedicated to Lancasters. It seemed their fame in all matters scientific had persisted in future years as she ran a hand over the many dust covered spines to reveal the titles. Advances In Engineering, A Brief History of Engineering, Breaking Ground in the Field of Science and Technology, blah blah blah. A few more minutes of searching finally yeilded the title she'd been hoping to find, or not find, considering the circumstances. Ainsley's breath stalled as she slid a copy of Feyfalken: The Lost Expedition, by Constance Lancaster from it's home on the shelf, nestled between a few other copies of the same title.

Her eyes darted around as she hugged the book close to her chest. Satisfied that she was alone, she ran down the aisle, away from the entryway and group of researchers, until she found a study area with wooden chairs and tables, naturally lit by a large eastern facing window. She placed the book on the table and drew a long breath before she finally dropping her pack and taking a seat. She steeled her nerves and began flipping through the pages.

The appendix revealed that the book had been written almost 150 years after the Feyfalken had departed for the Sands. There was a long dedication, in which Constance Lancaster waxed poetic about her ancestor Integra Lancaster and her contributions to the fields science of engineering. The first chapter spoke of the how the project almost never came to be, and mostly concerned itself with the behind the scenes negotiations between the civilian scientists and military leaders and their unconventional, somewhat controversial, choice to have a mixed crew.

There was a chapter dedicated to the crew members themselves, in which Constance had painstakingly gathered information and black and white pictures of almost everyone aboard the Feyfalken, from lowliest crewman to the captain himself. Constance composed beautiful and detailed stories of each crewman and their origins to accompany the photos, but Ainsley didn't stop to read them. She did, however, breifly pause and grimace at a picture of herself that had been taken at the asylum in which she sat, legs crossed, on a table in ratty clothing with a quizzical look on her face, as a group of scientists surrounded her and offered her small pieces of banana as reward for reading simple words from a flashcard. The caption beneath the picture read: "Wild child Ainsley Gravesong reads for bananas, unaware of her contribution to the burgeoning science of language acquisition."

The Next chapter dealt with the schematics of the Feyfalken, It's cutting edge design and how many future airships took cues from it's clever use of levantite and 2 engine, 3 prop design components. There were many pictures, some were original pencil sketchings. Some were black and white photos of the ships dramatic revealing and launch days. Some were amazingly detailed color photos of similar airships, and some were, what were called, computer rendered recreations.

The next chapter was titled 'Mystery Within' and dealt with the mysterious inner workings of the ship. This chapter spoke of how the the main engine schematics of the Feyfalken had been classified and kept from public knowledge. At first, this seemed as if it was a patent issue, which allowed inventors to keep secret their inventions for a time until their discoveries could be exploited by their creators to maximum financial and scientific advantage, but when the secrecy persisted well past the limits of patent law, people became suspicious. This led all manner of conspiracy theories to surround the military and the Lancasters, many of the theories indicting the leadership with the criminal charge of using magic, which would explain the Feyfalken's unprecedented leaps forward in terms of airship capabilities.

Ainsley thought back to the few conversations she'd had with the engineering staff aboard the Feyfalken. No one had mentioned anything about certain components being classified, let alone magical. She put her head in her hands and tried to make sense of all the information she'd just absorbed, when was struck with the sudden feeling that she was being watched. She bolted upright and shoved the book in her pack before standing and checking her surroundings.

"Who's there?" she demanded, reaching for her sidearm, expecting nothing less than a horde of librarian zombies.

 

“I could’ve sworn I saw you over there a moment ago,” the vice captain said, nodding toward the history section as she emerged from the bookcases and approached airman Gravesong. Her eyes briefly scanned the immediate area, as if searching for a book or some conceivable way Ainsley might have found such information. When no book was found, she turned her gaze to the woman herself -- but not before briefly flitting to Ainsley’s pack, lying on the table.

Integra stood before Ainsley, folded her arms across her chest, and squared her stance. It was rare she actually had to try to look imposing, but Ainsley was something of a freak of nature. She was slightly taller than most women and Integra was slightly shorter. She was noticeably more toned than most, while Integra was fashionably thin. But both had a presence. Integra suddenly found herself acutely aware of this, perhaps even threatened by it.

For someone who’d been around machines and scientific apparatuses all her life, and came from a family with a long history in engineering, Integra just didn’t know how to react to these ‘outdoorsy’ types. People were meant to live in cities, sheltered behind walls of bricks and swathed in layer upon layer of manufactured fabrics. We don’t navigate by the stars; we have compasses for that, you fool. Technology and science were the only claws and fangs she needed. Anything less was just plain uncivilized.

Ainsley Gravesong was, for lack of a better word, kind of a savage.

But we can fix that… with SCIENCE!

The vice captain steeled herself, and inched her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Is there a reason you just ran across my library like a startled deer, Miss Gravesong, or is that just something you do… not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she said.

 

I could’ve sworn I saw you over there a moment ago,” the vice captain said, nodding toward the history section as she emerged from the bookcases and approached airman Gravesong.

"Ma'am." Ainsley said, standing up a little straighter, arms at her side, as she gracefully settled into a relaxed version of the position of attention. She'd been drilled thousands of times on the traditionally mechanical Air Naval snapping movements, but the lessons never seemed to take. Her body seemed incapable of moving so unnaturally, plus Dorian's ultra-relaxed atmosphere aboard the Feyfalken had her woefully out of practice.

Ainsley's eyes met Integra's as the two seemed to size each other up for a bit. She'd had very few interactions with the vice-captain, never alone, and honestly hadn't constructed much of a concept of her as a person. She made a mental note to go back and read the vice-captain's origin story in the book she'd found.

“Is there a reason you just ran across my library like a startled deer, Miss Gravesong, or is that just something you d0?" the vice captain said, making it clear that she had read Ainsley's file. "not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she added carefully.

Ainsley had grown accustomed to the frequent and subtle insults from Aeternians, after all, scientists weren't exactly the most empathetic of people. They spent their entire lives worshipping at the altar of science, filtering everything through the scientific method, even human interaction, forgetting that the whole purpose of the scientific method was to eliminate the human element from one's perspective of reality. The model made them all incredibly fruitful in their scientific endeavors, but outside of work, everyone seemed to be in a constant state of bickering due to how harshly they treated each other.

"Coop yourself up in a cramped research room with Dr. Solomon for, god knows how many days, and see if you don't make a run for it first chance you get." Ainsley said in her lilting rasp, her sharp features seeming to soften as she smiled. "Actually, ma'am, there's something I want to show you." She turned and fished the book out of her pack and placed it back on the table, motioning for the vice-captain to approach.

"I found a book written by one of your future relatives. From what I've seen so far, it's really an excellent read. There is a touching dedication to you, a few cute pictures of the both of us as adolescents, and then of course the terrible news that the Feyfalken and her crew never return from the Sands. Oh, and also, it says that a good portion of historians believe we were doomed from the outset because, get this, they think the ship runs on some manner of dark magic." Ainsley turned and faced the vice-captain, mercilessly scrutinizing her features, as the smile faded from her face and her voice became serious. "Crazy, right?"

 

The vice captain did not answer immediately. She took her sweet time, slowly thumbing through the pages of the book. She couldn’t care less about ‘cute pictures’ of herself or Ainsley. Her perusal took her straight to the technical matters and the smattering of schematics littering the pages of the book.

To her delight, they were all artist’s interpretation. No one besides herself and her father knew the contents of the ship’s actual blueprints. In true Lancaster fashion, he must have taken the secret to the grave.

Apparently, so had she.

“Crazy indeed,” Integra said, when her curiosity was satisfied. “The Feyfalken runs on steam, Ainsley, unless you think those laborers are shoveling coal into the boilers all day for my amusement.” Her gaze shifted from the book to airman Gravesong. “I am not amused.”

She should have stopped there. She should have returned the book and walked away. Maybe it was the Black Forest, the dead mages with the dust of depleted Philosopher’s Stones in their veins, or this city, or this library, or the conversation she’d just overheard… whatever reason, Integra felt compelled to press the issue, rather than continue sweeping it under the rug.

The rug could take no more and neither could she.

“What difference does it make?” she said, eying Ainsley very closely. “Hypothetically speaking, what difference would it make if this ship were powered by magic? What is magic? I doubt you would know it if you saw it or felt, yet here you stand, arbitrarily dividing it into subcategories: ‘dark’ magic and ‘light’ magic and whatnot.” She set the book down on the table.

“Just between you and I, do you know what I find absolutely infuriating about Aeternians? They fear what they do not know, yet they ostracize one another for touching – or even speaking of − the unknown. I commend you for even broaching the subject in my presence. You have more backbone than a thousand of my colleagues combined.”

 

“What difference does it make?” she said, eying Ainsley very closely. “Hypothetically speaking, what difference would it make if this ship were powered by magic? What is magic? I doubt you would know it if you saw it or felt, yet here you stand, arbitrarily dividing it into subcategories: ‘dark’ magic and ‘light’ magic and whatnot.” She set the book down on the table.

"What difference does it make? I suppose it would depend on your level of respect." Ainsley walked over to the window and looked out over future Holdenheim. "I know that the common consensus is that my people are a wild band of dirt worshipping idiots, who wield a force they do not understand with reckless abandon. But I, perhaps due to a certain bias, think differently. Arcanians have a deep respect for the power they wield. They do not see magic as a tool, to be used and discarded at a whim, but more as an entity in and of itself. They feel they have a relationship with it. And they understand that in that relationship, the magic is the dominant party. They use it only to supplement their daily lives, but they do not rely on it. They respect it enough to know that it is too fickle, too little understood, to be depended on." she said, her eyes tracking a bird as it streaked across her view. " So if the ship is powered by magic, if magic is somehow a necessary component of it's functioning, of our survival, then "the difference it makes" could be the difference between life and death." She turned from the window and met eyes with Integra. "Hypothetically speaking, of course."

“Just between you and I, do you know what I find absolutely infuriating about Aeternians? They fear what they do not know, yet they ostracize one another for touching – or even speaking of − the unknown. I commend you for even broaching the subject in my presence. You have more backbone than a thousand of my colleagues combined.”

Ainsley was pleasantly surprised by the way the conversation was going. Integra had a certain reputation aboard the ship of having poor social skills, and having great difficulty tolerating the presence, let alone, the ideas of others. Ainsley didn't know if the rumors were completely unfounded, or if she'd just caught the vice-captain in a rare mood, but she decided to keep pressing.

"Then perhaps you won't mind if I exhibit a bit more of my ample backbone by asking if I could keep this book. Off the record. I'd never show it to anyone, of course; as it might cause a ship-wide panic. Also, I'd appreciate it if you could just be straight with me. No hypotheticals. Vice-Captain, does our survival currently depend on magic?" Ainsley's tone was carefully controlled, almost commanding, almost the same tones Integra used herself. They both spoke as if they weren't crewmen on an Airship thousands of miles away from home. As if they hadn't been attacked by zombies or found a tome in a futuristic version of Holdenheim; a tome that spelled out their certain demise. She spoke as if she wasn't asking the vice captain to incriminate herself, disgrace her family name, and admit she might be gambling with the lives of all their crewmen. They spoke as two women with a vague notion of each other, who were trying to estimate the true value of each other's character. Ainsley didn't expect to keep the book, or to receive an answer to her second question. She could see in Integra's eyes that, she too, sensed this was the case. Ainsley had asked because she wanted Integra to know that she was unafraid to ask, and to let her know that she harbored suspicions. They stood in silence for a long moment, just looking at each other. The silence was electric.

"I'd like permission to be transferred to field cartography, Ma'am. Dr. Solomon keeps conveniently losing my transfer requests, and I figured, since I have the ship's personnel manager right here, why not ask directly?"

 

"Then perhaps you won't mind if I exhibit a bit more of my ample backbone by asking if I could keep this book. Off the record. I'd never show it to anyone, of course; as it might cause a ship-wide panic. Also, I'd appreciate it if you could just be straight with me. No hypotheticals. Vice-Captain, does our survival currently depend on magic?"

The vice captain haughtily turned up her nose. "There you go again, throwing around words you know nothing about," she said. "You are standing in a library in a future version of Holdenheim, holding a book that – by your estimation – details the outcome of a voyage that is not yet complete and you accuse me of dabbling in magic? Miss Gravesong, I will say you are sorely mistaken if you thought we could come here, to the Sands of Desolation, and not encounter things that defy understanding; I am, of course, assuming that's what your definition of 'magic' is, since you have not yet given me one.

"By this definition, once something is understood, it ceases to be magic, correct? If we are being straight with one another, I must say I am deeply offended by your insinuation that I would gamble our lives on something I do not fully understand. Even you ought to know me better than that.

"It seems your comprehension of the subject matter is just as murky as my colleagues' and, as such, breeds fear, which is the heart of irrationality. Let me repeat: this ship runs on steam. The only things it depends on are the sound minds of the men and women aboard it." She gave a dismissive gesture to the book. "Keep it. You might learn a thing or two."

"I'd like permission to be transferred to field cartography, Ma'am," Ainsley said. "Dr. Solomon keeps conveniently losing my transfer requests, and I figured, since I have the ship's personnel manager right here, why not ask directly?"

"Done," Integra said. "Anything else?"

 

The two were quiet for what felt like a long moment before Johnathon finally spoke. “If that is indeed the case, then I fear your condition may be beyond my field of expertise.” he said, evergreen eyes staring intently at Vlad. “Do you catch my meaning?”

He nodded, but his mind frantically churned through all that had happened. He hadn't been bitten, he hadn't ingested anything near those things as far as he knew. But if he was infected, was he simply the first to show signs of it?

His heart began to pound loudly in his ears, blood rushing through his veins. Vlad's whole body stiffened when the energy surged, seeking an outlet, and he grit his teeth against the strange numb feeling that crept into his limbs. What is happening to me? Am I going to turn into one of them?

A soft laugh just behind made him freeze, and he glanced to one side out of the corner of his eye. But the flickering image was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Vlad grit his teeth harder until his jaw hurt, growling against the pain-not-pain that crept up his limbs. No! I will not give in to this! Whatever foul being made this spell won't... overcome... me!

For several stense seconds he strained against the feeling that sloshed around inside him like an over-filled balloon, soon to burst from his chest. But eventually it ebbed to a more bearable level.

He sighed and slumped against the shelf to one side. "Then what happens? What can we do?"

“I don’t know.” Johnathon replied, concern written over his face. “But that doesn’t mean we’re going to give up. I don’t think you were infected by one of those things in the forest, but we can’t be sure.” Approaching Vlad he ignored the increasing pain and tried to feel his forehead for some sort of temperature, but quickly pulled his hand back as pain blossomed up his arm upon contact.

“Ouch,” he said, shaking his hand. “Is anyone else having this problem around you?”

"Not that I've seen... Vlad shook his head.

Johnathon sighed. "And I thought medicine was complicated sometimes." Clasping his hands behind his back he paced back and forth, furiously trying to see some sort of clue in Vlad's condition. Suddenly he stopped.

Slowly turning to face Vlad he looked at him closely, before nodding his head. "Your Arcanian aren't you?" he asked carefully. He was aware that ancestry amongst two warring sides was a fragile subject. "Or at least partly, no Aerternian is that pale. I would know I've lived amongst both sides."

 

"Done," Integra said. "Anything else?"

"No, Maam. Thank you." Ainsley stowed the book in her pack, and slung a strap over her shoulder, intending to flee the dust choked library, but the vice captains words started to eat at her pride. Ainsley didn't consider herself stupid, yet at some point everyday one scientist or another felt the need to insinuate that she didn't know what she was talking about. She didn't expect such treatment from the vice captain, though she knew Integra's response may have been spurred by her own clumsy accusations. She knew she was overreacting, but she flopped her pack back down in the chair and proceeded to let her temper get the best of her.

"Actually there is something else."Her voice sounded more irritated than she would have liked it to, but she prided herself on maintaining enough control to, at least, not raise her voice . "My study of magic is admittedly probably a lot more limited than yours, but I'd like to clarify what I mean when I use the term. I've studied the subject exclusively through old Arcanian texts, mostly by a single author named Seiran Harkness. I get that having only studied a single mind on the subject hardly makes me an expert, but Seiran drew from the many great minds of his predacessors and peers, so, up until this point, I felt pretty confident that I'd had a decent grasp of things. Most of the writing I've read agrees that "magic" deals with the flux between the two known planes of existence, and the barrier that separates them, so whether these forces are understood or not, anything to do with the interaction between these three forces would still be considered magic, by that definition. I admit I am completely ignorant about what Aeternian science has to say concerning magic, seeing as I was under the impression that tampering with the flux between forces was illegal for anyone without consent from the highest--" Ainsley realized she was babbling, words were coming out before she could properly parse them and, as a result, she worried she may have been mixing things up. If the vice captain had suspected her fool before, she wasn't doing anything to make matters better. She didn't understand the recent swings in her attitude. She'd intended to keep a low profile on the ship, so what was she doing arguing the specifics of magic with the Vice Captain, the second highest ranking member of the mission?

"None of this matters." she said, her tone more controlled. ""The ship runs on steam" and not some magic engine. Fine. You say it doesn't, and I believe you. In my desperation to make sense of recent events and rumor aboard the ship, I let this book seed doubt. I voiced that doubt. You explained things. If I inadvertently offended you in my attempt to gain clarity, I apologize. But, even you, must admit that the theory would have gone a long way to explain the strange occurrences aboard the ship. Anyone who knew Garret knows he would never have..." Ainsley stopped herself again. Helmsman Naaru and the vice captain both spent a lot of time on the bridge together, and Ainsley had no clue what type of relationship they had. She didn't want to risk Integra's ire by saying something insensitive about someone she might consider a friend.

"I have personal experience with, what I believe to be, beings from the other side. With magic..." She blurted out, the conversation now completely off the rails. She wished she had just left when she had the chance. Something inside her bones was telling her to defend herself, but from what, she didn't know. Her muscles tensed and her hands clenched into fists, but she never lost control of her measured tone. "In the borderlands, the place where my brother and I were orphaned, the forest communicated with us. It was our mother. It guided us and helped us survive. For years, we were safe in the most hostile of environments...safe, until I expressed my desire to leave... and then the forest tried to kill me." She must have sounded just plain crazy now, and she knew it, but the uneasy sensation urged her on. "I know how it sounds, but it's true. It explains why I tense at the very mention of magic, and why I've done everything in my power to avoid engineering. Something is happening down there, something oddly similar to what happened to me, and I find it more than a little convenient that the schematics for that area happen to be permanently classified."

 

During Ainsley’s very illuminating rant, the vice captain’s face remained a study in stoicism. She neither blinked nor flinched. It is highly unlikely she even breathed. The very blood in her veins and the heart in her chest --cold and frigid as it was-- waited patiently until airman Gravesong had sang her last. Only then did the vice captain hike her tiny spectacles up the brim of her nose, as she always did, and lightly clear her throat.

“So, let me make sure we’re clear,” she began. “First, you accuse me of fashioning a ship that runs on ‘magic.’” She said the word as if they were talking about some alien concept, not something they’d just been speaking pass one another about for the last five minutes. “Then, you say this ‘magical airship’ --which I made-- is trying to kill us all. Then, you inform me you’ve reached this conclusion because of an ‘otherworldly’ encounter you had in the backwater wilderness of whatever mossy rock you crawled out from.”

Integra paused to give Ainsley a moment to admire her ability to push those glasses another fraction of an inch higher, despite them never slipping down the bridge of her nose. That alone was a magical act, worthy of full-throated accusations of witchcraft.

“Ainsley Gravesong, this is either a sick joke and you’ve grossly overestimated my capacity for humor or you’re being honest and I’ve grossly overestimated your capacity for rational thought.” She turned, as if to leave, but paused. “Stay away from engineering,” she warned. “Whatever’s going on down there --and I am not saying anything is-- it cannot be healthy for someone of your proclivities. You would do well to keep such insinuations to yourself. Weak minds, like brittle twigs, break the loudest and burn the fastest.”

Without another word, she turned and strode away, with such vigor and faux-poise it could only be perceived as a retreat, not a triumphant march, and did not stop until a dozen aisles and a thousand tomes stood between her and Ainsley. Only then did the vice captain stop, put her back to the wall and bury her ashen face in her hands.

“Dammit,” she murmured into her palms as her back slid down the wall until she was nearly sitting on the floor. After a string of muffled expletives, many of them in tongues half of the research team had never heard and never would, she pulled herself together. She was a Lancaster, dammit. First Dorian, now Ainsley, too? These damned people, with their inquiries, investigations, and accusations. Everyone thinks they’re a goddamned detective! These plebes were throwing pebbles at the throne. They had no idea who they were fucking with. Let them come. Let them all come.

Reina Integra Lancaster grabbed the nearest book, she didn’t care which, and buried her nose in it, pretending to read while she plotted her next move. A family of architects, engineers, and masterminds… she could easily best an idiot captain and a monkey-girl.

 

Vlad went stiff as a board, his complexion greying out again. How this man could figure things out so quickly unnerved him, but he quickly realized that as a doctor Kane must have learned many things and was able to read people better than they thought.
Christoph was becoming increasingly more uncomfortable as the conversation progressed. He didn't feel part of their exchange but at the same time didn't feel right just walking off. The more he heard the more doubts that crept into his mind and now he wanted private conversations with both the doctor and Vlad but without the other present. What Vlad had told him before stepping off the ship was concerning enough given how ambiguous it had been but now that he knew Vlad was experiencing some sort of medical condition... could he just follow the man down a dangerous road? Would Vlad act in his best interests or could his lack of sleep compromise him in some way?

Dr Kane's question had caught Vlad off guard and this seemed as good an oppurtunity to excuse himself. Perhaps Vlad would feel more at ease discussing this new experience without him present, but that didn't mean he would let him off the hook when he found a moment with him next.

"It seems you have some more pressing concerns to discuss before briefing me. I'm going to check the rest of this place over and what the others are upto." He turned to the doctor for a moment. "Any problems just shout." If Vlad was affecting the Doctor he would have to observe if anyone else acted strangely around Vlad. Not quite the security issue he was used to.

Sabre met Vlad's gaze again for a moment. "Your not off the hook that easily though. You know I'm going to be questioning you after this." He tried to force a smile but some of his concern probably slipped through. Vlad smiled a bit and waited until the other Defense Coordinator had vanished around the corner. Then he turned back to Kane.

When Vlad finally spoke, his voice was low, heasitant. "It's from my mother's side. Her name was Evelynn Swift. Also known by the Empire as Swiftblade." with a faint rasp, he pulled a strange dagger from it's hilt under his shirt. The blade gleamed an almost transparent white, its jagged edge curving at the end like a cruel fang. A ghostblade. Anassassin's blade.

Vlad twirled the dagger on one finger with practiced skill. "This is one of a pair she gave to me before she died. As a half-breed, she feared that I would be found out and killed because of it. She had my father send me to boarding school to learn self defense, but she also trained me herself whenever she could." An ironic smile tweaked his lip. "I don't think she'd planned on me defending others instead."

The blade rasped back to its hiding place. "In all sense of the word, i am an assassin myself. And I won't lie, i consider myself Arcanian, as well as Aeternian. But that does not mean i will simply stab someone in the back without good reason. I came on this job as a protector of this ship and the people on board. If anyone seeks to compromise that safety, then they will be eliminated."

"Ah." Johnathon replied, eyeing the blade. "Your Mother was the Swiftblade?" he said, making sure his voice was low. "If so she was held in high regard back in Arcania. And while I am glad we have a skilled man such as yourself watching over us, I do hope that you consider violence as the last option. I've seen enough killing in the name of a 'greater good'."

Waving his hand Johnathon continued. "Fear not however you secret is safe with me. Now the reason I asked about your nationality was due to the fact that while Aerternians are rigid in their belief of reason and science, Arcanians are much more opened minded in regards to forces that we don't understand, forces that many people might call magic." Pausing, he sighed. "Look it's a huge subject, but what I'm trying to say is that Arcanians put value in items and trinkets that may have an affinity to the forces of magic, something Aerternians would never do. Your Mother gave you that blade, Arcanian make am I right? Was that blade with you during the Black Forest Incident or anything else she might have given you? Because while I'm only guessing, if it was seen as special by the Arcanians it may have interacted with the forces there. Either that or it could be your blood." he shrugged.

Vlad considered the man's words carefully, then pulled the dagger out, as well as a second, and weighed them in his hands. He had to try something at least, but when he felt nothing particular he sheathed them again. The only other thing his mother had given him was the pin.

Carefully, almost with a fearful reverence, Vlad clasped the small egg-shaped stone between two fingers and started to undo the pin when a powerful jolt went up his arm. His whole body went stiff as a board for a second, and when the pain didn't stop he was forced to let go.

"That- it-." Then he remembered one story his mother had told him. Of how she had been like the clever fox in a book and stole from the rich to give to the poor. She had given him that stone afterwards as a present. With a sinking feeling, Vlad realized that the stone may have had more attached to it than he'd originally thought. But why?

“Judging from the way you jumped I’m guessing that small stone is responsible for your current troubles.” Johnathon said, after watching Vlad attempt to remove it. “Now that you know, what do you plan to do?”

Vlad stared at the pin on his chest for a few moments. Clearly it had stopped any attempt to remove it, and he didn't want to test any theories about what might happen if he tried anything else.

"I think the only thing i can do is wait, and see what comes of this." he said honestly.

"If you think that is the best, then it's up to you." Johnathon replied, a skeptical look on his face. "Just know that ignoring a problem is almost always going to result in it getting worse or simply not going away. Instead of doing nothing why don't you at the very least see if you can dig up any information about that stone, see if it's got any sort of history that could enlighten us about your situation."

Vlad nodded. "I'll look into it." then he sighed as he turned to walk away. "Now i have to deal with Sabre. The man may look like a fool sometimes, but his tongue is sharp as any blade when provoked." a rueful smile tugged at Vladimir's mouth, and then he'd vanished between the dusty shelves.

 

Tessa had motioned to take Dorian's hand, but she stuttered and retreated. His face was a picture of warmth and charm, locked down tightly with that devilishly roguish smile of his, yet cold pierced her heart as she stared through him. Visions of that terrible night hit her like a jab in the face and though she tried to smile and reach for his hand, she recoiled instead, flinching away at another punch of terror.

"Oh it's fine." She said, shooing his hand away and retreating in the crate. Fear tingled through her and she became careless of her surroundings, tripping backwards out of the crate. With a dull thud Tessa hit the floor and Dorian and Trixy could only stare in bewilderment.

"I'm...uh...fine." Tessa called from behind the box. She stood up rubbing the back of her head whilst trying to hide her ruby turned cheeks, avoiding all social contact with anything but the floor. Never in her life had she been racked with so much fear and embarrassment, so to try and save face she scuttled to the crate and grabbed a rifle from inside, stepping away the moment she had her hands on it. The cold touch of metal steeled her nerves and she found some strange comfort in the iron barrel and white elderwood buttstock, clutching it all in her arms so very tightly. Tessa smiled at the pair, a little wildly too, and said, "I'm fine. Fine, fine, fine. P-perfectly fine. Yup, fine. Absolutely. I am fine."

"Sure...." Trixy said sarcastically with a raised eyebrow. "You're more jittery than a school girl being asked out on a date. How about I hold that rifle for you so you don't shoot someone in the foot?"

"Or the face," Dorian murmured under his breath as he forced one of his signature everything-is-okay smiles. He couldn't quite remember when he'd stopped smiling... probably when the gun came out. He placed himself between Tessa and Trixy. "No, everything's fine," he said to the latter, though his eyes didn't leave the former. "There's nothing sexier than a pretty girl with a pretty gun. You just, umm, hang onto that., Tessa. It, uh, looks good on you, love. Very fetching."

Tessa stepped back further, the gun trembling in her delicate hands. "Look... can we just... please..." She pleaded, before hinting towards the door. "I have to search the city, I have to..." her voice trailed off and she attempted to move between Dorian and Trixy and towards the exit, expecting them to part like the sea, which to her surprise they did not. By the design I wish they would move. The pair of them were being a damn sight stubborn. Their lack of cooperation mixed with her fear and embarrassment was quickly becoming the catalyst for a new emotion.

"Look... please just move out of the way. I need to search the city." She said with increasing desperation. The city was strides away from her. She could see the evening sun glimmering under the door and Tessa stood awkwardly on her toes, reminiscent of a child staring up at an unobtainable cookie jar. They were waiting for her - they were all waiting for her. "Will you... will you... will you just get out of the way!"

The cracking voice echoed down the empty hotel corridors for an eternity and standing there in her frustration Tessa neglected to realize her swift hand cocking the rifle.

"I don't think its a good idea when you're all emotional like this." Trixy crossed her arms remaining stubbornly in place. "I helped you get out of the ship but until you show me that you can be calm and not shoot anyone in a sudden fit of panic, I'm not letting you go anywhere. I think the Captain would agree with me." She looked to Dorian for support.

"Spoken like a true bodyguard," Dorian said. The role he'd bestowed upon Trixy was twofold. She wasn't just protecting Tessa from dangerous men with big wrenches; sometimes, she had to protect Tessa from herself. "Pardon me for asking," he said, his tone very gentle as he looked into Tessa's unsteady eyes, "but what exactly are you searching the city for? We may be able to help. We're here to help."

"No, you're not." She said curtly. The barrel of the gun started to lift. "I need to search the city." She repeated with a break in her voice. "They are waiting for me, I-I have to... I have to..." Tessa was more focused now, aware of the dangers around her; the dangers standing in front of her. Why wouldn't they just let her go?

They seemed awfully intent on keeping her contained - cornered almost. First there was the bodyguard bitch sticking to her like glue and now they were trying to secure her in this miserably haunted hotel. Lock her away. Imprison her. Tessa did not like it. The very thought knocked the breath out of her lungs and she whimpered a little. It was as if she were in that shower again, all alone with nowhere to go. "Please, just move..." She stepped back even further, bouncing into the cold wall. The rifle raised up firmly into her shoulder and she aimed down the barrel at Trixy. "P-Please..."

Trixy stepped forward suddenly, simultaneously grabbing the rifle and pushing its nose towards the ceiling while shoving it against Tessa's chest and pinning her against the wall. "Listen up, water-works!" She said angry, her nose inches from Tessa's face. "This area is dangerous, just like the forest and I'm not about to let a mewling kitten wander out and get herself killed. I don't care if you're man, woman or child; you had some back-bone getting on this ship. Now, are you going to stay a whimpering wet-works or are you going to buck up and fight fear like a man?" She gave Tessa a good shove before stepping back and crossing her arms, waiting for an answer.

"Trixy's right," Dorian said reasonably, "well, except for the 'fight fear like a man part.' Frankly, I'm a man and I'm scared shitless right now so... umm..." he paused, cleared his throat, and started over. "Anyway, yeah, let's all just calm down and take things one step at a time, eh Tess? There will be plenty of time to explore. It's getting late. There's no hurry." He gestured to the dusty windows of the hotel lobby, where the late afternoon sun cast an orange glow.

"There's no time... I have to... I have to..." Her eyes were wild and she clutched the rifle tightly. Trixy bore over her with a brooding mother like glare, while Dorian curled around in front of her easing his hands up to show no harm.

There was a great deal of pain inside her, a heartache that none of them but time could heal. She had seen so much darkness and been a victim to a lot more, yet every occasion she had come out of it stronger with her head held high. But there was something different this time - something unsettling and whether the recent events had been that little bit too much for her, or the accumulation of it all had pushed her over the edge, was irrelevant. That flawless shimmer of light that she once carried inside had broken, cracked like a mirror and shattered into a thousand parts. She was an empty shell.

The rifle barrel swung down with venom and narrowed on Dorian, wiping the smile from his face. He froze, eyes locked with Tessa's and in that moment they both knew.

"Tessa..." He said, his voice unsteady, though his eyes firmly held her her gaze, "Tessa, don-"

The gun clicked. The muzzle flashed. The noise was deafening. Dorian felt the impact a millisecond before he heard the gun go off and toppled backward, clutching his shoulder as Tessa bolted for the exit. The pain did not come until later; his only thought, 'was don't let her get away. For her sake, don't let her get away.'

"GO! GO!" he said, frantically pointing, struggling against the pain. Trixy instantly darted after her, though Dorian couldn't tell if this was on his command or just her intuitive reaction; it all happened so fast. She closed the distance and barreled into Tessa as the other woman was trying to open the door. After a brief scuffle, Trixy had her pinned.

Speechless for the first time in his life, the captain got to his feet and shuffled over to them with a dazed, vacant look in his eyes. One hand tightly gripped his left shoulder, where his shirt was beginning to turn red beneath the fabric of his captain's coat. But the pained look on his face was clearly not due to the gunshot wound. Flesh heals, but some things can never be fixed.

He stood there for a long time, as if trying to decide what to do, what order to give, how to react. After what felt like an eternity, he just shook his head and walked away. "Just... just make her go away... please."

 

One Week Later...​

The door to Johnathon’s quarters gave way readily as he pushed it open. He was exhausted, the day had been long and had rapidly caught up on him as night began to fall. Closing the door behind him he stripped off his coat, placing it on a hook before collapsing on his small bed. As soon as he hit the covers sleep washed over him. Johnathon prepared for the usual dreams of death and destruction that haunted his nightly hours. This time however, things were different.

As soon as his eyes closed they seemed to open again, revealing a dark corridor of the engineering block stretching out before him. The lights cast intermittent pools of dim light along the corridor, the shadows gathering so thick around them that he couldn’t make out a thing outside the pools except inky blackness. Johnathon blinked, trying to clear the vision but it stubbornly remained, the pool of light he stood in illuminating his body which was clothed in his usual attire.

Suddenly Johnathon’s head began to pound and the hairs on the back of his neck and arms rose. The presence was back, this time washing over him much stronger than it had before, like it was a physical thing that he could reach out and touch.

But it reached out and touched him first. He was not alone. Something lightly brushed the nape of his neck and Johnathon wheeled around to face who or whatever had touched him, but no one was there. The pounding in his head intensified.

“Shhh… calm yourself,” a female voice whispered. He could feel her cold breath in his ear, like a gentle breeze. The doctor whirled around again, but still no one was there. “C’mon, Jon, you can do this,” she said, in a soft, sensual tone. “I know you can.”

He bowed his head and cast his gaze to the floor, as if meditating. “That’s right,” the voice said encouragingly, only now it seemed more distant, its presence less overwhelming.

When the pounding was reduced to a mild throbbing in his skull, Johnathon finally lifted his head and there she was, far too close. A creature stood before him. He might call it a woman, were it not for the translucent bluish hue of her skin. A pair of long, dangerous-looking horns curved up from the sides of her head and her entire body was covered in primal markings, like the stripes of a wildcat or poisonous serpent. But her eyes and her smile held his attention far more than any other adornments, however strange they might be.

Jonathon suddenly realized he was standing incredibly close to this thing, whatever it was. So close, her breasts grazed his chest with every breath she took. They were practically nose to nose, yet he couldn’t seem to recall when or how she’d gotten there. She winked and the smile curved into something a little more mischievous when the doctor gasped and took a step back.

Succubus instantly sprang to mind as he looked at the creature, having read tales of their visits to unsuspecting men, but he corrected himself. The energy felt wrong for what he imagined. She, and he couldn’t help but think of it as a she, wasn’t trying to ensnare him with her beauty but rather relished in it like a confident woman might.

That didn’t stop him from being cautious however. He didn’t know who or what she was exactly and even though he recognized the ambience of his dreams in the surroundings, he also recognized the creature’s alien presence to be that of the one he had felt in the engineering block, when he had been awake.

That either meant he was finally going crazy or the same being was now in his dreams. Met with this conclusion Johnathon swallowed. “Uhh… hi,” he said, for lack of a better greeting as his mind struggled to fit what his brain had just figured out.

The woman demurely clasped her hands behind her back and cocked her head to the side slightly as she batted her lashes. "Aw, no need to be shy, doctor. Do I make you nervous? Let's try something... different."

She twirled around, shrouding herself in a cloud of mist. Johnathon could feel the cool, damp droplets on his skin. She stopped with her back to him and began to change shape. She was still a woman, but began to shrink; her curves grew less exaggerated and sexualized and she became shorter, more slender, barely over five feet tall.

When the transformation was complete and she turned to him once more, the doctor found himself face to face with the vice captain... a pale blue clone of the vice captain, complete with horns. "Better?" she asked, but the look on his face was more than enough of an answer. The demon sighed. "Okay, what's it going to take to make you relax?" she asked, as she pushed her ice glasses up the brim of her nose. "How about that nurse you seem to like so much? Melissa, was it? I could do her. Or maybe Tessa is more your flavor..."

"W-who are you?" Johnathon finally asked in disbelief.

She shrugged. "No human tongue can speak my name, nor any human ear hear it," she said. "A shame, really. It's quite a beautiful name. You've no idea what you're missing."

"What are you?" he said, with a little more confidence.

"A friend. A watcher." The teasing in her tone fell away as she added, "I'm not here to seduce you, Jon. I'm here to thank you. So... umm... thanks." She curtseyed and bowed quickly before promptly turning and beginning to walk away.

Johnathon watched her go, stunned as his head whirled in shock. As she retreated down the corridor, her skin seeming to give off an ambient blue glow in the low light, the walls around Johnathon began to groan as if a great weight pressed down upon them. Coming from seemingly outside the walls great thumps could be heard, the all too familiar whistles that preceded them chilling Johnathon to the bone.

Faint cries and screams echoed from behind him and when he turned he saw the pools of light that stretched out almost as far as he could see begin to flicker. Shutting off one by one every half a beat, the horrifying noises getting closer and closer in tandem with the approaching darkness.

Fear gripped Johnathon’s heart and he turned back to the blue creature’s leaving form, desperately shouting, “Wait, don’t go!” As he rushed toward her. Fleeing from the darkness towards the calming blue light that seemed to radiate around her.

She wheeled around so suddenly, he nearly collided with her. Johnathon skidded to a halt, face to face with the woman. She no longer wore the vice captain’s disguise. Now she looked upon him with her own eyes, and they were filled with intense determination.

“Why should I wait?” she asked sternly. “Are you chasing after me or running from your own demons, Jon? Chasing or being chased?” She grabbed him by his collar and lifted him off the ground with one hand, until his feet dangled inches off the floor.

The darkness continued to close in upon them from both sides. The lights blinked out, one by one, and the thunderous groans of bombs and death grew nearer with every passing second. All the while, her icy grip was like iron, like being trapped in a glacier, thousands of years old.

“I’ve finally realized I’ve been doing this all wrong,” she said. “No more running. No more sheltering you people from what’s coming. I need to see your strength. If you can face this, Johnathon, maybe there’s still hope for the rest.”

"Face this?" Johnathon gasped in disbelief, a resigned look on his face as the darkness approached. "I've been facing this for seventeen years. Every time I close my eyes in sleep."

“Seventeen years and you still haven’t mustered the courage to do something about it? Seventeen years walking through this gallery of your own suffering, when you should be burning it to the ground? Coward,” she scoffed as a bitter cold began to creep up his toes. Johnathon looked down to see ice slowly crawling up his ankles. The demoness released his collar and the climbing ice halted halfway up his shins, fastening him to the floor.

“If you like this hell so much, I’ll leave you to wallow in it, like a pig in mud. Goodbye, Johnathon Kane,” she said as she turned away and blew him a kiss over her shoulder. She was long gone, but her voice continued to ring out, like a haunting melody in the darkness. “Sweet dreams, love. You will die in this place. You will never awake. You will never see Tessa or Melissa or any of your patients again. Your infirmary will pile high with the bodies of the dead as you lie slumbering in your chambers until you draw your last breath.”

 

With the demoness gone, the approaching cries and darkness pulled Johnathon out of the shock that was rocking his body, the creature’s rapid shift in manner had thrown him off guard. Leaving him completely unprepared for the actions she had taken. Locked to the floor Johnathon could only watch as the light directly behind him flickered out. A moment’s pause followed in the space of a breath before the pool of light that surrounded him flickered out as well. The screams and cries of the damned swirled around him, whispering in his ear. Coward. The word shook through him and the corridor groaned and began to buckle as if a giant was on the outside, squeezing the walls.

With a great crack all the lights flicked off and he shielded himself as the groaning reached an almost unbearable crescendo before the ceiling and walls were ripped apart all around him in a gale of screeching metal. Left standing on the only remaining piece of the metal corridor floor a dreadful but familiar sight greeted Johnathon’s eyes. Stretched out before him a hellish landscape of mud, shell holes and dead trees lay around him as far as the eye could see. No colour could be seen under the dark gloomy sky, even the flashes of light amongst the clouds seemed muted and distant. Throughout the land small figures could be seen struggling through the mud, split into two distinct sides.

The cracks of rifles resounded from the groups, briefly lighting the shooters up before the grey atmosphere gobbled the light away. You will never awake. Johnathon blinked as the words pounded in his head and flinched when he opened them to find he had shifted into the devastated center of the two groups, his legs still fastened to the ground. Before he even had time to process this change in surroundings his heart dropped as a high pitched whistle rang out to his right.

A thunderous roar followed from the right as hundreds of figures emerged and began to jog towards Johnathon, struggling through the mud as they headed to their doom. As if on cue a shout rang out from his left as the first men reached him. Not this, please, he thought. Struggling to free himself in vain, his icy boots leaving him locked to the floor. More shouts arose from the left and the sound of shutters being thrown back. Johnathon couldn’t turn around but he could picture the scene. The gunners getting into position, checking the gun and sights before beginning to crank the lever. The buzz of levers being turned furiously could be heard but the sound was soon completely washed away by the cacophony of thousands of bullets being fired into the air.

The effect on the charging soldiers was to put it simply devastating. Men dropped everywhere as bullets buzzed around Johnathon like angry hornets. For a whole minute the guns relentlessly fired before they stopped with a collective hiss. The ringing silence that followed was soon filled with the screams and groans that he had heard in the corridor but now given a physical form. Some wounded men called out to whatever power they believed in, begging for mercy, but the majority simply cried out for their mothers, gurgling in pain. Amidst the hundreds of bodies that surrounded him, Johnathon stood alone in no man’s land, tears running down his face.

A desperate groan from beside him drew his dazed attention to a man who, having apparently noticed him, had begun to crawl towards him. “Please, help me.” he gasped. “I’m a father, newly wed. I can’t die please, you have to help me.”

It was only when the man had almost reached him that Johnathon almost vomited, realizing that the man was missing both his legs, a steady stream of blood pumping from the jagged stumps. “I…I can’t help you.” he replied, his voice clogged with emotion.

“No, please. You have to.” the man continued, his movements growing sluggish however. “I have a daughter…” he wheezed, eyes glazing over before slumping into the mud.

Johnathon choked back a cry, the pressure in his mind building to a breaking point. Raising his hands to wipe the tears from his eyes and gather some form of control he froze with them in mid-air. From elbow to the tips of his fingers his hands were covered in fresh blood. Johnathon flinched, and would have fell if not for his binding, closing his eyes to block out the sight. Along usual fear however he also felt an unbridled anger light in the pit of his stomach. He was sick of living in fear of his past and the substance that had drenched it. He was sick of the pain he felt every time he went to sleep. But most of all he was sick of living in the shadow of a past he couldn’t change.

Coward. The word echoed around him but he shook his head. No. If he was going to die here like the demoness had said then by damnation he would face the pain of his past or die trying. Closing his eyes he pictured the wall within his mind that he had so painstakingly built up to protect himself and with a roar he threw his psychological weight at it, striking it with great blows that seemed to ring out over the battlefield.

Cracks began to form and the pressure mounted inside his mind. With the wall on a knife edge Johnathon paused, taking a deep breath before shattering the structure with one final blow. While he had been ready for a fight Johnathon had certainly not been prepared for the sheer size and force of the emotions and memories that surged through the now destroyed barrier, plunging themselves into his psyche with shocking force. Barely surviving the blast Johnathon managed just keep his focus, even as he felt himself being sent skidding back through the mud in the battlefield.

Mistake or not he was committed now and ground his teeth, trying to force the torrent to a standstill. The pain and despair that had been locked behind the boundaries of his mind were too much however, and like a river flowed endlessly. The weight was immense, pounding Johnathon constantly with the horrors generated from seventeen years of war. I can’t beat this, he thought. The pain was too much, the hurt too deep. After everything he had gone through he didn’t deserve to get to just walk away.

The force of the torrent strengthened, the despair within Johnathon resonating with the memories. Before they had completely overwhelmed him however an image of Tessa’s crying form wrapped in his arms flashed across his mind.

The torrent of suffering hissed in response and before the image disappeared he grabbed it, holding it in his mind above everything else. He couldn’t give up. Not when people still needed him. With every ounce of his being he once again threw himself against the torrent, reaching once more for the calm energy within him. In response the ice around his legs began to climb, stopping at his neck but continuing up his out stretched arms that he had unconsciously raised during his mental battle. In his mind when the ice reached his fingertips there was a flash and the torrent jumped to a slow tumble like an avalanche in slow motion, ice crystals surrounding the flow.

As suddenly as it had been there the weight of the memories vanished to a small pressure and with ease Johnathon drew the torrent out, moulding it into a large orb. Before he could begin to rip it apart however a hand gripped his frozen arm. With a gasp his eyes flew open and were greeted by the sight of hundreds of soldiers surrounding him. All of them were obviously dead except for the fact that they were standing, and staring at him. The one who was gripping his arm was looking at him as well, his eyes cold and unnervingly blank. “You can’t leave us John.” it hissed. “You belong here, with us.”

The words hit Johnathon like hammer blows and his concentration slipped, breaking his hold on the orb for half a second before he desperately clawed it back. Before he had however he was unable to stop something from bursting out of the orb and disappearing into the recesses of his mind.

“You belong here.” the soldier repeated, and was repeated by the hundreds of undead men around them, again and again like a mantra. “You belong here. You belong here.” As the chant continued the undead soldiers began to approach, crowding around Johnathon and grasping him with their filthy hands.

Johnathon strained against the ice locking him in place, struggling to keep his concentration on the contained orb and keep his cool as the soldiers began to literally pile on top of him. As the chant continued the pile grew higher until the mass of bodies began to suffocate him due to the weight.

Panic set in as Johnathon gasped for air to no avail, there were simply too many bodies on top of him. With his mind tumbling from thought to thought the orb began to lose its form. Pure anger bubbled up in Johnathon however as it all fell apart around him. He had come too far to fail now. Seeking out the peaceful energy as black spots began to appear in his vision he failed to find it. Instead what he found was a boiling cauldron of angry energy that leapt at his touch.

Reaching deeper than he had ever done before he drew the energy into himself and felt a point light up in response to the energy, outside his conscious mind. With time running out he reached out to that distant light and upon touching it shook as it felt like lightning had begun to pour into his body. The energy was wild and unstable and began to physically hurt as he held it inside.

As the pain became too much he gasped with all his strength one word with the last of his oxygen. “Out.”

With that word the energy exploded into hungry flames throughout his mind and out. Inside he directed everything he could at the orb, which hissed and roared as it turned into steam. Outside however he let loose, letting the energy rush from his body and into cleansing flames which engulfed everything around him, melting his ice prison and the turning the soldiers into ash in seconds.

“Out!” he roared again arms raised, his voice ringing out across the battlefield. “All of it, out!”

Johnathon’s eyes opened, soon followed by his mouth as vicious pain lanced through his back. Screaming he scrambled to the floor where he collapsed. The metal ceiling of his quarters filled his vision and his head pounded, a cold sweat forming all across his body. Staring blankly at the ceiling he lay unmoving, unable to process what had just happened. Strange noises from in front of him caused him to flick his wide eyes to his which was on fire. Johnathon blinked. His bed was on fire.