Feyfalken: The Lost Expedition

Act 4:
VANISHING POINT​

Golf was never intended to be played one-handed. The doctor had done a fine job cleaning and bandaging Dorian’s ‘self-inflicted’ gunshot wound, but the soreness remained. His left shoulder was no good. At least, that's what he told himself; it was as good an excuse as any to take some time off.

In a city of vacant buildings, a man doesn’t have to look far to find his personal fortress of solitude. Dorian needed to get away from it all and, ironically, the very hotel where he’d been shot had a fabulous penthouse suite, fit for an airship captain. Climbing fifteen flights of steps was quite the adventure, but he didn’t mind. Once he was up, he intended to stay there a looooong time.

Anyway, the sun was rising on another fine day in New Holdenheim as Dorian steadied himself, squared his stance, and set the head of his nine iron to the ball perched upon its white tee. Turn at the waist… follow through with the hips… try not to think about your so-called friend who SHOT YOU IN COLD BLOOD…!

With a solid “thwack” he sent the ball sailing off into the void. It struck an office building on the other side of Winter Boulevard, one of the widest streets in Holdenheim. Damn. He was aiming for the third window on the top floor. This one busted the glass three stories down. Blame it on his bum shoulder. Blame it on her. Damn that woman...

With a sigh, Dorian trudged over to his bucket of balls, retrieved another, and teed up. He got the whole set from a department store they’d raided four days ago -- the balls, the clubs, even a nice bag to carry it all, some spiffy shoes, and a hat. Not everything was different in the future… though he had no idea what ‘titanium heads’ and ‘carbon nanotube shafts’ meant. It’s just a damn golf club, jeez.

On a stretch of elevated highway, ten stories beneath the rooftop he now stood upon, Dorian saw the sun’s rays reach across the Feyfalken and the small tent city that had grown around it. They’d mapped the entire city in less than five days; it proved to be smaller than expected. After that, the crew began to dig deeper, exploring every nook and cranny of the towering buildings, taking any toy, trinket, or tech they found interesting. They’d transplanted thousands of books from the library into the Feyfalken’s cargo bay for study. The area around the ship was littered with dismantled technology, picked apart by the engineering team. Some of it even worked.

The captain was about to let another ball fly when he heard a loud hissing sound. Years in the Air Navy had taught him to know the familiar sound of a wingsuit’s jump canister. “Probably Vlad or Sabre coming up here to bitch at me,” he grumbled as the sound grew nearer. The thought of driving the next golf ball right into Vladimir’s face was tempting….

Unfortunately, it wasn’t either of those men. A small figure in a white wingsuit zoomed by the edge of the rooftop, ascending into the sky at incredible speed. The flyer banked hard, trying to bleed off the excess speed given by the jump canister. The device was only good for one burst, but gave enough thrust to toss a person hundreds of feet into the air… or, in this instance, high enough to get from the ground floor to the penthouse suite of a hotel.

Dorian’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull when he realized who it was. Integra circled the building twice before cutting a sharp turn and spreading her wings as wide as they would go, to serve as airbrakes. She landed and ran to a stop, coming to rest at the edge of the penthouse’s empty swimming pool. Dorian choked down the urge to applaud, and gave her a dry stare instead. This was worse than Vlad and Sabre combined.

“Couldn’t use the stairs, could you?” he grumbled, as if unimpressed.

“I shouldn’t have had to come up here at all. Answer your damned walkie talkie. We’ve been hailing you for over half an hour,” she said, marching past him and into the room. She retrieved the walkie talkie from the nightstand and switched it on. It was working fine. This only made her angrier… which only made him more amused.

“I’m on medical leave. Bad shoulder, you know,” he said, flexing it, and making plenty of exaggerated faces to indicate how absolutely terrible the pain was. “Ooooh, ahhhh, it hurts so bad. I’m such an idiot.”

Integra wheeled around to face him. Her eyes narrowed and now he realized she wasn’t wearing her glasses. Apparently, she realized it too, because she plucked them out of a pocket on the wingsuit and snapped them onto her face. Suddenly, she looked like the evil genius he knew, not the squinty-eyed angel that had fluttered in a moment ago.

“The rest of the crew might believe that, but I don’t,” she said. “The moment I saw you lying on Doctor Kane’s table, I knew what had happened. This ‘I shot myself’ bullshit stops now,” she said, stamping her little foot. It was so adorable.

“Oh, such language… my tender ears,” Dorian teased.

“I might believe you if you show me how a man can ‘accidentally’ shoot himself in the shoulder with a rifle,” she said. “And I suppose it was also by accident that you ordered Tessa Naaru confined to her quarters for a day?”

“That was her punishment for sneaking past the checkpoints. Rules are rules, you know,” Dorian said, with a chipper smile.

“Yet Miss Trayburn wasn’t punished…”

“Unwitting accomplice. Tessa used her feminine wiles to lure Trixy to the dark side,” Dorian said. “Sort of like what you’re doing to me right now.” He was enjoying this way too much. He knew Integra had it all figured out… he just didn’t give a damn. And he was quite sure she knew he didn’t give a damn, yet she still tried to apply pressure. The woman earned major points for persistence.

Integra gave him another one of those ‘I want to eat your soul’ looks before turning away. “Laugh all you want, Dorian. That woman is damaged. She’s a risk to us all and herself.”

“Johnathon will take care of her. Being confined to the medical ward will be good for her.”

“Doctor Kane’s ‘care’ left her in the state she was in when she shot you. You’re too lenient,” Integra said. “For a man who claims to put the crew’s morale above all else, you should think twice before letting a potentially poisonous element run amok. She’s dangerous.”

“Mmmm… ‘dangerous,’” Dorian said, tasting the word. “Some might say the same about what’s going on in engineering… not that you would know anything about that, right?”

The subject promptly changed, as he knew it would: “Ten degrees north-northwest, elevation 4500,” Integra said and tossed – or threw − a pair of binoculars at his feet. She looked very displeased when he caught them with his left hand, still holding the golf club in his right.

Integra backed away toward the ledge. “We’re recalling everyone to the ship. Take a look and get your ass to the bridge, captain.” She said the word as if it were a curse. It was.

After the vice captain pirouetted off the rooftop and glided down to the Feyfalken, Dorian put his golf game on hold long enough to take a gander at whatever the hell had gotten her panties in a wad. Ten degrees north-northwest… he could roughly estimate where that was, without needing a compass.

He found only a single dark speck in the sky. Enemy airship.

 

Sabre carefully wrapped his hands, ensuring that his knuckles were well protected. He'd been pushing himself hard this week and it was beginning to take its toll. The skin on his knuckles was scratched raw despite taking precautions and certain punches were beginning to become uncomfortable. But that was life and life didn't throw situations at you when you were in your best shape: it expected you to give it all when everything cried out in pain with every strike. So for now he would push through it, although perhaps he would make a visit to the Doctor at some point to see if he could get some sort of healing salve.

He slipped the boxing gloves on over the wraps and began to circle the bag keeping his guard up. He threw a straight jab and followed it up with a hook punch before driving his knee forcefully into the bag. Vlad's words when they had returned from the library last week still played on loop in his mind. Block, uppercut, step back, kick. Time was drawing closer and he still felt uncertain about it, so he trained and poured that confusion and anger at being in this situation into the bag. Sweat poured down his body leaving wet patches on the bag every time he drove a kick or elbow into the bag...

Vlad walked alongside Sabre on their way back to the ship, hands folded neatly behind his back. The man hadn't behaved so distant in many weeks, so this change in behavior worried him.

Finally, the Head of Security expelled a breath, but still refused to look at him. "What do you want me to explain first? There's so much of it I can't pick what to start with."

Christoph considered the words before answering. Looking up and then lowering his head again he focused on the cobbled path as he tried to get his mind in order. Vlad knew he had doubts and it was only fair he made that clear. Vlad had earned his respect and maintained it even over the time the apparent changes had started taking place. By that reasoning it shouldn't make a difference, but it did.

"At first I need to know what you meant back on the ship: how you weren't what you seemed. I assume your lack of sleep isn't connected? Otherwise I have been on the completely wrong line of thought. But what bothers me the most right now is your lack of sleep. It's not natural and the last time we came across something unnatural they tried to kill us." He hesitated, guaging Vlad's reaction and hoping the man wouldn't become enraged by such a comparison.
Keep the guard up, circle the opponent, step in, front kick, sweep the leg while they're off balance. The mental combat sequence was reassuring, it provided order while everything else in his head right now seemed to be in freefall. Voicing his doubts back then hadn't provided the confidence that Vlad had wanted to instill back into him.

Vlad nodded. "What I meant back on the ship is that I'm not completely Aeternian. I am half Arcanian. My mother was a wanted assassin, the Swiftblade." He bent his wrists downward, hands up, and the points of the two ghostblades shimmered in the sunlight. Then he folded his hands again and they were hidden once more. "She stole multiple artifacts from the Emperor's personal Vault with her team, but all but she was captured. Rather than be tortured for information, she told me as a child that they put themselves to sleep. Now i know they committed suicide. I am currently wearing the one item she escaped with." He waved a hand at the pin on his chest. "Ever since the Black Forest Incident, i haven't felt the need for sleep. At first it felt pleasant, useful even. But now I struggle to sit still for minutes at a time. I found out it is because of this stone that i feel this way, but when i tried to remove it it shocked me. I don't think i can remove it no matter what i try."

"I cannot predict what will happen, but at the moment I still trust my own judgement. However, if at any point you think I am not, please lock me up and call for Doctor Kane. He's the only one other than you who knows all of this. Well... except..." Vlad grit his teeth and when he looked at Sabre, his gaze was full of self-loathing. "I didn't ask for this. I asked for none of it. All i wanted was to help my nation, my home, to become stronger with what we can find here. But now..." Right then, the man looked younger than ever, a mere college graduate, wet around the ears. Skilled but untested. And now it was as if everything he had believed in had turned into something else entirely. As if his belief had stood on a mirage of pretty images, and had crumbled the moment the truth had been revealed to him.

"He wants me to find something similar to this stone and bring it back." he reached into his coat with shaking hands, pulled out a crisp roll of paper. The Emperor's seal only met the sun for a second, but it was enough. Then it was back under his coat, hidden like a dagger in the dark. "I have orders that we are to mutiny the moment we find such a stone, take control of the ship and bring it back to Aeternia. Those papers prove it."His voice had dropped to a bare whisper. "I don't want to. I really don't want to. But how can i fight a god? My best hope would be to abandon ship and face the desert for all the hope i have if i return as a Traitor!" The shaking had spread up his arms now, and his eyes went clouded. Panic setting in.

Christoph nodded along to the words. Finding out Vlad had experience with assassins explained a lot about the man's fighting style and how he hadn't managed to catch Vlad off guard in close combat. Christoph placed his had on Vlad's shoulder for a moment as they walked along. Vlad looked like he needed some reassurance now, his usual cool certainty seemed to be disintegrating, he was genuinely conflicted about the situation he had been put in. Perhaps it was good they had both come to heads with Dorian, it would certainly help them if the time came. The guilt and concerns Vlad must have been carrying for so long on his own.... "That's a hell of a burden to carry on your own." He dropped his arm back to his side.

The bag swung violently on it's chain as his kick drove it back. Not relenting on the assault Christoph stepped in slamming his elbow into the bag before grabbing it as the momentum stalled and sunk his knee into it, the sand giving way slightly as he grunted with the exertion. How had Vlad coped with such a burden this whole trip? One week in and it was already eating him up inside. To many times he had found himself walking toward Dr. Kanes office ready to betray Vlad's trust in the hope of another opinion that might help him muddle through the choice that might await.

"Vlad what I'm trying to say is that we don't know how the changes to those mages started to happen in the black forest. The fact you've suddenly stopped sleeping just after that, well I want to believe it's a coincidence but..." Why were words failing him so much right now? He was better than this, stronger than this. He wasn't the drunken wretch he had been before the trip had started, he had recovered. Why could he not express himself even when clear-headed?

"I need to know I'm not committing myself to your actions when you may not be in the right state of mind. I'm sorry to say it but I'm sure you've had the same thoughts? I need to be sure that your decisions aren't.... out of your control I guess."

Vlad had put so much faith in him, protected him from Dorian and even promoted him and this was how he repaid the man? Told him that he might be out of control. There was another issue to deal with apart from Vlad. News of his mission was far more disturbing than he could of speculated.

"I don't understand your assignment though. Why would the Emperor fund this trip but hide the objective from the Captain? Surely it could be done without a mutiny?"

Vlad expelled a huge breath, and some of the tension began to leave his body. But his gaze was still clouded, a milk-white film covering his blood-red eyes. "I don't know...I wish I could, but he must know something that we don't. Maybe its just to bring the ship straight back without resistance? He wouldn't want something this valuable, if it is, to be kept from him."

The explanation didn't sit right with Christoph, you didn't just risk bloodshed over something like that. Why would you need to hide it?

"Perhaps it's to do with magic? The emperor can't knowingly acknowledge he wishes to possess a magical artefact to the whole crew. To admit that he is ignorant but needs that power. But that still doesn't explain why he wouldn't inform the Captain. Why wouldn't he just employ people he trusted?" As he spoke the words his mind drifted back to his first assessment of Vlad when he boarded the ship. "So the men you came on board with, do they know? I take it they are there to support you if it doesn't go smoothly?"

I don't like being out of the loop and I certainly don't like the idea of handing over another artefact we don't understand that seems to alter you in some way. If it was to effect the emperor adversely, if he was...." He trailed off as the ramifications of Vlad's story sunk into him.

"The emperor has already owned one of these before, until your mum took it from him. What if it's already effected him? Just what can it do if he's willing to do so much just to lay his hands on it again?"

His pace had slowed as he spoke his mind. This wasn't just the moral choice of remaining loyal to Vlad or to potentially risking loss of life to the crew. This was a question of whether Vlad's mission should be followed. Could the emperor really be trusted with something they had no understanding of that was clearly so valuable?

Christoph slipped the gloves off and reached for his towel trying to remove what he could of the sweat pouring from his body. This tactic wasn't working. He couldn't escape this situation and there didn't seem to be an easy way to find clarity. He gulped down the water as his mind raced trying to find something he had missed, some bit of information that had already been mentioned that would make this all black and white.

"I don't know. All i've heard is legends from my mother. Other than that it's all smoke and shadow." Vlad laid a hand on his forehead and his body sagged in defeat. "And what makes this worse is that I've been raised with the idea that Arcanians are just as good as Aeternians. I don't want either side to lose. I am loyal to my country, Sabre. But I can't deny that unless I see something that proves the Arcanians are as evil as our Emperor makes them out to be, then I must remain neutral on these matters. It is foolish ignorance that has driven our nations apart. I won't let it do the same to me, and my past."

"There's nothing to say we will even find another one of these is there? We might not need to act? Either way that gives us time to work out what exactly it's doing to you and whether that is something we want in the Emperors hands. Loyalty to our country doesn't mean loyalty to the Emperor despite what some might try to have you believe. If your truly neutral on the matter, well perhaps that is best for all of us. I may have fought the Arcanians but that doesn't mean I believe that they're all evil. In war they act just like we do, just with different tools. I'm not foolish enough to believe I would be any different if I was born on the other side. Your heritage changes nothing between us Vlad but I don't understand magic and whatever that artefact is doing to you. I need to err on the side of caution for now."

Vlad nodded in agreement. "As far as I understand, magic is more of a living, conscious wing than a weapon itself. It can be a weapon, it can be a shield, it can also be a parent in ways. I have worn the stone since i was a young boy, so it may have already affected me. But most of all it is unpredictable, so I will not pretend to think i can control this, whatever it is."

When they reached the ship, Vlad paused. "I'll head to my quarters for now. Alert the Captain that I may not be available for a while, but don't tell him why. It's best if this remains between the three of us."

"As for me... I'll try to keep a journal on the changes as they occur, then we may be able to find a pattern. I'm not sure what else we can do besides telling Integra and let her put me on a table." he visibly cringed. "That is a last resort, however. Satisfied?"

Christoph peeled the wraps underneath the gloves, grimacing as some of the scabs tore free and he got to see just how much more skin he had removed. He was so concerned about Vlad's condition that he was neglecting his own. Allowing another form of abusive behaviour to develop. Perhaps not as destructive but something that he couldn't keep up. Perhaps checking in with Vlad would be a wise move, they had both been more distant than usual the last week. Each trying to work through the problems in their own way. He headed to the showers knowing that the last hour hadn't succeeded in anything except for giving him a workout and more of a headache.

 

Johnathon’s eyes snapped open. Fuzzy blotches drifted across his vision but through them he could see the white cloud that he lay face down upon. Blinking, he shook his head. Not a cloud, but sheets, familiar sheets at that. He was in Medical. As the fog cleared from his brain the familiar sterile smells and white washed walls began to be picked up by his senses, but as they returned so did the memories of how he had got here.

As it all flooded back to him he prepared to be pained by the memories, but to his surprise. He felt nothing. The sensation was so strange that he felt almost giddy. Light, as if he had removed a pack he had been walking with for years. Smiling he rolled over, eager to see his surroundings more clearly but choked as a lance of pain forked along his back, forcing him to quickly roll back to his side.

Chest rising and falling deeply his vision swam in response to the unexpected pain and like a reaction after a catalyst the reality of what had occured clicked into place. Engineering, the dream, the demoness and the fire. “What the blazes?” he breathed.

His thoughts were interrupted however as the slap of feet against the smooth floor heralded the approach of two people. Without looking he forced himself to sit up, wincing as his back stretched painfully. He had just kicked his feet off the side of the bed when the people arrived.

“Doctor Kane are you alright?” Doctor Canavan asked, a light haired middle aged doctor. “You shouldn’t be getting out of bed, the burns on your back need more time to heal undisturbed.”

Johnathon looked up at the man stood over him with annoyance. He was a good man and a great Doctor but was a stickler for rules. “Thank you for your concern Doctor Canavan but I’ll decide what I should and shouldn’t do.”

Arms crossed Canavan was about to reply, but was interrupted by an amused voice. “Don’t be so stubborn John, if I had my way I would have you chained to that bed.”

“Melissa.” smiled Johnathon, turning to face the whirling halo of blond hair that was his Head Nurse.

“How on earth did you manage to light your bed on fire and almost give yourself second degree burns while sleeping?” she demanded, stopping next to Canavan who looked horrified at the way she was addressing the Head of Medical.

“When I find out I’ll let you know.” he replied, breaking into a grin as he eased himself to his feet. Silencing Canavan’s protest with a look, who shook his head and walked away as Melissa filled Johnathon in about the comings and goings of the ship while he had been unconscious. Returning with a white shirt which he helped Johnathon into, careful of the bandages on his back.

Johnathon nodded in thanks, wincing as he raised his arms before turning his gaze back to Melissa. “An unidentified airship in the sky huh? Interesting.” he said, before glancing to his left towards a door at the back of the room. “And…How is she?”

Melissa paused, her look serious. But Canavan spoke before she did. “Her physical condition is stable.” he said smoothly. “But as to her state of mind I am unsure. We’ve been wary about pushing her too far after the incident, so for the most part she has been left alone.”

“I don’t like her being left in that room.” Johnathon growled. “If I hadn’t been so damn busy I would have moved her already.”

“But Doctor the Captain ordered her to be kept confined to Medical.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to treat her like a bloody criminal.” he replied.

“She shot the damn Captain John.” Melissa interrupted, keeping her voice low. “Sure he tried to cover it up but it’s pretty obvious what happened from where I’m sitting.”

Johnathon sighed. He couldn’t argue with her there, no matter how much he wished it wasn’t true. He had put two and two together almost immediately. “I’m going to go see her.” he said, and without further ado strode towards the door. Trying to ignore the pain his back was causing him and wrestling with the emotions he was feeling, his skin prickling with an electric aura.

Pausing before the metal door he paused to take a breath before gently pushing it open. Entering he closed the door behind him and stood still as his eyes adjusted to the lower light provided by the single straining light bulb. Guilt bubbled its way up to the surface of his feelings as he observed the bars that split the room down the middle, a bed and toilet the main features on the other side of the bars. This was the place for a very sick prisoner, not a crew mate who desperately needed the support of her fellows.

Squinting into the dark room he approached the bars. “Tessa? Tessa are you there? he called softly.

From the back of the room a slender figure slunk out of the darkness, with her head bowed, face hidden and arms by her side. She moved slow and Johnathon didn't manage to spot her until she stopped just under the faded yellow light. Tessa looked almost ghost like, her skin bathed in all different shades of grey and Johnathon sensed that if he wasn't careful she could disappear altogether.

There was something rather unsettling about her demeanour though, a certain edge and stillness that sent nervous waves through him. His mind eased somewhat when he felt the cool metal bars in front of him, their touch a reminder of exactly what he was dealing with. Tessa had been forced to endure a great amount of stress these last few weeks and it was common that some patients hit a breaking point and snap. Whether that had happened he couldn't be completely sure, and though he had his suspicions Johnathon wasn’t ready to believe that this delicate flower had become twisted and broken.

She still didn't speak. He watched her from behind the bars waiting breathlessly for a response that did not materialize. The silence ate away at him, tearing him apart limb from limb, biting ravenously into his mind until every muscle in his body ached and he pushed forward on the bars and called out, "Tessa?"

"Yes?" Like a jack-in-a-box her head popped up and her eyes stared right into his soul. The doctor flinched, the light flaring as he quickly stepped back from the bars as if burned. Tessa spoke slowly, her voice sultry and low. She kept perfectly still. She did not smile, nor frown. And her eyes stayed locked - not even blinking once.

The sight of Tessa certainly unnerved Johnathon, but more than anything he felt an overwhelming feeling of sadness at seeing her brought to this state. Sadness and guilt; for he couldn’t help but feel partly responsible as her doctor.

After a long pause he finally spoke. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to visit more Tessa.” he said softly. “And I’m sorry you’ve been put in a place like this, you don’t deserve this.” he continued, gesturing around them. “I know it’s not an easy question to answer and it’s an inelegant question to ask but, how are you feeling?”

"Me?" She said, her voice sultry and low. "Oh I am perfectly fine Doctor. Never better."

The calmness was terrifying. It was as if she had been completely sedated, both physically and mentally. You could cut a scalpel down her from head to toe and she probably wouldn't even flinch. Johnathon shivered at the thought.

"What about you Doctor?"

"W-What do you mean?" he stammered.

"You're sweating, and look awfully pale. How are you feeling?" She asked with that voice so tender yet so assured, almost like the question was completely rhetorical.

Coughing he cleared the stammer from his voice. “I could be better.” he replied honestly. “I burnt my back in a fire I stupidly started by knocking a lamp onto my bed while flailing around in my sleep.” he said, conscious of the fact that he had instantly twisted the truth to something more believable. The painful throb of his back however was a reminder of what had really happened. There hadn’t been a lamp. The light flickered again, the shadows of the room eating hungrily at the light each time.

"Why are you lying?" Tessa asked blankly. Her eyes stayed firmly locked with his while he paced ever so slightly.

"I beg your pardon?" He said accusingly, trying to deflect the question. But just looking back at her, at her stillness and overbearing calm, he knew she had unravelled the truth. Surely not, how could she? No one knew - not a soul. Yet those deep blue eyes were planting seeds of doubt every second.

He took a breath, between the pain of his back and Tessa acting incredibly strange he was on edge. Stilling his feet he faced Tessa fully. “It doesn’t matter whether I’m lying or not.” he said evenly. “What matters is you. You say your ‘perfectly fine’, yet you speak to me as if you’ve been partly lobotomised and stand there still as stone. Now if that’s not a reason to worry then I don’t know what is.”

"How about sleepless nights?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. "Surely that's a reason to worry? You'll be happy to know that I've been sleeping soundly." Tessa slowly tilted her head to one side. "What about you?"

"I never sleep soundly." he stated, crossing his arms. "However, I am interested that you do. No nightmares? At all? Does that mean the attack has ceased to bother you?" he asked, left hand cupping his bearded chin.

"We all have nightmares, Doctor." She said. "But unlike most... mine are real." Straightening up, Tessa slunk back into the abyss at the back of the room, disappearing into nothingness once more. Johnathon waited for a moment in silence, awkwardly shifting with his uniform and squinting into the dark before calling out, "Tessa?"

"That will be all Doctor." She whispered from the black. "I have what I wanted. Run along now - I know you are dying to leave. Oh... and send for the Captain will you? Failing that, I'd like to speak Professor Avrin."

“Tessa wait. What do you mean by your dreams being real?” he said desperately, clutching the bars with both hands. Silence greeting his voice. “Please. At least allow me to move you from this room. The thought of you sitting here in the shadows like some kind of creature tears me apart.”

As Johnathon’s voice once more faded from the air silence returned, like a suffocating gas it descended, twisting in his stomach as it surrounded him. Dammit. he thought, hands clenched as he pulled away from the bars and turned to the door. “Goodbye Tessa.” he whispered, more to the memory of who she had been, than to the person that was now behind him. The med bay’s lights were blindingly bright as he pushed out of the dark.

 

“Lancaster to Cromwell, Lancaster to Cromwell, do you read me?”

Dorian couldn’t tell if the static in the vice captain’s voice was due to the walkie talkie’s hundred year old electronics or if it was fear he heard. He had no idea what Integra sounded like when frightened, but he imagined it was something like watching a grown man cry. Awful.

She continued hailing him as he made his way out of the hotel lobby after abandoning his belongings in the penthouse. At last, he fetched the shoe-sized device from his pocket and responded.

“What?” Dorian said, a little more sharply than intended. A dozen flights of stairs could make anyone a little testy and more than a little winded.

“Do you have a visual on the target?” she said unapologetically.

“If by ‘target’ you mean that black speck in the sky, no. Geez, woman, gimme a sec. You could’ve sent a car to pick me up or something, you know.”

Her reply was icy: “Stop joking around and get to a place where you can see.”

He huffed and puffed and hoofed his way to the end of the block, hoping to reach a spot where he could lay eyes on something other than the looming skyscrapers on all sides. Dorian powerwalked down the empty sidewalks, strewn with the abandoned belongings of a vanished populace. At last he reached a wide thoroughfare, like a gaping canyon between the walls of steel and glass.

His jaw went slack. The ‘black speck’ was closer now. A lot closer. Earlier, he could barely see it with his naked eyes; now he could make out its shape, but little else. It was vaguely triangular, like a pyramid or… no… like a mountain. The edges were rough and craggy. The bottom was uneven. It was as if the top of a mountain had broken loose and taken flight. A black, dark mountain.

“That’s no airship,” Dorian said as he raised the vice captain’s binoculars to his eyes. A heavy black fog or mist surrounded the mountain’s bottom. Occasional flashes of what could only be lightning seemed to emanate from below, as if it rode on a thundercloud. But everything was so dark, as if the rock itself absorbed light. He adjusted the focus on his binoculars and could just barely make out flat surfaces in some places… thick walls made of impregnable stone… tall, narrow windows… ramparts at the top.

Holy shit. It’s a flying fortress.

Dorian began to run. Half a mile to the Feyfalken. He counted every step and barked orders into the walkie talkie, praying Integra could make out what he was saying above his heavy breathing. “Have you… recalled all personnel... to the…”

“Yes. Everyone is accounted for. The engineers are racing to break down the base camp and secure as much gear as they can.”

“How heavy-”

“Still within tolerances, but our maneuverability will be severely reduced. We took on a lot of additional weight in the city,” the vice captain calmly explained.

“How big is…”

“I don’t know. I’m calculating that now, using known structures to triangulate its parameters,” Integra said. “Not that it matters. We don’t have any weapons that could penetrate a hardened target.”

“What about… the gun shop… we… raided… two days ago?”

“Small arms,” she said, “and most of them are still disassembled for reverse engineering. I doubt we could put them back together in time and even if we did…. Listen, captain, this is first contact. Perhaps a militaristic response isn’t the best course of action.”

“Reina, there’s a damned fortress made of levitite coming toward us. I will use whatever course of action I deem appropriate,” Dorian said, leaning against a newspaper stand to catch his breath. He looked to the sky again, but had lost sight of the… the… the thing bearing down on them. He began to move again, walking as swiftly as possible.

None of it made sense. Levitite ore is only lighter-than-air when refined into metallic levitanium. The Feyfalken’s substructure was made of purified, military-grade levitanium and the ship still required thermal envelopes to maintain positive buoyancy. A flying mountain should be physically impossible.

I suppose encountering an uninhabited fortress would be asking too much, right? Just my luck, we come across the one fortress that can fly.

“I would call it a ‘castle,’ sir,” Integra said. “We should refrain from using the word ‘fortress’ until its intent is made clear or the spotters confirm weapons.”

“I don’t care what you call it, sweetheart. We need to be airborne and ready for anything. The ground is where people go when they die,” Dorian said as he ran up the loading ramp and into the cargo bay, ignoring the men who dropped what they were doing to salute him. The quarantine protocols were called off two days ago, once they were sure the city posed no health risk.

“Get Vlad and Sabre on the bridge, ASAP,” Dorian went on to say, still speaking into the walkie talkie as he traversed the halls of the ship, “and have Kane and his team on standby.”

“Dr. Kane may not be ready for duty yet. He is recovering. There was a level three combustible incident in his quarters last night.”

“A fire?”

“Yes, sir. A fire.”

“How the hell did he…" Dorian sighed. "That's about as dumb as a guy shooting himself. Fuck it, just get med bay on standby. I don't care if you have to staff it with monkeys from the lab.”

"We do not have any monkeys in the-"

"Stop talking into that banana. I'm right behind you," Dorian said as he arrived on the bridge.

The vice captain, still wearing her white wingsuit, stared blankly at the walkie talkie. Banana? Huh? After a moment's pause, she composed herself, chilled her icy exterior and turned to her captain. She and the various crewmen saluted as he crossed the room and approached the expansive glass viewscreen. Ah, feels good to be home, Dorian thought, grinning, despite the enormity of the situation. Stay loose. This is your moment. He clasped his hands behind his back and tried to look like an actual leader as he stood facing the glass in his golf shoes and sweater vest, with his captain's cloak draped over over shoulder.

 

Thunk, thunk, thunk. With each impact the punching bag jerked and swayed like a drunk. Johnathon’s back screamed at him for mercy but he embraced the pain like an old friend, the sensation helping to dull the thoughts and emotions that were raging inside. After his confrontation with Tessa he had stormed from medical, the sadness of seeing her quickly turning into a pulsing anger. He hadn’t known where he was going as he strode through the tight corridors, lights flickering around him as he passed, but was in agreement when he found himself in the training room.


Anger at fate, anger at Tessa and overwhelming anger at himself drove his fists harder and harder into the bag in time with the mantra in his head. Why, why, why, why!?

The lights in the training room had begun to flicker wildly, but he ignored them. The dancing shadows however caused the punching bag to appear to shift and morph, and in Johnathon’s mind he imagined it turning into a doppelganger of himself which he produced to beat. Why did you get close to her? he demanded, burying his right hand into his clones stomach. You knew something like this could happen, you’ve seen it before.


With a grunt he struck again, the blow smashing into his doubles face. Why were you so useless? Why couldn’t you help her? With a growl his anger reached a crescendo and he winded up for another strike. Uncontainable energy filled his body as if he had been struck by lightning and all the lights in the room shattered as he lashed out screaming, “Why couldn’t you save her!?”


As his fist connected with his clone there was a rushing noise, reminiscent of an object rushing past through the air as the energy poured out od him, and the with a crack the doppelganger flew across the room, hitting the wall with a dull metallic ring.


Silence filled the air, punctuated only by Johnathon’s heavy breathing. Through the darkness he could just make out the decimated punching bag, or what was left of it. With the energy gone his anger disappeared, being replaced by a growing sense of horror. Looking down at his red and swollen hand he knew he couldn’t hide from the truth any longer. Vlad wasn’t the only person being affected by magic.


That anger hadn’t been all naturally his and with the fire and now this… he needed to be careful, whatever was happening to him could harm others and he couldn’t have that. “I just need some time to think.” he muttered, glancing around the dark empty training room. “To work all this out.” With that said he hobbled his way to the door, his body a cacophony of aches and pains.

 

Christoph strode down the corridor heading to Vlad's quarters. A messenger had sought him out, much to his annoyance, interrupting his shower and insisting he report immediately to Vlad. Given their current situation it had taken him all of 30 seconds to towel himself down quickly and hastily throw on his uniform before setting a good pace through the corridors. He arrived at the door giving it three sharp knocks before awaiting the answer.
He eyed Vlad's condition as the door opened and greeted him with a firm handshake. No luck -the man looked more frazzled than ever and Sabre had to keep his jaw from dropping when the Head of Security met him wearing thin, faded training clothes that were not his usual white attire. He didn't even seem to have attempted keeping his stark white hair in order, which now stuck up at odd angles.

"Good you came. Something's been spotted and I'm not sure I can make myself presentable for the captain without making it obvious." Vlad pulled away and quickly herded Sabre inside, then shut the door.

The sight that greeted Sabre was even worse. The room was a picture of a soldier gone mad. The carpet had a distinct ring in it now from pacing. The walls had several large dents in them, and on the floor beneath each dent lay a shredded punching bag. Sweat-drenched clothes lay piled haphazardly in a corner and worn-out shoes lay in another.

"I've had a scout tell our vice captain and Integra's gone to get Dorian. You just received the message as well i presume? Here, take this-" Vlad handed Sabre small telescope and waved him toward the ovular window in the back wall of his room. He didn't even seem to notice the mess of sand he walked barefoot through. "There may be an enemy airship approaching. I need you to advise the captain that we should have everyone board the ship so we can hide in the ravines. The mist may keep us out of view, unless we flee entirely. This ship is not meant for combat, and we can't take a serious assault from an Arcanian warship. Those our our only options, other than simply sitting here and waiting until we see what we're dealing with."

Christoph didn't reach out to take the telescope, instead he met Vlad with a look of bewilderment. How had the man pulled him into his room and just went straight down to business without an explanation for the state of his room or himself for that matter. He'd clearly made no effort to hide his deteriorating condition.

"Your getting worse Vlad. I know we've been distant this week but how long do you think we can keep this from Dorian and Integra. I don't think I can go to them in good conscience without mentioning this. You told me if I became worried about your condition I should lock you up and get the Doctor involved. I hope it's not gone that far yet but we need someone in medical involved now even if it means letting someone else in on your secret since Dr. Kane is still recovering."

His eyes darted round the room absorbing the chaos. He had been suffering from indecision before when he still believed Vlad was sound of mind but now... well now it was undeniable that the artefact had compromised Vlad for the worst.

"Did you keep that journal that you told me you would? How has it come to this?"

Vlad stopped short and blinked several times, then seemed to see the state of his surroundings. "Yes. I was doing some experiments. You know how I told you I don't get tired? I tested the limits by training for three days straight. Obviously that has only made a mess of things..." he shuffled to the small book on his nightstand and flipped through the pages. "I'm not like Integra, so I don't exactly know what to look for, but I've been timing the differences in how long I can stand still as well as a number of other things. They seem to be shortening by one minute per two days. Right now i can only stand still for five minutes -make that three- until I start fidgeting. I also seem to not need as much food as before this all happened. Now I barely need to ingest anything. Whatever this is seems to be sustaining me as well, but other than that--"

The book dropped to the floor when Vlad suddenly jerked backward. His face contorted into a mask of pain and he curled up as much as his now-crouched position would allow, back muscles clenched and rippling as if they'd just taken a shockwave. He didn't make a sound despite the agony etched into his posture. Silent like a prisoner being questioned.

The whole process took less than a second, then his body relaxed and Vlad slumped to the floor.

Christoph lunged forward in an attempt to grab Vlad as he dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. He was to slow to catch. He crouched down beside him shaking Vlad by the shoulders in the hope of waking him up but alas to no avail.

"Damn it Vlad get up. What were you thinking training that hard and not eating properly. Just because you don't feel the need it doesn't mean your body won't suffer." As he cursed Vlad he scooped him up with a grunt and slung the man over his shoulder. Letting anyone else into this room didn't seem like a good idea so he kicked the door open and started making his way down the corridor in the direction of the med bay no longer caring who saw Vlad in this condition. If anyone asked outside of the medical team he could tell them their sparring match went wrong but the time of keeping others out of it seemed out of the question.

"If you weren't already unconscious I swear I'd probably knock your stupid ass out Vlad" he muttered to himself as he struggled down the corridor. For someone not eating properly he definitely weighed more than was ideal for carrying this distance.

A young crewman turned the corner so quickly he nearly collided with Christoph. The man ground to halt and stared at them in bewilderment, his eyes darting from Sabre to the unconscious Vlad and back to Sabre again. He had come from the direction of the bridge. It took less than a millisecond for Christoph to piece together why he was here.
“Th-the captain ordered me to-”

Before the lad could finish, Sabre moved past him and continued on toward the medical bay. He didn't understand Vlad's condition and was in no mood for Dorian without Vlad. Whatever the orders were could be ignored till he dealt with the more pressing issue on his shoulder.

“W-what should I tell him?” the runner asked, following Sabre for a few steps. “If there’s something wrong with the head of security…”

Christoph didn't break stride as he worked up an excuse for the incompetent messenger, why couldn't he have met someone that could actually help him. "You can tell them you couldn't find me or that Vlad was involved in a sparring accident and we are currently unavailable. Whatever you think gets you in less trouble" The words sounded more venomous than intended as he tried to readjust Vlad's weight to no avail.

After a few tense seconds, the runner took a deep breath, reluctantly turned and sprinted away in the direction he’d come.

Christoph continued on, but Vlad’s weight made the walk to the medical ward slow and tedious. He felt like he was slogging through a thick swamp and there were no crewmen around to help. All of the engineering staff were getting the engines restarted. The laborers were loading gear and shovelling fuel. The researchers were cataloguing every book and journal they’d found. Everyone had something to do… yet here he was, carrying his superior officer. He felt like a fool, carrying a fool.

When he heard footsteps approaching from behind, Christophe was sure it was that damned runner, returning to pester him with more orders from his superiors. With Vlad’s weight on his shoulders, Christoph didn’t bother to turn and see. “Look, just tell the captain-”

“Why don’t you tell him yourself,” Dorian said as he cut Sabre off and positioned himself in front of the man, with his arms folded and an uncharacteristically serious look on his face. His eyes briefly flickered to Vladimir. “Sparring accident my ass. Only reason I'm even here right now is because the approaching ship has stopped. It’s loitering on the other side of the city, waiting. You've got five seconds to tell me what the hell’s wrong with my head of security, Sabre.”

As if right on queue, the floor began to shift. The captain's words were punctuated by the familiar sensation of the Feyfalken lifting off and slowly rising into the air.

 

There was the self righteous tone again. Dorian waltz's right up and decides to get confrontational instantly. Guess the messenger opted for the excuse to cover his own back then, shame that.

"Hmph. Afraid five seconds won't cut it. I thought it was best not to share the problem with the messenger. Perhaps next time I'll tell the man he shot himself and see if that ones any more believable." It was hardly the time for baiting the captain especially as he knew that Dorian could give it back far harder after his last experience but right now he needed an outlet and if Dorian was going to get up in his face on top of everything else, well he could dam well deal with a bit of a verbal assault. As the Feyfalken powered up he lost his footing, it was a smooth transition but his walk was becoming precarious at best after the last five sluggish minutes and he wasn't ready for any change. He eased Vlad down to the floor and placed his hands under Vlad's armpits.

"Grab his legs would you and perhaps someone in medical can shed light on it. All I can say now is that Vlad isn't the person he was when he boarded this ship, something magical is effecting him and he was stupid enough to think that didn't come at a cost. He kept it a secret and when I challenged him on his latest downhill spiral he apparently decided that this was a better escape mechanism."

"Vlad proposed we hide in the ravines but it looks like it's a bit to late for that now." Christoph regretted voicing that part instantly. It didn't offer a solution and it just set Dorian up to bite his head off again. Now would be a nice time for Vlad to wake up and take the heat of it.

“I already left clear instructions with Rei- I mean, ‘Integra,’” Dorian said as he took Vlad’s ankles and helped support the man. “The other ship --if it can even be called that-- is a lot larger and can’t maneuver between the skyscrapers. I want to peacefully establish first contact, but if they prove to be hostile or start ascending into a clear firing positon, I told her to dive for the mist. Trust me, Sabre, I know how to command a ship.

“Whatever’s wrong with Vladimir,” he went on to say, “it isn’t going to get fixed in the blink of an eye and having tworanking officers, including the captain, hovering over him isn’t helping. Your men need you. Once we get him to medical, are you going to resume your post or should I assign someone else?” He paused, as if it pained him to say that. “Geez, listen at me. I sound like Integra. But it can't be helped. This isn't the time for sentimentality.”

"I wasn't aware relaying Vlad's plans undermined your ability to command a ship and I didn't ask for you to leave your post to come find me. If you find my presence here that offensive to your plans your welcome to carry him the rest of the way to medical yourself."

It was rather infuriating they were both carrying Vlad it made it rather awkward to storm off and he had to watch he didn't tighten his grip on Vlad and inadvertently add to the man's problems.

"I can deal with the men if you trust me to do the role. I know you didn't want me in the position and you clearly have a low regard for me so how about you cut the half arsed apologies. At least everyone knows Integra isn't a people person. I'm fed up with the friendly captain that bites your head off when things aren't going his way."

Dorian sighed. “It’s always combat with you, isn’t it?” he said with a slow shake of his head as they stumbled toward the medical ward entrance, about a hundred paces away. The open door was like a light at the end of a tunnel.

He tried to keep his tone calm as he spoke: “Listen, Christoph, I may not like you, but I do respect your-”

An ear-splitting groan rippled through the air and both men stopped. For a moment, Dorian thought something had broken within the bowels of the ship, like a damaged turbine blade grinding against the metallic casing of the engine nacelles. It lasted nearly a full ten seconds, with no rise or fall in tone or volume. Dorian cringed and slumped against the walls to keep his knees from buckling. He felt that sound in his bones and deep in his soul.

Without really thinking, he dropped Vladimir’s feet and put the walkie talkie to his ear. “Integra! What the hell was-”

“I don’t know sir,” she said. “Some kind of… horn. It seemed to have come from the enemy ship, but there’s no visible response. They haven’t moved. I think they’re-”

The sound came again and Dorian fumbled the walkie talkie. “Goddamit,” he hissed between clenched teeth. That noise made him want to rip his ears off and stuff them up his own arse. “Integra, for the love of god, make them stop doing that!” he said when he found the device.

“Launching flares, sir,” she said and he heard the loud ‘pop’ and hiss of the first one being fired from its tube. He had commanded her to launch three flares at three second intervals, if the ship tried to hail them. He could hardly call that sound a ‘hailing.’ It was more like a battle cry.

"Ugh.." Vlad's face crinkled into a frown and he stirred, but when his eyes opened they were glazed. He didn't even seem to see Dorian or Sabre, but instead looked t the wall. As if he could see the floating mountain on the other side.

"Icht-freyao... Icht-frenaan...Icht den nor mentei." he muttered.

 

The sound came again as the third flare sailed skyward and burst hundreds of feet above the Feyfalken. The black fortress had signaled them and they had returned the favor, the only way they knew how. That terrible horn, like the guttural war cry of an angry giant, pierced the heart of every man and woman aboard the Feyfalken. Those of a weak constitution trembled or fell to their knees. Some even fainted or voided their bowels. Its power was inhuman.

Integra Lancaster, however, merely counted the seconds. There was a two second pause between each blast of that dreadful horn and each blast lasted about six seconds… to the trembling men on the flight deck, she was sure it felt like an eternity. She waited for it to sound again, but nothing happened. Three blasts at regular intervals; it was standard procedure when hailing another vessel.

They’re following Aeternian Air Navy protocols, she thought. The implications were frightening…

“W-well, we signaled them. Now what?” Helmsman Jameson asked, his voice quivering as he gripped the wheel with a pale, shaking hand.

Integra ignored him for the moment. Why are some affected and others not? She stood strong and proud, small in stature but with a will that could stare down a mountain of power. It was like that awful horn wasn’t just a signal, but a calling. It sifted the weak from the strong. The vice captain’s eyes widened. It’s a test! They’re determining who’s worthy to face them!

The fortress was big and black as night, but somewhere along that impenetrable wall of hard stone, something glinted, something shined, like the barrel of a gun when the sun hits it just right.

“Jameson, dive! Hard port, full reverse!”

But it was too late.

* * * * *​

Dorian looked at Vlad strangely. The man had woken from his stupor and began muttering nonsense, while staring at the walls, as if they could speak. “What did you just say?” the captain asked. “Look, I’d love to play this game, Snowflake, but I really need to-”

The ship suddenly lurched to the side, throwing them all to the floor as the Feyfalken banked hard. Dorian could hear the distant thud of furniture and cargo toppling over in the various rooms. Integra wouldn’t order the ship to turn this hard unless-

A horizontal beam of bright red light at the end of the hall answered his question. For a moment, no sound accompanied it, except the barely-audible hiss of burning metal. A millisecond later, there was a thunderclap; the sound of superheated air particles. The beam of light panned down, like the blade of a sword, melting through every layer of the ship, and then it was gone, leaving a red hot gash.

And then the screams began. Agony. Terror. Despair. Dorian blinked. He was sitting on the floor where he’d fallen, still staring at the molten wound in his ship as the metal cooled. Why couldn’t he move? Why wouldn’t these damned legs move!?

Before he knew what was happening, he was sprinting down the hall. He leapt over the gash and swore he could see clear blue sky through the gap. The blade of red light had cut clean through the metal, from starboard to port. Somewhere amidst the chaos of beauty and horror intermingled he asked the questions a captain should ask himself at a time like this. How do you evade an enemy who attacks with blades of light and daggers of sound? How do you outgun a mountain when all you have is a pea shooter? And most of all:

Why didn’t they aim for the thermal envelopes? We should be falling.

He heard another thunderclap as he rounded a bend in the hall. Though he couldn’t see the beam this time, he knew another part of the ship was being sliced into. Somewhere, people were dying. His people, his crew, were dying. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

* * * * *​

Burns on the ground.

Sand turned to glass.

Trees neatly sliced in two.

Dead Arcanian mages, staring at the sky.

It all made sense now. Integra saw what they had seen before the heat of the laser vaporized their eyeballs in their sockets. That’s what the books in the library of this futuristic Holdenheim called it: a “laser.” Focused light, burning hotter than a thousand suns. They’re using high technology, not magic, she thought. Now, if only she could just figure out how those dead mages had ended up with philosophers’ stone dust in their veins, she could say this expedition had borne fruit.

The Feyfalken, still in full reverse, dropped away and fell into the shadow of a skyscraper. Integra gripped the railing as the helmsman throttled forward, turned, and continued descending. The ship was faster when moving forward, but the maneuvers still felt like they were moving in slow motion. At least now they had something between themselves and the fortress.

Not for long. A third thunderclap sounded, farther away this time. A beam of red light slashed through the skyscraper above them, burning from right to left. The windows exploded on contact, raining down shattered glass and bits of metal framing. For a moment, it looked like the laser was going to cut the building in half and send it toppling down upon them, but the light vanished after a few seconds. The skyscraper groaned precariously and the Feyfalken turned onto another street just as the ominous structure began to tilt. Airships do not have rear view mirrors, but the loud crash behind them and the cloud of dust that overtook the Feyfalken was proof enough of what became of the wounded building.

Dorian staggered into the room and immediately began rifling through a stack of maps on the navigator’s workstation. The stitches on his shoulder had opened, staining his shirt sleeve with blood. “Stay sharp, everyone. It’s just a little urban renewal. You people look like the world is ending.”

“Th-they leveled a building…” Helmsman Jameson whimpered.

“Pull yourself together, man, or give that wheel to someone with the balls to handle it,” Dorian said when he finally found what he was looking for and promptly handed the map to Integra. “Reina, you’re our navigator. We’ve mapped every building in this city. Give this man a route to the city limits that doesn’t leave us with our ass out. By the time we drop over the edge, I want those fuckers to be so confused they don’t even know we’re gone. We’ll be in the mist and outta here in no time.”

“I doubt that’s possible,” Integra said, but accepted the map nonetheless and began plotting a course.

“Why?” Dorian said sharply.

Because I can sense them, she thought. And I’m sure they can sense us, too. This was not a battle of technology. The black fortress was harboring powerful magic. And so are we.

“Nevermind, sir. I’ll do my best,” she said and returned her attention to the task at hand as another thunderclap rang out.

Dorian gave her a knowing look and she suspected he knew what she was thinking. But, at this moment, his crew needed him. He picked up the acoustic pipe and spoke on an open channel. “Engineering, damage report. Medical, casualty report.”

 

Christoph pushed himself off of Vlad where he'd fallen over him as the ship banked. He didn't hesitate as Dorian sprinted off he set off close at his heels leaving Vlad. The man was conscious now and others needed his help far more. A new wave of adrenaline pumped through him, masking the cramp that had started to form in his calves and the ache in his back. He held his breath as he leapt over the gaping hole just torn in the ship. His feet connected with the intact metal decking on the other side, heat from the laser permeating through his soles showing the remnant power of such a lethal weapon. He didn't have time to stop to assess the damage, screams seemed to be escaping through the gouge in the ship, flowing out like blood from a wound. If it hadn't been for that horn stopping all three of them they might have just fallen victim to the first shot.

It was scary just how close it had come to tearing apart the medical bay. He poked his head into medical since he was going past it anyway. "I'm mobilising some of my men to assist getting the wounded to you. Some of the personal won't survive long enough to here. I suggest setting up a triage unit somewhere on the other side of the ship, better to have a second base just in case another attack hits here. Radio me if you do." He was about to reach for the medical bays acoustic pipes to send commands out to any of his men scattered across the ship but Dorian's voice came over it asking for a report. He couldn't block their communication. He needed to keep moving. He didn't wait for a response from the medical team. One girl had met his gaze even if she did seem paralysed with fear.

He sprinted out the door heading to the training room it was the next closest room with acoustic pipes that could relay messages over the whole ship but as he did he remembered the last time he had tried to relay orders in a crisis and had them over ruled. He hit the transmit button on an emergency com's device in the corridor and sent the message to the bridge.

"Sabre to Bridge. Requesting permission to task 1/2 of the personal to transporting the wounded and another 1/4 to assisting engineering in patching up safe routes across the ship." The moments seemed to pass painfully slow if he didn't get a quick response he would continue moving and relay the orders anyway.

 

"W-we're working on it, sir. Patients are starting to come in," a female voice said, presumably from medical. "Sorry, still too soon to report."

"Good to hear from you. Thank you, ma'am," Dorian said.

Well, that was good enough for him. Dorian exhaled a sigh of relief. Just knowing that medical hadn't been hit was a blessing. He had hoped to hear from Johnathon, but Melissa was capable of keeping it together, even if she did sound a little frazzled. Under the circumstances, who could blame her.

Still no reply from engineering, however…

"Sabre to Bridge. Requesting permission to task 1/2 of the personal to transporting the wounded and another 1/4 to assisting engineering in patching up safe routes across the ship."

"Do it," Dorian replied. With those beams cutting through the ship, he didn't want anyone to be left alone; they needed to stick together, work together and keep eyes on one another. If nothing else, having a purpose would prevent them from giving up and accepting defeat. "And tell anyone you see to put on a wingsuit," he added after a beat. 'Thank you, Christoph."

"Halston to Bridge," a male voice said. Halston was only an apprentice engineer, serving under Head Engineer Quinn. Dorian already didn't like the sound of this… "Quinn's wounded, sir. One of those damned things swept past and burned his leg bad. I.. I don't know if he's gonna make it."

Dorian switched to a direct channel to engineering. "Stabilize him. Whatever you do, don't go to medical. Someone will come to you. Listen to me, I need you to keep everyone's head on down there. Full steam, understand? No leaks. Stay strong under pressure. Now, what's the condition of the ship?"

"No damage to critical systems, sir. Before he… before Quinn took a hit, he theorized they're aiming for center mass, but the Feyfalken's engines and whatnot are in the outriggers. All they hit was residential and administrative quarters. We got grazed out here, but midship was the target."

Dorian thumbed his stubbled chin and tried to mull over what that meant. They didn't shoot for our balloons. They aren't aiming at our engines. What the hell do they want?

"That'll be all, Halston. Keep up the good work down there. We're counting on you."

 

Vlad blinked when his back slammed into the wall, hard. Everything was swimming around him, chaotic sounds filling his ears. It all made no sense. What was going on? One second he'd been speaking to Sabre, the next he'd felt as if claws had been tearing him in two.

The ship vibrated under the force of another blare, and Vlad's lip curled back in a primal snarl. Whatever it was, he instinctively wanted to attack it. But when his senses cleared further and he looked to one side his eyes widened.

The ship's being attacked. Vlad struggled to push himself up and cursed when he fell back as the ship made another sharp turn. He'd been swimming through visions of lightning, snarling shadows and angry screams. Blood, helpless to look at his mother as she died of a disease in the face of asking help from an enemy.

You must learn to protect yourself, my son, when I am gone. You are the only precious thing in the world to me, and my soul cannot stand if you are destroyed.

Yet he'd defied her and instead turned to protecting others, putting his own life on the line. Vlad grit his teeth and looked down at himself in disgust. He'd been taken aboard this ship expecting to protect the others, and now look what had happened. He'd dabbled in magic unwittingly and made himself a casualty in all sense of the word. A liability.

A sharp scream made him look up just in time to see a man stumble out from the corner of the hallway, clutching at a severed arm. Who knows where the other end was.

Another blast. The scream of metal, and then Vlad coughed as dust flooded the corridor from outside. Panic clenched his heart into a ball and threw it out the window. What have I done? What am i doing? I need to protect these people! Vlad heaved himself up and ran down the corridor, dodging those who ran past in hysterics, but skidded to a halt the moment he came to a ledge that shouldn't have been there.

A large, deep gash had been shorn through the ship, and his jaw dropped in horror when he spied the source between two buildings.

It was much bigger now, what had once been the speck. Now a dark, black castle floated overhead and defied all logic.

Logic that I should beleive is possible... Vlad stumbled back, trembling. How could he save this ship from something like that? Something only spoken of in legend?

His mother's voice whispered in his ear like a mocking laugh. Oh you silly boy. What is the weakness of every warrior?

Vlad grit his teeth and snarled, swaying on the edge. He didn't know. No one knew. He should know. His vision flickered, became a cacophony of color again. The sounds, already deafening, became much louder. His heart pound too hard in his chest. He felt pain in every limb. And he was helpless.

Helpless to do anything.

The animal scream that tore through the ship made several stop in their tracks and look back. And for the one person who saw the source of it, they watched as their protector, the Head of Security, changed.

Vlad dropped to all fours, his torso and neck extending outward as the rest of him narrowed, shortened or grew. His face warped into something close to that of a dog's, combined with the teeth of a shark and the eyes of a serpent. His hair changed into a long, blood-red mane that flowed down his back between two wings that lay curled over cruel, wicked claws.

The scream again, one of pure frustration and need. It came from deep within his chest, bulged in his throat and escaped in such a primal way that all could understand. His hind-legs bulged as they bowed under new weight, his hind-claws digging into the metal floor to keep traction. His tail lashed from side to side, ending in a tuft of the same blood-red hair that made up his mane. The rest of him was covered in glittering white scales that changed to colors of the rainbow when hit by the light.

And when he opened his wings and fell back into the rift, all he felt was releif.

I will protect them, even at the cost of my own life. I must distract the enemy until they are safe. He knew himself, he knew his mission, and that was all there was. Vlad shot beneath the ship at high speed and skated along the wind, pumping his wings for all their worth. When he made it to the front of the ship, he shot skyward and pumped back with his wings, placing both foreclaws on the front window. Dorian, Integra and the rest of the crew with them stood mere feet away.

He focused his gaze on Dorian for a long second, then Vlad slipped away on the winds again and flew between two buildings, heading away from the ship and deeper into the city.

I will distract the enemy. I will save the others. Anything short of victory shall be my doom.

 

Spotters on the catwalks reported everything they saw to the bridge. Every time the black fortress fired another beam, the thunderclap was immediately followed by their voices reporting where the shot was aimed, what had been hit, and if the Feyfalken had suffered any damage. Dorian found himself developing a profound respect for these men. Until today, he thought they had the easiest job in the world; just stand up there and enjoy the view. Now they had to stand up there, tethered to the railings of an airship that was banking, turning, and twisting through the city streets, while dodge falling debris every time the laser sheared off the side of a building.

Note to self: If we survive this, give the spotters a raise.

But, despite their uncanny knack for observation, none of the spotters saw a dragon drop out of the Feyfalken. Dorian heard someone frantically screaming about Vlad turning into a monster. He heard something about the head of security growing scales and wings and claws. But this was a battle and people often lost their heads and started hollering all sorts of crazy things into the acoustic pipes, so he paid it no mind…

A moment later, there was a loud thump from below, like the sound of something large crawling along the ship’s underbelly. The Feyfalken dipped and shuddered as a pair of scaly white claws raked across the viewscreen and an enormous reptilian creature lifted its face to the glass, staring straight at Dorian with big snake-like eyes.

The captain merely stared back, with one hand resting near the hilt of his rapier. He neither blinked nor flinched and remained that way until after the dragon turned and flew away. In fact, he didn’t move at all until he heard the ‘thwack’ of Helmsman Jameson’s head striking the steering wheel.

“He fainted,” Integra said, kneeling over the helmsman’s body. She lightly slapped his cheek, but the man was showing no signs of waking.

“Leave him,” Dorian said as he hauled the helmsman away by the ankles and took the wheel. “I’ll fly the ship. You keep navigating.”

“You don’t seem particularly shocked at Albion’s transformation,” Integra said in a low voice, casting a sideways glance at him before returning her attention to the map.

“Maybe I’m getting used to people keeping secrets from me,” Dorian replied, giving her an equally icy glare. But his eyes softened after a moment. “At least Vlad had the decency to look me in the eye and show me what he’s been hiding. If we survive this, I hope you’ll consider doing the same, Rei. Whatever it is you’re hiding, you don’t have to bear it alone.”

 

Amidst the chaotic symphony of burning wood, screaming crew, and frantic reports hid a faint knocking. What seemed to be a disembodied hand rapping on the open door to the bridge was soon joined by Edward's smiling face. "Heeeeeeeeeeey buddieeeeees." The hand ceased its tapping, and now began waving. "Sooooooo I hope I'm not disrupting anything. It's just I, uh-" Edward frowned and stroked his chin, unsure how to best continue. "I um-, I-". He rubbed his foot on the ground briefly, then he inhaled sharply and set his face in determination. "My room is now a lot bigger than it was before, if you catch my drift so I, uh-" His determination was quickly withering under the frigid glares of both captain and vice-captain. "-can I, like, hang out here please don't hurt me?"

"I suggest you grab onto something," Dorian said as he dragged the wheel hard to port. The floor slanted steeply as the Feyfalken's left side dipped. The walls groaned under the strain as the tortured airship banked far harder than it was ever intended to. The airship slid around a corner, drifting wide before straightening out by grinding against the wall of a building. Dead ahead, the streets ended abruptly and dropped off into a mist-filled ravine. Only about a hundred yards to go. Dorian throttled forward. The turbines squealed in response, like angry banshees.

"We're almost out of this mess," Dorian said, keeping his eyes glued to the viewport and his hands on the steering wheel. "Just... just find something to do, Seymour."

"But don't touch anything," Integra quickly added.

"How am I supposed to grab onto something while not touching anything?" Edward pouted, deliberately evading any possible incoming glares. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. "Oh, I have something that might help! I was documenting the new finds like I'm supposed to and I found..." Edward chewed on his lip as he rummaged through a small bag, then produced a book entitled Star Conflicts. "Here, here! They talk about what we're fighting! They're called... lightswords, wielded by Jeddees..." He frowned a bit as he scanned the pages. "...which were people. But everything else is the same! Minus the flying castle. And the god-horn. And, well," his eyes flitted briefly to the viewport, "and the dragon. And a few other things. But most of everything else is the same! Here!" Edward beamed as he offered the book to the captain.

"A little busy..." Dorian murmured between clenched teeth.

The vice captain remained a paragon of self-control as she gracioualy accepted the book instead. "Thank you so much, Edward. This is exactly what I needed," Integra said, forcing herself to smile. She promptly turned and chucked the book as hard as humanly possible, striking helmsman Jameson squarely in the chest.

She had intially positioned him slumped against the wall, but the last round of maneuvers left the unconscious crewman sprawled on the floor. The helmsman yelped, then turned over and began to curl up in the fetal position.

"Seymour, we have an urgent task for you," Integra said. "Get Jameson to medical."

Edward beamed again. This task would mark his second crucial contribution in just a matter of minutes! Edward pulled the curled helmsman out into the hallway, scribbled a note reading "please bring to medical", and promptly left him there. He sidled back into the bridge feeling victorious. He was so good at task delegation- he was surely ready for a managerial position. "Anything else I can help with?"

The vice captain gave him a puzzled look, probably wondering how he'd gone to medical and returned so quickly. It took less than a second --0.004286 seconds, to be precise-- for her to realize he hadn't gone anywhere at all and had probably dumped Jameson in the hall... which was significantly more than she had done.

Meanwhile, the Feyfalken reached the edge of the city and dove over the cliff. Dorian eased back on the throttle as the airship plummeted, nose down, toward the carpet of fog hundreds of feet below, and let gravity take over. "I think we're in the clear now," he said as the ship leveled out. Visibility was severely reduced by the fog, but the spotteres were still reporting, so they weren't completely screwed.

"No, we're not," Integra said sadly. "Captain, I need to have a word with you, in private."

"Now?" Dorian asked. "We still need to assess the condition of the ship, gather casualty reports, and-"

"Yes, now," she said adamantly and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him away from the helm. She throttled the engines down to cruising speed. "Seymour, take the wheel. If you see the ground, pull up. If you see sky, go down. If you see a wall, turn. Even you can do this." Without further instructions, she lad Dorian away and into the hall.

Edward acknowledged the order by saluting Dorian, then gripped the steering wheel from the wrong side. After a brief moment of puzzlement at the lack of windows from his vantage point, he realized his mistake and sidestepped daintily around the steering wheel. With a breath of reassurance and a rub of his hands, he spun the wheel and began flying the airship in tight, haphazard circles.

 

Vlad skimmed low over the ground between the buildings, glancing to one side occasionally as he put distance between himself and the Feyfalken. He mentally keened at every thunderous boom and the groan of mental, hoping that the ship had not been dealt a fatal blow. But he didn't look back. Every second counted.

Nostrils flaring wide at the tang of metal and dust in the air, he snapped his wings open and let the thermals off of the concrete and heated glass windows of the buildings help him rise higher and higher. Eventually he was pumping to keep momentum, and shot high into the sky, the sun glittering off his scales to create a blinding array of color and light. The air grew colder, thinner, but he paid no heed and pushed hismelf to the absolute limit.

When he finally stopped and glided for a long second to catch his breath, he dimly recalled Sabre's wish to fly in the wing-suits more. How the man would envy this sight now. But he was not here for sightseeing. Vlad turned his head and fixed his gaze on his target, the black, pointed behemoth further away and below him that threatened to destroy the thing he had sworn himself to protect. He had already failed in his duty once. He could not fail again.

Let's see just how tough your hide is, monster! Even an elephant must swat at flies! He widened his arc until he was directly above the fortress, eyeing the weapons he could see arrayed on every side. Railguns, Missile batteries, and large tubular cannons that could only be the source of the lasers.

His stomach slid to somewhere in his throat. Now that he'd looked more closely, he recognized this place. It was almost like the drawings of Abrecarida. The Storm Palace that overlooked Altamura. Are these people Arcanians? I thought that it was taboo for them to go into the desert!

The flash of red across his vision cut those thoughts short and he heard the distant screams of terrified people. No. He had a job to do, no matter who these people were. They were harming the others!

Roaring, he snapped his wings to his sides and dove at one of the narrow windows to send a ball of crackling flame at the ebony panes.

The flames rolled harmlessly off the sides of the fortress, like water off the feathers of a duck. There was not even a sign of charring. In fact, the fortress already looked blackened, as if it had passed through a great inferno to arrive here... yet the air around it felt cold and ominous.

Vlad spread his wings and pulled back, preparing to swoop up and take another pass. But, just as he initiated the maneuver, another ear-splitting, soul-shattering blast from the mysterious horn paralyzed him. His entire body stiffened and he slammed into the side of the fortress, like a bird into a glass door, and tumbled helplessly down the side of the mountain.

Damn that hurt! Vlad grit his teeth and shook his head, trying to regain his bearings. First he struggled to regain his breath, then moved each limb. By the time he was aware that he was actually falling he cursed again and opened his wings pulling himself up just enough to smash through a building window and crash inside.

A deep growl rumbled in his throat and he winced when the laser flashed by again. Despite the pain he forced himself into a standing position and ran out the next window, taking off and gaining height again. he could not be so foolish this time. First he had to take out the weapons. That was what he would do.

When he gained enough airtime, he looked at he weapons array again. The laser cannons and Railguns were set inside, and were obviously limited in close-range combat. It was the missile batteries that would threaten him, so he should take those out first.

Charging up a ball of flame in his throat once more, he focused on keeping his distance and fired at the nearest missile battery, hoping to make it explode and set off a chain reaction.

The horn blared again, only this time Vlad was ready. He stumbled slightly, but still managed to launch his attack. Unfortunately, the fortress was turning, as if aligning itself for a final strike. Although the movements were slow, it was just enough to make his attack land a few meters to the side of his intended target. A laser beam raked across the sky, narrowly missing the tip of his tail, but the beam was only a distraction.

A series of loud pops in the sky above him caused Vlad to look up as half a dozen missiles burst high overhead. The trails of smoke showed they'd been launched from the other side of the fortress. A dozen more smoke trails arced across the city, headed for the fleeing Feyfalken. The missiles above Vlad popped open, spreading tiny pieces of what looked like white confetti or bits of snow, blanketing him and the fortress.

He had little time to wonder what this could be, but it smelled like sulfur and chemicals. Vlad flapped his wings to escape the area, but couldn't get far before everything erupted into flames.

Pain. Pain unlike everything he had ever felt before. It was in his eyes, wings, everywhere. Vlad screamed and writhed to try and get away from it, mindless to it's grip. It snaked through his scales and charred away his hair, melted his skin. Pain. It as all there was.

His back slammed into something hard and he felt bone snap, but it was nothing. It was mercy. End it. End it. Die, just die and the pain will stop. But it wouldn't. He screamed again. In confusion, fear, betrayal. They had tried to be peaceful. Hadn't they seen that? They knew they were stronger. Why pick on those who could not fight back?

Why? Like a child, he wondered why he'd been rejected. Why they had done this to him. His mother had told him so many things, and now it had only come back and killed him. Maybe that was what she had wanted all along. For him to die at her people's hands. She had been horrified that she had born a half breed, the son of an Aeternian. Traitor. Traitor to his country, traitor to his people. He belonged nowhere.

Dead. Dead in nowhere, when he belonged nowhere. It fit.

Distantly, he heard the grating rumble of something turning, and when he opened his eyes, saw the massive gun aimed at the wounded Feyfalken, at first he didn't believe it. But his body moved without him commanding it to. Though his mind may have rejected everything, his body had not.

He was airborne. Pain in every limb, yet he flew. Vlad looked down and saw blackened flesh and scales slip away, replaced by angry red welts. Raw. Burned. Fire.

Fire. He didn't care anymore. He flew at the railgun and slammed into it, but it didn't even shudder under his meager weight. He grappled, clawed, but he was like a kitten against a lion. It was useless. Defiant, he pulled himself up and onto it to block the next projectile to try and shield the Feyfalken from one more blow. Stared at the back of the gun, a sad excuse for something that everyone who had heard fairytales feared. Yet he curled his lip back and snarled. Why? Why were they doing this? What had they done to deserve this?

His head fell into the trough of the railgun and he watched the ship through bleary eyes, counting the dull thuds of his heart. Surely he only had ten left. Nine, Eight. There was nothing he could do, he thought as his vision faded and turned dark. Seven, six. Nothing... Five, four. He had failed, but he would give it all if he must. For those who had a somewhere.

Nowhere. Dead. He belonged nowhere. Three, two. He heard the clank of something behind him. The gun being loaded?

One.

Vlad felt a buzzing in his ears a millisecond before the weapon fired, as the rails flickered with electricity. It jolted through his body, knocking him free of the rails as the gun activated. The sound was like two freight trains colliding head-on at full steam and the resulting shockwave made the fortress shudder.

The dragon plummeted to the ground, trailing smoke from his charred flesh and tattered wings. Had he remained conscious a moment longer, he would've heard the series of concussive blasts as the two-ton projectile punched through a half dozen buildings, traveling a couple hundred times the speed of sound, like a hypersonic spear thrown by a vengeful god of war. It penetrated the ground with such force everything in the city not bolted down leapt an inch off the ground.

Vlad crashed through a glass dome and came to rest in the atrium of an abandoned opera house, a tragic end to a noble man. The people he had tried so desperately to protect did not know what hit them. The railgun projectile burst from the wall of the rocky canyon and struck the Feyfalken where it lay hidden in the mist.

 

Dorian kept his cool until they were away from the curious eyes of Edward and the bridge crew. The moment he and Integra were safely in the hall, he grabbed her by the wrist, reversing her hold on him, and pinned her to the wall.

“Are you finally going to tell me what the hell is going on?” he snapped, staring deep into her eyes.

“We have to abandon ship,” she said calmly. “Give the evacuation order or everyone dies.”

An awful silence fell between them, punctuated by the groans of metal from the ship’s tortured airframe. Even if they didn’t take another shot from the lasers, the Feyfalken was one hard turn away from breaking in half under the stress of its own weight. She was too badly damaged to carry on like this.

But he knew that’s not what the vice captain was talking about.

“Why?” Dorian said, shaking his head in disbelief. He released her and took a step back. “We made it out of the city and into the mist. Once we descend, they’ll never find us. We’re safe here.”

“They know exactly where we are,” Integra said. “I know because I can sense them -- I can sense magic, Dorian. Anyone can, with the right training. And I’m sure they can sense us, too. The only reason they haven’t annihilated us yet is because we have something they want and they will destroy this ship to get it.”

Although he said nothing for what seemed like an eternity, the look in his eyes asked a thousand questions, none of which she was ready to answer. Integra bowed her head in shame. “I… I promised,” she said, her voice breaking. “I promised, on my family’s honor, I wouldn’t-”

The left wall suddenly lunged at them. Dorian didn’t remember the way it sounded or felt when the railgun delivered the killing blow to the Feyfalken. He only remembered hitting the wall, then the ceiling, then the floor. He must’ve blacked out for a second, because when he came to, he was seeing double and his hearing was muffled, like there was cotton in his ears and an awful ringing in his head. Integra was gone.

In all the battles he’d been in, he could not think of ever taking a hit that hard. As his vision refocused, he saw the corridor down the hall was twisted and the walls were wrinkled, as if the force of impact had tweaked the ship. The electric lighting flickered and threw sparks. The floor slanted at an unnatural angle, as if the ship couldn’t level out. Undoubtedly, one of the balloons was leaking. The wails of agony, which had subsided a moment ago, now flared up with renewed vigor, as if everyone on board suddenly remembered this was not a ship, but a coffin.

Dorian got to his feet, gripping the doorway of the bridge as he staggered inside. The viewport was a spider’s web of broken glass and the crew were scattered all over the flight deck, some nursing broken limbs or lacerations. Unlike the hallway, there were a lot more obstacles here that a person could get thrown against and suffer major injuries. The only one standing was Integra, who was screaming into the acoustic pipe. Her white wingsuit was stained red, due to a gash on her forehead. She looked like a fallen angel, lost in hell.

“Boiler number two is going critical,” someone from engineering was hollering from the pipe. “Engines one and three are dead and we’re losing steam pressure!”

“Shut the check valves! Contain it!” Integra demanded.

“It’s too late! We’re… holy shit! What the fuck is that!” the engineer said and the line went dead.

“Halston! Engineer Halston, report!” Integra said, but the man did not respond. “Dammit,” she hissed and turned away. Dorian was at her side in an instant, but before he could speak she grabbed his pistol.

Images of Tessa flashed before his eyes, but Integra didn’t turn the gun on him. She shot out the cracked windscreen, tossed the gun aside, and dove through the hole before spreading her wings and swooping down beneath the ship.

She’s headed for engineering, Dorian realized. He ran from the bridge, while hoping there was still a way to reach engineering through the dying ship.

* * * * *

Roderick Halston had been working on airships nearly all of his life. He was a young man of only twenty, but had proven himself time and time again. Airships were his life. He never imagined they would be his death.

As the Feyfalken listed dangerously to one side, he stared at the gaping hole left by the round that had penetrated the ship. He thought he knew every inch of the Feyfalken, but now he found himself staring into a room he had never seen before.

He knew he should stay away. Hot steam was hissing from the walls, threatening to scald any man bold enough, or stupid enough, to crawl through the breach and into this newly-excavated treasure trove.

Once inside, he found himself standing in a tomb-like chamber, lined with pipes on all sides. They seemed like ordinary copper tubing, but each was engraved with strange sigils and runes. It looked as if every pipe on the ship converged here, hundreds of them, yet each one was painstakingly carved with care and expertise. They were on the walls, the ceiling, and even the floors, impeding his path, as if people weren’t meant to be here.

There was ankle-deep water on the floor. Cold water, far colder than anything on the ship should be. Roderick realized he could see his breath. The air was chilled.

At the center of it all was a glass cylinder, like the display case in an aquarium. But the glass was shattered. It looked as if the round that had crippled the ship hit it dead center. Were they aiming for this? The engineer thought, horrified.

“Men are always taking shots at me…” a female voice said from behind him. “The question is, can you hit the right spot.”

The engineer wheeled around and found himself nose-to-nose with a pale blue face. He tried to take a step back, but tripped over a pipe. She caught him by his shirt collar, one-handed, and pulled him into a passionate embrace. He nearly suffocated as the blue woman pressed her lips to his. When she finally released him, he toppled backwards into the water and stared up at the naked, horned woman standing over him.

“Not bad,” she said, licking her lips. “I mean, I’ve had better, but…”

“D-d-d-d-d-demon,” he stammered.

“S-s-s-s-s-siren, actually, but, whatever floats your boat, sweetheart.” She smiled down at him, but suddenly turned to the hole in the wall, as if she sensed something coming. A half-second later, Roderick heard splashing and footsteps. The vice captain arrived on the scene.

“Oh, it’s my sweet little sister,” the demon said. “Reina, it’s been so long. Why don’t you visit me anymore?”

“I’m not your sister,” the vice captain said coldly. “Let him go, Fey. You’re scaring him.”

“Scaring him?” the demon said incredulously. “I’m scaring him?” She had been playful a moment ago, but her eyes suddenly began to glow a menacing shade of blue as she stalked toward the vice captain. Integra boldly stood her ground. “No, Rei, the damn lasers and horns and cannons that can punch a hole in the earth are what’s scaring him! You should’ve set me free the moment that thing showed up! I could’ve done something before it came to this! Why don’t you just trust me for once?”

“Possibly because you’re a soul-drinking succubus,” the vice captain said in a low voice. “Besides, I doubt even you could stop this.”

“Watch me,” Fey said, with her fists balled at her side as icy armor, covered in spikes, began to form on her body. The awe-struck engineer watched as the vice captain took the ‘demon’ by the arm and forced her to calm down. They spoke to one another like old friends.

“No, Fey. There’s a better way,” Integra said softly.

“I already know what you’re about to suggest,” Fey replied in a less hostile tone. “You really think there’s enough energy here to pull that off?”

“I can feel the rifts. Can’t you? Someone teleported half a city here,” Integra said, adjusting her glasses. “I would think teleporting a ship should be child’s play.” She paused and folded her arms. “If you need additional energy, there’s a dragon out there with a philosopher’s stone fragment. Find Vlad, tap his power --if there’s anything left-- and you should have all you need to erect a stable transdimensional tunnel. I know for a fact you’re capable of it.”

Fey laughed and gave her ‘sister’ a hearty pat on the shoulder, nearly knocking the slender woman over. “That’s so like you, Rei. Always the scientist. Always conducting experiments. You’ve been dying to try this for ages.”

“This isn’t about me. I just want to save what’s left. If this works, you’ll save a lot of lives, Fey. The crew will be in your debt,” Integra said. “They might even… love you.”

Fey’s entire demeanor brightened. She was absolutely radiant as the ice armor melted, dripping off every curve of her perfect hourglass figure. “You always know just the right things to say,” she crooned, stroking Integra’s short blond hair. Suddenly, she turned to the engineer, who was still lying on the ground, trying to make sense of everything he was witnessing. He thought the two women had forgotten he was there. The sudden attention made him flinch.

“See you soon,” the succubus said, blew him a kiss, and struck a sultry pose before she vanished in a cloud of swirling mist, which quickly turned to falling snow, transforming the entire room into a winter wonderland.

“Get up,” Integra said as she harshly took him by the arm and hauled him to his feet. For a moment, he wondered who was really the demon in this relationship. Integra might be human, but Fey was much nicer… and better looking, too.

Integra snapped her fingers in front of his nose. “Pay attention, Halston. Get your men back to work. I need the controls back online and at least two working engines. We need to turn the ship around and head back toward the city.”

“What!?”

“I don’t have time to explain. Your vice captain just gave you an order.”

 

The moment the attack on the Feyfalken, Johnathon’s world was turned upside down. The almighty horn had frozen him in place as he left the training room, the very air seeming to vibrate around him. The horn had scared him, not because of the noise it made, but because of the foreign presence he felt radiating out from the origin of the noise and the reaction it had invoked in him. His skin had seemed to vibrate as invisible energy ran across his body and with each blare of the deafening horn the feeling only increased in intensity, as if he was attached to a live wire and someone was slowly turning up the voltage.


Heart racing he had taken one step before the ship rocked violently, throwing him against the opposite wall and onto the ground. Clutching his stomach as he gasped for air he tried to rise but another lurch followed by the screeching of metal knocked him over again.


Groaning, Johnathon had pulled himself to his knees and using the wall as supported dragged himself to his feet. The energy racing across him had been was almost unbearable, as if he was standing in the sky amidst a thunderstorm and as he slowly limped down the hall he could have sworn arcs of static had been jumping between his fingers.


Before anything could come of it however his world had quite literally been turned upside down as a beam unlike anything he had seen before vaporised the entire segment of the ship in front of him, disappearing almost as quickly as it had appeared. The resulting lurch from the ship more than enough to throw his head against the metal wall and his limp body to the floor.


Blankly staring at the ceiling his sight slowly went black. But as one vision faded, another opened. Sapphire blue light filled his vision as the blackness cleared. He still lay on the corridor floor but instead of being surrounded by the metal walls a misty substitute floated in its place, loosely imitating the solid structures.

Just by looking Johnathon could make out small lights through the misty walls, frantically running like ants inside the ship. Some lights glowed brightly while others could only faintly be noticed but the ship was a glow with them, like bees in a hive.


People. He realised, dazed mind still not registering the strangeness of what he was seeing. Beyond and amongst the people hundreds of small pale sheets, like frayed silk that’s almost broken, hung in the air. Behind the fray energy glowed, almost seeping through from the other side, the details of which Johnathon couldn’t make out, occasionally they would shake as if a shock wave had passed through them but for the most part they lay still.


One of the very same ‘frays’ sat him and to his surprise a continuous cloud of energy seemed to be seeping through, apparently drawn to the bright light that Johnathon himself was putting off. A flash of movement drew his attention however as a brilliantly glowing creature crawled along the ship. To his surprise a ghostly figure of Vlad could be seen inside of it, his expression curled into as snarl at something in the distance.


As Vlad took off, Johnathon followed his progress until a cold shock raced through him. A fortress hung in the sky, defying all laws of physics. It was huge, not just in size but in presence. The aura of the thing radiating out in waves that washed over the Feyfalken, bouncing back wherever it hit the ship.


The air seemed to shift and squirm around the fortress, as if it was a ‘fray’ itself and large arcs of energy ran along its surface. An incredible beam of energy burst from the vessel and as he watched in horror it plunged into the Feyfalken, the glowing lights at the exact area it hit winking out immediately.


Looking away exhaustion washed over him and his vision began to flicker. The touch of a familiar presence made him twitch however and he quickly turned his gaze to the source. "You.” he breathed, in surprise.

 

Floating. It was all he knew, all he understood. He floated in an abyss, tormented by nothing, yet he felt no joy either.

Vlad would have frowned, but he had no sense of embodiment. He merely existed as something within nothing. No pain, no happiness. No joy, no sorrow. He felt nothing, and didn't mind. Empty. Hollow. Not even the memory of who he had been drifted in the husk of what had once been a man. Or had he been a man? He couldn't remember.

Then something disturbed the darkness. Color. Light. Vlad instinctively shrank away from it, but was ensnared. It wanted him, but why? He wanted to sleep. Let him go. He felt no need for anything anymore. Why wouldn't it leave him alone?

I don’t want you. I just want what you have, a female voice said, punctuated by a small giggle. I’m embracing my inner golddigger.

Surely he was dreaming. Or dead. Regardless, he was not alone. As he floated in nothingness, another floater joined him. A moment ago, he could not remember having a body, but now he did and another body was drifting toward him. Her form was amorphous, lacking any details. She drifted toward him, with her arms outstretched, and he was powerless to flee.

Her hand plunged into his chest, painlessly, almost gently, and drew out a blue glow residing there. Thanks. I’ll give this back when I’m done, she said as the nothingness collapsed in upon them both, as if drawing out that stone had somehow destroyed the cornerstone of it all.

When Vlad awoke, he was lying on the floor of a darkened atrium, like the main hall of a theatre. Rain poured through a gaping hole in the roof, pattering the hardwood. The floor all around him was shattered, splintered, and broken, as if something massive had fallen through the ceiling and landed here… but he was not ‘massive.’ He was just a man. A man in a lot of pain.

“If only you knew how these things were made…” the woman said and Vlad strained to look to the side. She was sitting on the floor beside him, with her legs crossed, holding his most prized possession. She held the pin to her bosom and it sank into her translucent body, embedding itself in her chest.

“Shhhh, try not to move,” she said with a finger to her lips. With her other hand, she gently patted his head and ran her fingers through his matted white hair. “You did well, Vladimir. Leave the rest to me.”

Vlad blinked slowly, confused. But he did as he was told. How had he done well? He'd failed to protect the others. He grit his teeth when a spasm of pain ripped through his body, but managed to keep from moving.

When he opened his eyes again, he looked at his outstretched hand and frowned. There were angry red welts all over his arm, but when the rain hit it the flesh began to lighten and turn pink, healing over again almost effortlessly. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but when he turned his sluggish gaze back to the one sitting next to him he closed his mouth just as quickly. Siren. He'd known. He'd known. But now why was she sitting next to him? Why had she saved him?

"Who... who are you?" he rasped.

“My name is…” Her lips moved and there were sounds, but he couldn’t make sense of what she said. It sort of sounded like a breeze gently caressing the fresh leaves of new growth in spring. Wait, no, it was more like a babbling brook tumbling down a mountainside as winter’s glaciers melt away. No, that’s not right either. It was sort of like the sound a rainbow makes as it arcs across the blue skies left behind by a thunderous monsoon. What…?

“But most people call me Fey… as in Feyfalken.” She smiled down at him. “Yes, that Fey.”

Anyone who spoke Arcanian knew that naming an elemental being ‘Fey’ was a little like naming a dog, ‘Dog.’ But this elemental said the name with pride because it was the name she was given. It meant something to her. It was dear to her.

Vlad blinked several times again but nodded. It wasn't his place to discriminate someone's name. It was... part of yourself. A label. That and pissing off an elemental was definitely not a good idea right now.

He expelled a breath and decided to drive the pain away by focusing on what her hands were doing with his hair. It seemed soothing enough, but every time her nails scraped his scalp, even lightly, his heart thudded in his chest and he ended up going limp like a puppy.

“There’s a good boy,” she said as the sky above began to change colors. Ribbons of light, like ripples on a pond of color, shimmered above them and the bluish glow of his keepsake, which she'd taken into her chest, began to brighten. “Don’t worry. It’ll all be over soon. Momma’s gonna make the bad stuff go away,” she whispered.

 

“I don’t get it,” the newly-appointed chief engineer said as he read the gauges. “We’ve got breaches all over the place. There’s steam shooting out of the pipes like a freaking geyser, but…” he tapped the glass on the pressure gauge, as if he couldn’t believe the readings. “The pressure’s not dropping.”

“That’s because she’s keeping it up,” the vice captain said as she strained to shut off another valve. “Now stop talking and focus on closing off these valves, Halston. Fey can’t afford to waste energy on this. She’s needed elsewhere.”

The engineer reluctantly began to help. He wiped the sweat from his brow and began turning another valve, shutting off the flow of steam to the ruptured sections of pipe. As he worked, all he could think about was how badly damaged the Feyfalken was. Even if they sealed the leaks, could she still rise? He wasn’t sure if the emergency hydrogen sinks would be enough to regain positive buoyancy.

Thinking about stuff like that kept his mind off of all the people who’d died today. Integra had temporarily made him the new head of engineering, but what was the use if he had no men left and no ship to work with?

“Clear the doubts from your mind,” Integra said, as if she could read his thoughts. “Magic requires two things: willpower and raw energy to be shaped by that willpower. Fey’s will is strong; she’s been doing this for thousands of years. Her confidence in her own abilities and experience makes nearly anything possible, given enough energy. This place is teeming with energy.”

Halston was horrified. He couldn’t believe the vice captain was talking like this. Magic? What if someone overheard?

“Magic is real. The Grand Design is real. They’re both real,” Integra said sternly. She finished cranking down the last check valve and turned to face him. “This world has rules, but those rules can be changed. Through magic, you can add variables, change inputs, switch up the functions. This place is riddled with rifts. Transmundus is at our fingertips. The equation is fragile here. All we have to do is change the Feyfalken’s location from ‘here’ to ‘not here,’ and the rules of this world will take care of the rest.”

“W-what do you mean?” Halston said.

“Anything without a location input cannot exist on the physical plane. It gets dropped into Transmundus, the land of things that aren’t here,” she explained. “All we have to do from there is input a new location, for somewhere else. The closer the better, so nothing is lost in translation.”

Lost in translation? He didn’t like the sound of that…

“You all have a lot to learn,” Integra said as she turned toward the door, “and I intend to teach you. But first, we need to get to the-”

“Bridge?” Dorian said. He was blocking the door and she nearly collided with his chest. Integra gasped and took a step back. Halston could not remember ever seeing her so surprised.

“I ran into your blue buddy on my way down here,” the captain said. “She said she’d take care of the bridge… whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.”

“Fey’s already back?” Halston said.

“‘Already back’ implies she left, which implies she was here to begin with, which implies she can only be in one place at a time, which implies a fundamental misunderstanding of what she is and why I sealed her away in the first place,” Integra said.

Halston’s head exploded.

“Where did you find that thing,” Dorian said, “and what is it doing on my ship?”

“Right now, it’s saving our lives,” Integra said. “You can be angry with me later, Dorian, but first we need to activate the hydrogen sinks and get the Feyfalken as close to the city as possible. That’s where the greatest concentration of energy is.”

“Can’t,” Dorian said with a slow shake of his head. “The hydrogen sinks were destroyed in the attack and, in our current condition, we can’t gain altitude without them. Whatever she’s going to do, she’ll have to do it from here.”

* * * * *​

The Feyfalken pointed its nose skyward, as if trying to claw its way back toward the city. But gravity was winning the battle, slowly dragging the ship down into the ravine and the thickening fog below. For all the attention they had given the city, no one had bothered to map the canyons surrounding it. There was no way of knowing how deep it went or if it even had a bottom.

The scene on the bridge was one of complete and utter despair. In the absence of both the captain and vice captain, most of the flight crew had either left to dragging their battered bodies to medical, or were resigned to their fate. When Fey arrived, wearing the captain’s coat, (because Dorian did not seem pleased with the idea of her strolling around naked,) there were only three people there. Two were sitting in the corner, hugging one another and crying. The third was still at the helm, dutifully steering the ship.

Actually, the helm wasn’t functioning anymore, but that didn’t stop Edward from trying. He continued to turn the wheel and fiddle with the throttle, blissfully unaware that the linkages between it and the control systems had been destroyed many minutes ago.

Well, he gets points for persistence, Fey said as she approached the glass and stood with her hands on her hips, as if contemplating something.

This was her ship. She knew every inch of it because she was coursing through its pipes, winding through its turbines, and bursting out of its boilers. She was the Feyfalken. It didn’t take long for her to realize that getting the Feyfalken back into the city was virtually impossible. She would have to initiate the spell here… and pray it worked.

“Showtime,” she said with a smile as she rolled up her sleeves and approached the shattered viewscreen. She stood at the edge, where only a wall of ghostly white fog could be seen, and stretched out her hands.

Far across town, the other Fey stood and gently laid Vlad’s head down to rest. She reached skyward, stretching her hands toward the clouds. The falling rain began to slow, until it halted in mid air and reversed direction.

“Two tickets to anywhere but here, please,” she whispered as she shut her eyes and focused on bridging the Divide.

* * * * *​

There are numerous theories about what Transmundus actually looks like.

All of them are incorrect… but none of them are wrong.

The important thing to remember about Transmundus is that it is completely undefined. It is where things go to be unmade, a cosmic incinerator where the physical realm’s ‘trash’ or leftovers go to be recycled. Even time itself comes apart.

Nothing there is, everything was, but only some things will be. Fey’s job, as navigator on this brief, yet infinitesimally long journey through the Other Side, is to ensure the Feyfalken that was is the same as the Feyfalken that will be. And, for the love of all things holy, don’t fuck up the ‘is’ in the middle.

This gets rather messy when one remembers that time doesn’t really exist there. To say the Feyfalken never traveled to Transmundus would not be entirely correct. It was there… or maybe it will be there… or maybe it is there. Don’t bother trying to wrap your head around it. Mortals were never really meant to be there anyway.

___________________________________________________​

Act 5:
THE VALLEY OF THE LOST​

There is no black fortress where they’re going. There are, however, some other odds and ends, scattered about in a lush green valley, surrounded by mountains on all sides. One rusting oil tanker, beached on a dune. One crashed jet airliner, stuck nose-down in a grassy field. Half of a skyscraper, lying on its side in a swamp. In the distance, at the foot of the mountains, is a small village of thatch-roofed homes, about two dozen or so, where a tribe of primitive-looking men and women in robes are gawking at the sky.

This is the scene on the ground. The scene in the sky is far less interesting… until one doomed airship suddenly poofs into existence and sends the villagers into a frenzy.

Fey did not intend to arrive here. She was shooting for a rift a couple thousand miles to the east, but this spot seemed to just pull her in. It was as if this location had snatched them out of Transmundus. Based on the looks of it, a lot of things had gotten the same treatment.

The entire place was a valley of lost things. She had heard of such phenomena, but never experienced it before. Hmmm, interesting. She is sitting upon a rock contemplating this with Vlad’s head in her lap, stroking his pretty white hair as she watches the Feyfalken streak across the sky, trailing thick black smoke. Fey, on the bridge, waves to her other self on the ground, before picking up the acoustic pipe.

“Mayday, mayday. This is your acting captain speaking,” she said, speaking on all channels. “All hands brace for impact. I repeat, all hands brace for impact.” She paused just long enough for this to sink in before adding, in an incredibly cheerful tone: “Thank you for flying with us. No refunds. Have a nice day.”

Compared to all the shit they’d been through today, a crash was nothing, right?

 

Memories of the Infinitum poured through Dorian’s mind. Few captains could say they knew that sinking feeling, the feeling that your home, your life, your very existence is going down in flames. He had felt it before and never wanted to feel it again.

A lesser man might cower in fear or be paralyzed by the monumental paradigm shift his life was undergoing. What is a captain without a ship? What is an airship that cannot fly? How could he call himself "captain" of an "airship" after today and not have it feel like a farce?

Fortunately, this was not a lesser man. This was Dorian Cromwell, captain of the Feyfalken, the legendary vessel that had challenged the Sands and boldly gone where no Aeternian ship had gone before.

And we're not done yet, he thought as he looked into Integra’s eyes.

“C’mon,” he said as he took her hand and ran through the corridors. “It’s too dangerous down here. We need to get to higher ground.”

She didn’t complain. He ran through the maze of narrow halls, some blocked by fires or fallen debris, until they emerged onto a mangled catwalk. The sunlight assaulted his eyes. Beyond the tattered remains of the Feyfalken’s damaged thermal envelope he saw clear blue skies, hemmed by snow-capped mountains. A carpet of green stretched out beneath them.

What a beautiful place to crash a ship, he thought.

The propeller on the ship’s port side was seized and its engine made a horrible wailing sound as it belched clouds of black smoke and hissing steam. The starboard propeller was still going full blast, turning the ship slightly. Dead ahead, Dorian spied a glassy blue lake at the valley’s center. Once the ship aligned with it, the starboard propeller abruptly stopped and the Feyfalken settled into a gentle glide.

“She’s aiming for the water,” Integra said, just as Dorian suspected. The ship’s controls were too damaged, but Fey could control the rudder and engines via steam. Unfortunately, that was all she could do.

“We’re not gonna make it,” Dorian said. He felt something cold slither across his toes and looked down to see water sloshing across the deck, soaking his shoes. It moved as if it had a mind of its own, flowing out of every pipe and faucet and showerhead aboard the ship and snaking down the railings of the catwalks, as if all the water on board was fleeing the ship.

“They say the rats and cockroaches are the first to know when a ship is doomed,” Dorian said. “So, what is your blue friend, a rat or a roach?”

“I assure you, Fey is the last person who would ever abandon this ship,” Integra said and pointed down. “Look.” Although Dorian couldn’t see what was going on beneath the ship, he could feel the chill in the air. All of the water headed down the outer hull and formed a solid layer of ice on the ship’s underbelly, a crumple zone for the impending crash landing. The groans of metal ceased as hardened ice reinforced the ship’s airframe.

The first ship he’d ever captained had been destroyed by magic. The second might be saved by it. One was destroyed by fire. The other might be saved by ice. Ain't life funny?

“C’mon,” Dorian said as he shuffled Integra back inside, so they wouldn’t be thrown overboard when the ship struck land. “Find something to hold on to.”

Integra tore off a strip of her wingsuit and began lashing herself to a pipe.

“No, don’t strap yourself in. That’s how people get broken limbs,” Dorian said as he grabbed a pipe bolted to the wall and gestured for her to do the same. “Just hold on and ride it out.” She looked at the strip of cloth, as if reconsidering, but Dorian looped an arm around her waist and pulled her into him. “It’s alright. I got you,” he said with a grin.

To his surprise, she didn’t resist. She curled into him, like a baby cub in the arms of its mother. She didn’t tremble and he briefly wondered why that might be. Where did she get her fearlessness, her courage? From him? From this ship?

From that demon?

The monotonous hum of the main engine cut out for a moment, then roared to life again, at full throttle. She’s reversed thrust, Dorian thought. We must be getting close. We’ll probably hit the ground in about-

He lost his train of thought as the Feyfalken’s nose plowed into the dirt. The sound was like a giant running down the hall toward them, slamming doors. The first boom came from the bow, then roared closer and closer until he felt it in his gut. Then it rumbled past them until the entire ship was grumbling and groaning as it slid across the grassy plain, digging a deep wound in the soft earth and throwing up shards of shattered ice, like a glacier meeting a steam turbine.

He was still standing when it stopped. Still alive. Still breathing. All things considered, it was a rather tame crash. Dorian stood there, one hand gripping the pipe with white knuckles, while his other arm was wrapped around Reina’s waist, pressing her tiny body to his chest. He stood there, still waiting for something to explode or break or do something. Waiting for life to throw another brick at his head. But nothing came. The tragedy was over, now he had to pick up the pieces and figure out what comes next.

He didn’t snap out of it until the vice captain began trying to wriggle free of him.

“Oh… ummm… sorry, Rei,” Dorian said as he released her.

“Integra,” she corrected and gave him a quick death glare --one of those ‘we will never speak of this’ looks-- before adjusting her glasses and staggering toward the exit, placing one hand on the wall for balance because the ship was slightly off-kilter.

“I need to go assess the damage,” Integra said, far too calmly. Her tone was even colder than usual, as if her soul had crashed along with the ship. Dorian momentarily considered going after her, but he knew what she was really saying: she needed a moment alone.

His questions could wait. His crew could not.

Where was Sabre? Where was Dr. Kane? Most of all, where was Vlad?

He made his way toward medical, dousing any fires he could, and gathering every able-bodied man he came across. He ordered them to spread out and search the ship, gathering every wounded crewman. Anyone in critical condition was sent to medical. The dead were carted out, to be counted. The acoustic pipes were too damaged to carry a message, so he had to face his men and make these calls, which was easier said than done after today’s defeat.

 

Sabre laboured across the room towards another body. He couldn't tell if they were alive. They had to be, there had been to much death. In the last 20 minutes he had probably covered more of the ship than he normally did in a day. Sprinting down the corridors, vaulting obstacles and at one point even swinging a crew member over a hole in the ship secured only by torn power cables. The ship was an utter state and at this point so was he. Some sort of engine had torn itself free of it’s brackets and lay across the floor blocking his path. He placed his hand down and went to hop over but slipped falling over and rolling along the floor.

He didn’t bother getting up as he crawled over and checked the crew members pulse. In his heart he knew it was a lost cause staring down at the deathly pale face that told him the inevitable. Blood pooled round the man's head where he had obviously smashed his head off the wall or the floor or on one of the last impacts as the ship banked or was torn apart by the lasers. Sabre pulled his hand back only then noticing the bloody hand print he had left on the man's neck. Pain flared in his left palm as if his body had only just noticed one of his many injuries accrued during his rescue attempts. A large gash ran from near his thumb over to his little finger probably from trying to stabilize himself off a torn metal wall or lift debris off victims at some point.

He pushed himself back up to his feet and managed to make a better attempt at getting over the fallen engine this time. He exited the room heading towards the next engine room and was relieved to actually see someone alive coming towards him. Under the blood that coated the mans uniform he could just make out the medical insignia. He was a heavy built man, one that looked better suited to be shovelling coal or working a sword than to be bandaging wounds but Sabre knew that these people would be the heroes of today.

"Damn it Sabre what are you still doing down here! Didn't we tell you to take a bed when you brought the last woman back!"

"I can rest when we know we've found everyone we can." He reached his right hand out stabilising himself against the wall as a wave of light headedness hit him and his vision hazed.

"No you can rest now, while there's still something left of you. Have you even looked at yourself recently? You can barely even stand up."

"It's just a cut on my hand, I can hardly complain with what everyone else is going through."

"And the burns on your shoulder? Hell have you looked at how much blood your leaving from that hand as you stand here?" The doctor took a step towards him. "I'm taking you back to medical now, you've done enough good for now. You need to think about yourself right now."

Christoph grunted as he attempted to push past the man but practically fell into him as he tried to head to the next engineering room as he had intended. "You cleared this one yet?”

“What are you going to do if you find anyone? As it is I’m going to need to carry you back to make sure you make it safely.”

“Others need you more than me, stop wasting both our time with this, your not going to convince me.” Christoph staggered further away from the man gasping in the air focusing on lifting one foot after another.

“Dorian was right your too stubborn for your own good. I’m sorry this is for your own good...”

Christoph went to turn to respond to the comment just as he saw a fist coming towards his face. He went to block but his body was to sluggish. Everything went black as he was hauled over the doctors shoulder who began the slog back to medical with his now unconscious patient.

 

"Captain," Edward called as Dorian disappeared around a corner. Ordinarily Edward would have been able to run and catch up with the man of the hour easily, but he did not have the luxury of an experienced airship crasher advising him of the side-effects of strapping oneself in for such a crash, a luxury which would surely have spared him his current discomfort originating from his chest region. "Captain, I'd like to report an accident-" Edward called again, panting as he loped forwards. "It was my fault, I was steering the ship and I lost control, and then I pushed the throttle too far I think and probably ruptured something and then we went into the portal and-" He abruptly stopped as he rounded the corner. The smell of blood washed over him, and his ears finally began separating the pounding ring from the pounding screams.

Well then.

The injured were flooding into the medical bay as if by primal instinct. None of them seemed to consider what happens when the local scale equivalent of a massive earthquake shook through a room full of unsecured surgeons and their surgical equipment. The words 'sterile', 'medical', and 'bay' no longer applied to the sterile medical bay. For the first time in a long time, Edward stopped smiling.

He approached Dorian from behind and tapped his shoulder. "You'll have to let most of them die, you know." It really didn't seem like a proper suggestion, since most of them, by all intents and purposes, had already died. But then again, it was also a valid suggestion. When doctors were on the tables as patients, prioritization became necessary, so it was time for the captain to start choosing. Who lives, and who dies. I hope you choose wisely, Captain. For all of our sakes.

 

Vlad jolted when he felt the impact and pushed himself up slightly. The ground wasn't supposed to shake. Were they moving? He turned his head in the direction he thought he'd heard a loud groaning noise come from and stopped short.

The ship lay in a wreck, half-buried in the earth where it had finally come to rest. Vlad struggled to push himself up and collapsed with a grunt, but the second time he managed to get to a standing position. He didn't hurt as much as before, yet his mind was blank, glazed. Failure. He only felt the desire to go there. Didn't know if anyone had survived.

Something moved behind him and he turned to see Fey. Oh. She was still here. She hadn't been some figment of his imagination. But then his eyes narrowed. She looked different than before -almost smaller. Her horns had shortened to tiny nubs and her body looked fragile, transparent. Water clinging to a skeleton of ice.

"Are you ...okay?" he said, the words hard to form past all the fog that clouded his mind. Failure. He hadn't been able to protect them when they'd needed him most.

“Hmm?” Fey said, turning to face him. There was a dazed, almost vacant look in her eyes, as if she was staring at something far, far beyond him. But, whatever it was, it was gone and her unnaturally chipper personality returned in full force. Suddenly, she donned a smile and sprang to her feet. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” she said, as she knelt before him with an inviting smile and an outstretched hand. “Let’s go for a walk.”

She didn’t have the heart to say it, but this was all very tiring. Her ‘real’ body was back on the ship and keeping up this second shell was spending energy she couldn’t afford to waste. On the other hand, the ship needed its head of security. She couldn’t just leave him, after all he’d done. Speaking of which…

Fey reached into her chest, where the blue glow of Vlad’s keepsake still pulsed. It had dimmed significantly since she’d given it to him and was nearly drained of all the power it had accumulated over the months. But it was still his.

“I told you I would give this back,” she said as she drew it out of her bosom and offered it to him. “Don’t worry, it’s safe now,” she added in a sultry tone, as reassurance. “It won’t be keeping you up at night anymore... but maybe I could.”

Vlad took the pin back with an odd expression on his face, almost as if he wondered whether he really should or not. Yet it was still a fragment of what he had once been. But he blinked at her suggestion and had his brows raised when the fact of what she was, what he was hit him like a sack of bricks.

Vladimir mentally cursed the fact that he had such pale skin as his whole body turned a shade of pink and his mouth refused to work properly. "I -ah- umm..." But he was stuck like the idiot he was. She'd literally saved his life, so he couldn't rightly deny her anything that she wanted. Oh god if Dorian could see me now...

"Th- that's a relief..." he managed to get out, eyes fixed to the ground like a teenager.

There was something sinister about her smile. Something devious, devilish, and more than a little daring. Fey’s lips curled into a mischievous grin and the glint in her eyes signaled the beginning of a twisting, curvy road leading deep into trouble and hitting every stop along the way.

“Viiiiirgin,” she whispered into his ear. The word hit like a laser beam from the black fortress and Vlad went from pink to red. She suddenly burst into laughter and slapped him on the shoulder. “Lighten up. There are worse things to be. Like… ummm… dead, maybe. Or a dragon. Dragon’s never get laid; that’s why they’re all gone. I haven’t seen one in… oops, almost gave away my age!” She giggled and leaned in close again as she whispered, “What kind of girls do you like, Vlad? Are you into older women? I won’t tell…”

"I -I don't- ah-" Vlad just managed to keep from jumping away like a startled hare. Somehow he knew he wouldn't get more than ten feet from her if she had a mind to chase. But that only made him turn even redder.

The Ship, the crew. Go to the ship. He gave himself that basic command and forced himself to turn away. "We... we have enough time to discuss that later Fey. At the moment there's some more pressing matters at hand." He mentally sighed in relief that he managed to keep from squeaking that sentence, but he was acutely aware of her presence behind him. He'd never bothered with women before -he'd simply never had the time nor interest. Now this siren had set her sights on him and he didn't know what to do. Or think for that matter.

“Okay,” she said with a sigh and fell in step, trailing along far behind him. Her plan to get him up and moving toward the Feyfalken had worked… but that was no surprise. She had a knack for getting men to do what she wanted.

Fey plodded along behind him, with her hands clasped behind her back, and wistfully hummed a calming tune as they descended the hillside from which they’d watched the crash. The Feyfalken lay in a lush green field in the distance, at the edge of a glassy lake, with its nose embedded in the dirt. There was a cloud of smoke billowing from the left engine and chunks of ice melting on the ground all around the ship. The cargo bay was half buried, but people were exiting from a door on the side, some carrying bodies and laying them in rows.

Far from the others, she saw her other self, standing knee-deep in the waves that lapped on the shore. She stood with her back to the crashed ship, staring off into the distance as if deep in thought. The humans didn’t seem to notice the siren at all; they were too busy dealing with their own troubles.

“We may not have as much time as you think,” Fey said, her tone no longer teasing or flirtatious, but gravely serious. She stopped walking. “I have important news for the captain, but it can wait until everyone has had a chance to come to terms with what has happened today. I’m still not sure what he thinks of me or where I fit into this crew. Perhaps it’s best you went on ahead without me. I… I’ll follow later, when things are a little clearer.”

Vlad watched the proceedings with glazed eyes, having stopped the moment he had seen the extent of the damage. Then he blinked and glanced at Fey. "That may be best. I don't know how Dorian will react to what I did." the glazed look deepened. Despair. Failure.

He looked away. "Maybe if i'd done something else we wouldn't be in this mess..." he clenched his hands. "But you helped us. Are still helping us. That has given me reason to trust you, at least a bit, Aquin-siin." Water singer. He looked at her one more time, as if trying to memorize her features, then headed down the hill toward the broken, dead husk of what had once been the greatest research ship of their time.

 

"You'll have to let most of them die, you know," Edward commented.

For a moment, Dorian ignored the man’s comment. Too many tender ears nearby. Too many people who wouldn’t understand. He issued a few more commands to the men nearest him, ordering them back out into the halls; there were still blocked rooms in the bow section that hadn’t been properly searched yet. Once the press of bodies thinned a little, he tapped Edward on the shoulder.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Dorian murmured as he passed. “The ones that truly have it bad, aren’t even being brought here.”

When this all began, he gave clear instructions to the search teams: anyone who looked like they were too far gone, should be hauled outside with the corpses. He also ordered them to pay no heed to rank or station; a dead man is a dead man. They could sort out the chain of command later… or never. He really didn’t care either way.

Without further comment, Dorian slipped back into the hall to continue the dreary task of figuring out who, amongst his crew, was still alive.

 

“Dammit,” Dorian hissed between his teeth as he dropped the limp arm of yet another crewman. Another pulse checked. Another warm corpse. “Take him out with the others,” he said and two crewmen, both wounded, but still able to function, swept the dead man up and carted him toward the nearest exit.

He had counted eight thus far, but he knew there were other teams sweeping other parts of the ship, adding to that number. And he also knew some of the living men he’d found might not make it; some were barely alive and could die before they reached medical.

Dorian merely sighed. He was mentally exhausted. His stitches had torn, staining his shirt with blood, but, compared to some of the others, he was physically fine. His head and his heart were where it hurt the most. He didn’t even want to imagine what came next.

For now, he immersed himself in the present. Deal with now, and don’t worry about later. In a perverse way, Dorian was almost pleased that there was so much damage and so many wounded men to deal with. If he ran out of things to do, he was sure he would break down.

Is that why Integra keeps busy 24/7? It keeps the pain away.

“Captain! Cap’n, we got the door open. There’s eight more guys in there,” a man said as he ran up to Dorian, with a sledgehammer in his hand and sweat and grime on his face. Dorian immediately followed the man toward a door that had been sealed a moment ago.

The ship was plagued with damaged doors, too bent or mangled to be opened. The training room was blocked off, as was the entry to the cargo bay. The training room was fairly small, but the cargo area often had a dozen or so laborers inside, so Dorian had a team of engineers focus on prioritizing entry to the cargo bay. With axes, chisels, and crowbars, they had hacked the hinges off and hauled away the door.

When Dorian arrived, he could hear cries of help and grunts of exertion. “There’s three guys pinned behind this crate,” a man explained as Dorian joined them in trying to heave the heavy box away. They wedged a steel beam under it and pushed as hard as they could, white the three men on the other side tried to help. Just when Dorian felt like his back and knees had had enough, the crate rolled away.

Joy was a very rare, very cherished thing in times like this. There was a flood of hugs and smiles and gratitude when the three trapped laborers emerged from behind the crate, yet Dorian felt hollow inside. As each man wrapped their arms around him and their rescuers, he knew he was just going through the motions. What’s three men in a ship of over a hundred?

He found himself drifting away from the scene, disillusioned by it all. The men moved on, heading off to look for more survivors. But Dorian remained all alone, walking the cluttered rows of crates, filled with odds and ends pilfered from New Holdenheim. Looking up, he saw a gash in the roof, where a laser had cut through the ship, just large enough for someone to climb up through.

The training room, Dorian realized. Even in his current state, he still knew the ship’s layout well enough to understand what part of the ship he was currently beneath. Get it together, you’ve got a job to do, he thought as he climbed up a toppled crate and pulled himself through the gash in the floor.

“Hello,” he said as he switched on his electric lantern. “Is anyone alive in here?”

Silence greeted his call. The wrecked training room a vision of carnage as Dorian hesitantly stepped forward, illuminating the area around him. The silence of this once vibrant hub began to creep into his psyche, a cold hollow feeling. I can't slow down.He thought, shaking his head. He wasn't ready to face the feelings that bubbled within him.

With a growl he pushed forward, almost tripping over a pair of feet that protruded from under the twisted metal beside him. Black combat boots adorning the feet.

Dorian knelt, setting down his lantern as he grabbed the boots, which he prayed were attached to legs, which he prayed were attached to a body, which he prayed was still attached to a life. He gave a slight tug, to see if the body was pinned. Once he confirmed the person wasn’t trapped, he began to pull in earnest, until he’d dragged the man out.

Even in the darkness, with the lantern casting long shadows on the wrecked room, Johnathon’s familiar dark coat was impossible to miss. “Dammit,” Dorian said as he gritted his teeth and reached down to checked the man’s pulse. “What the hell were you doing in the training room?” he grunted under his breath.

As soon as his fingers touched Johnathon's neck however it felt like he had touched a live wire instead of a man, and before he could react it seemed a giant had punched him in the chest as he was thrown back. Winded, he could only watch as Johnathon began to spasm on the floor, literal arcs of electricity zapping from him to the floor. This display lasted roughly a minute before the Doctor suddenly went limp, the room darkening once more as the electricity disappeared, a loud groan emitting from Johnathon.

Dorian muttered a few more curses under his breath as he stared at his singed gloves, got to his feet, and shuffled forward. Only a fool would try the same thing twice and expect a different result. In all likelihood, the doctor was dead. No man could survive that much current running through his body.

Regardless, he still had to collect the remains. Dorian didn't want to imagine what Melissa and the other medical staff would say when they discovered the beloved doctor had passed. He was emotionally numb as he rummaged through the remains of a toppled cabinet until he found a wooden plank, large enough to wedge under the body and pry it away from whatever power source was animating it. He wrapped his hands in thick cloth before poking and prodding the doctor's copse. But it didn't take long to realize it wasn't touching anything but the floor.

"Today's just full of sick jokes, isn't it?" he grumbled as he tossed aside the plank and began to leave. The living required his attention.

"I'm inclined to agree on that one Captain." croaked a voice. Dorian froze, it couldn't be. His eyes confirmed the sight however as he turned to see Johnathon lying on his side, pale face watching him.

"Well, are you just going to lay there?" Dorian said, fighting back a smile. With so many dead, was one more amongst the living really anything to smile about? Yes, yes it was. "Call me heartless, but after everything I've seen today, I really don't care what...that was. I just need my head doctor back on duty." Finally the smile broke through. "C'mon, Sparkles, I'm not gonna help you up. Not until I'm sure I won't get fried."

The doctor grunted in reply, slowly pushing himself to his knees and then his feet, carefully as if he was made of a particularly delicate porcelain. "I thought I could control it." he said, brushing the dust of his coat. "I guess I was wrong..." The words faded from his lips as he looked up at the room. His expression was blank as he glanced behind him as if to confirm that the carnage wasn't just exclusive to his front. When he turned back however pain was evident on his face. "Medical." he managed to say, trying to take a step but falling. Without thinking Dorian caught him, Johnathon leaning heavily on him.

"Careful man." he said gently, thankful that he hadn't been blasted again. He was shocked however at how frail the doctor seemed as he supported him.

"Sorry." Johnathon wheezed, regaining his balance and pulling away from Dorian. " I won't hold you up further." he said, glancing at the blocked door before limping towards the gouge in the floor. Dorian beside him, ready to catch him again if he fell, which it looked like he might by the way he swayed. " Thank you for finding me Captain, I must go though, I'm needed at Medical." Johnathon continued, voice still weak but steadier than before.

 

Vlad trudged toward the Feyfalken with a feeling close to horror. At what had happened, and also at what he could have prevented. Or should have.

His eyes slid over the few crew-members crawling out like ants, carrying their brethren and laying them out in rows. The dead. Vlad ducked behind a small hillock before they could see him and crouched, trying to think of what to do.

it was my no small fortune that his toes stubbed on something hard, and he cursed, glancing down as he did so to see a chest that had fallen from the ship. It's lock was dented and broken, almost sealed shut, but he could catch a glimpse of fabric hidden within a small crack.

Deciding that he may as well have some clothes on before he went back to the ship with his tail between is legs, Vlad managed to pull out a faded shirt and tattered leggings. He couldn't find anything more useful, but it was enough. he pulled on the meager clothes that he had been fortunate enough to find, and tucked the too-big shirt's tails into the pants which also barely fit around his waist. However, there was a belt at least, so he wasn't going to have them fall down anytime soon.

Vlad sighed, glanced at the wreckage again. What has become of us...? What will become of us? he wondered, and forced himself to get up and move, rather than collapse in the soft earth that suddenly seemed to want to pull him into its depths. The damp, dew-coated grass soon had his feet cold and wet, and he struggled through several muddy patches. But he did manage to make his way closer. But to do what? He didn't know. All he knew was that with every step he took, the reality of the situation sunk in, and so with it his despair.

Cresting a small rise the crash sight in all its horrific grandeur spread out before him. The skill of whoever had piloted the ship as it came to ground could easily be noted as the Feyfalken, judging by the trail of torn dirt, had slid along the ground rather than pancake. The damage from the impact and plow through the earth was more than obvious however with the ship looking like a rather soft toy that a giant baby hand got a bit rough playing with, the metal bent and twisted beyond recognition in some places.

"Hello Vlad, I'm surprised to see you here. I thought you'd turned into a dragon." said a small, dreamy, sounding voice.

Vlad blinked in surprise. He hadn't realized he'd stopped and glanced down to his left where a young women with short mousy brown hair sat, arms hugging her knees, eyes fixed on the crash sight.

"It didn't make any difference, though, than to delay the inevitable." he muttered. Vlad looked to his open hands and tried to remember all the sensations of being in flight, but his mere human brain could not comprehend the feeling of wings, claws, a long neck and tail. Yet those images were inside of him. He'd seen the gleam of glass in sunlight when he shot past, a blur of white and red. He remembered the feeling of the pain, when the chemicals had lit him aflame.

One hand turned, and pressed against his arm, feeling where flesh had melted away, yet was now whole.

"I should have done more... I should have stopped this..."

"From what I saw you did as much as you could. Even dragons have limits, and taking on a flying mountain that shoots laser beams is probably one of them." the woman replied, a small smile touching her lips, even as her eyes never left the scene before them.

"How did you... excuse me but you don't look familiar to me at the moment. What is your name?" he asked. How could she have watched him that whole time, amidst all the panic aboard? It just didn't seem possible that he would draw that kind of attention in that situation.

"I'm not surprised. Mice generally don't get noticed by people, especially dragons, and I'm a mouse. Molly the mouse." she said, tearing her eyes away from the crash as she looked at him, a smile on her face that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Every mouse needs a hole," she said, turning back to the Feyfalken. "And mine just took a nose dive through the earth."

Vlad found himself sitting down next to her." Just as every dragon needs a cave..." he muttered, playing with her own metaphor. His cave. His place, his den. His place to defend. And he'd failed.

Vlad grit his teeth and gripped the pin in one fist, trembling. But it was no use to sit around. He had to move, to help those who were still alive. He at least had that obligation.

"But there's no use sitting around and not digging a new one. At least until we can fix the old." he said, standing up. He held out a hand to her, intending to go to the wreckage and find Dorian. Of all people, he had to find his captain. Find what his orders were. He couldn't think on his own very well, at least not at the moment. At least with orders he could do something and not question it.

Molly looked at the hand surprised, but a smile soon spread across her face and she took it. Allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. They stood together for a moment, silently sharing their grief for the home they had adopted. "You know," Molly said quietly. "Being a dragon isn't what makes you remarkable Vlad. Who you are as a person is."

For a long moment Vlad said nothing. "Thank you." he said quietly and at Molly, then blinked in surprise when he realised that she no longer stood there and was in fact no where in sight.