The airship gave a low, stomach-churning lurch as it abandoned the earth's gravity. Below, the lights of Soryn were no longer streets or buildings; they were merely irregular, fading sparks on a black canvas, as if someone had dumped a bucket of embers into the sea.
Arin gripped the railing so hard his knuckles turned white, the cold metal biting deep into his bones. Even before they'd left the pier, he had decided he wouldn't show a single crack. A street rat's only currency was self-respect, and Arin had a habit of living beyond his means.
I'm not afraid of heights, he repeated in his mind, even though his stomach felt like it had been left five meters below on the dock. At least not when someone's watching.
"I'm not afraid of heights, by the way," he announced suddenly. His voice came out a bit too tight, like a violin string wound to the snapping point.
Mira, who had already crouched down to inspect the rivets on the deck, looked up. "You didn't say anything."
"Yeah," Arin replied, forcing his fingers to relax. "But I was thinking about saying it. I was thinking it so damn loud I figured you'd hear."
The corner of Mira's mouth twitched. It wasn't the laugh Arin had seen a moment ago, but that familiar, crooked smirk. He saw it in her eyes—the vibrating engine beneath them and the gaping void below terrified her too, but Mira masked it by being angry at the world. It was their shared survival mechanism: Arin lied, and Mira raged.
Kael leaned against the railing beside them. The man didn't just look like he belonged on the ship; he looked like he belonged to the sky itself. His coat tails whipped in the wind, and he watched their ascent with a relaxed air, as if he were leaning against a street corner. Arin noticed, however, that the man's gaze never just wandered. It registered every vibration of a cable, every flicker of a pressure gauge.
Kael's hands were covered in old burns and tattoos that had faded into unrecognizability.
"Relax," Kael said, his voice cutting through the wind effortlessly. "If I'd wanted you off this ride, I would've kicked you down back at the harbor. It would've saved fuel."
Brilliant, Arin thought, feeling cold sweat bead on his forehead. At this height, at least it would've been over quickly. Wouldn't have time to get hungry on the way down.
"So comforting," Arin said, trying to claw back his old, arrogant tone. "Your customer service skills are truly dazzling. It really soothes my sensitive soul."
Kael let out a laugh that sounded like sand grinding between teeth. "Forget souls, boy. Just make sure you don't puke on my deck. It's freshly painted."
Nyra stood further back in the shadows, where the rudder straps creaked and an oil lamp cast restless patterns across the deck. Her arms were crossed, her face turned toward the black horizon as if she were reading a map in the darkness that no one else could see. She had been silent from the moment the furious shouts of the Imperials had drowned in the engine's roar. It was the kind of silence that felt heavier than a scream—deliberate and sharp.
"Does she talk at all?" Arin whispered to Kael, trying not to look like the woman's motionless presence made the hair on his neck stand up.
Kael grunted, the scar on his lip stretching. "Often enough."
"That wasn't an answer," Arin muttered.
"It was a warning, boy."
Nyra slowly turned her gaze. Her eyes were grey like an autumn sea, and there was something restless in them—as if she were listening to distant voices or the hum of a coming storm that the others couldn't yet sense.
"You talk too much," Nyra said. Her voice was low and calm, but it held a grit that spoke of years spent shouting into the gale.
Arin swallowed, his throat feeling dry, but he forced that same worn-out smile to his lips—the one that had saved him from so many gutters. "So I've been told. It's a defense mechanism. Keeps people from noticing how bad I smell."
"A poor one," Nyra noted, looking through Arin in a way that made him feel like he was made of glass.
"Still popular. And usually free," Arin countered with a shrug.
Beside him, Mira covered her mouth with the back of her hand, but the muffled sound of a giggle gave her away. Arin felt a small, stupid prickle of pride. If Mira could still laugh in front of this stone-faced woman, the world was still somehow on its tracks.
The airship banked gently, heading away from the smoky lungs of Soryn. Beneath the deck came the low, rhythmic hum of machinery—it sounded like a large, tired animal, moving on out of pure habit and iron will.
"Where are we going?" Mira asked, grabbing the railing with both hands as the ship leveled out.
"Away from trouble," Kael replied, lighting a small, scruffy cigar.
Arin leaned his back against the rail and watched the wind tear the smoke from Kael's mouth. "Bad news for you then. We have a habit of dragging it behind us."
"Then you'll fit right in," Kael said dryly, blowing a smoke ring toward the stars. "We've got enough of our own already."
Kael gestured for them to follow and led them down steep, creaking stairs into the belly of the ship. Inside, the air was warmer, smelling of old paper, copper, and a spice Arin didn't recognize. The interior was surprisingly cozy if you liked cramped spaces: worn oak, polished brass, and straps that told tales of thousands of miles and sudden midnight departures.
Arin tapped the wooden wall paneling lightly with his knuckles. "Beautiful ship. Stolen?"
Kael stopped and gave him a look of mock offense, though laughter flickered in his eyes. "Requisitioned, if you please."
"Sounds more sophisticated," Arin admitted, taking a deep breath. "Does this requisitioned luxury happen to have a kitchen, or am I actually going to have to gnaw on my boot soles?"
Dinner had been a brief, silent affair where Arin had inhaled a salty stew so fast his jaw ached. Mira had cleaned her plate and was now staring at the rusty tools and oily rags hanging on the hold's walls.
"What a dump," Mira remarked, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. "Smells like rotten fish and old man socks. And these walls... this whole wreck sounds like it'll snap in two the moment the wind picks up." The girl kicked a copper plate on the floor, which responded with a hollow thud. "I've seen nicer trash cans in the Soryn harbor."
Nyra, who had been standing motionless by the doorway, took a step forward. She placed an open palm on the wall, behind which the engine purred like a sleepy beast.
"Don't kick her," Nyra said in a low voice. "She can hear you."
Arin instinctively pulled his hand away from the wall he had been about to lean on. "Sorry," he said, before even realizing he was apologizing to wooden panels and rivets.
"The ship won't mind," Kael said, wiping his knife blade on his trouser leg. "But I might. She's a sensitive lady, and she's kept me alive longer than any human has."
They moved through a narrow corridor into the cockpit, in the center of which sat a massive, dented map table. Kael spread an old, yellowed map across it. Its edges were covered in pencil marks, hasty notes, and bloodstains that had faded to brown.
"Kardeth is looking for something," Kael said, pointing to the coast north of Soryn. "And you two blockheads happened to run right into the middle of it."
Mira furrowed her dirty brows and leaned over the table. "We were just there. We didn't know anything."
"That's how the best trouble starts," Kael noted, eyeing them from under his brow. "Ignorance is like a fuse. It runs out just when you've finally sat down."
Arin leaned over the table, trying to control his breathing. His heart was hammering so hard he feared the others could hear it. Don't show it. If you show fear, you've already lost.
"How deep are we?" Arin asked, trying to sound like he was asking about the weather forecast. "On a scale of one to a hanging?"
Kael rubbed his stubbled chin and looked at Arin for a long time. "A hanging is an optimistic estimate at this point. If they catch you, they won't waste the rope."
"Good," Arin said, twisting his mouth into a smirk despite the cold slime of dread in his stomach. "I never liked necklaces anyway. They make me look pale."
Nyra didn't laugh. She looked at Arin in a way that made him feel small and exposed. "You don't understand what you stepped into, boy. This isn't a game for market thieves."
Arin shrugged, though he felt a chill run down his spine. "Bad luck is my trademark. We're old friends."
Mira sighed deeply and glanced at Kael. "Don't believe him. He's not actually this carefree. He's just acting because he thinks I need to see him being a hero."
"Is that so," Kael said unexpectedly, studying Arin's face. "It's either courage or pure, distilled stupidity. The line between them is usually paper-thin and full of holes."
The airship continued its journey deeper into the night. Soryn was gone; it was nothing more than a faded memory of smoke and cramped alleys. Arin sat down on a worn bench by the wall and stared out the window. Everything he had known—every stone and every shadow he had learned to master—was left behind. He felt a knot in his stomach that no stew could dissolve.
We were just supposed to get some bread and vanish before morning, he thought. How the hell did it come to this?
"We only meant to eat today," he said aloud, his voice sounding smaller than he intended.
Kael tossed him something that glinted in the dim light. Arin caught it: a hard, dried fruit, maybe a fig or a date. "Start with that. An empty stomach makes a man either a poet or a corpse, and I can't stand poetry."
Arin rolled the fruit in his fingers and took a bite. It was sweet and chewy. "I'm starting to like you, Kael."
"Mistake," Kael replied, and this time his smile was sad. "The biggest mistake you can make."
Nyra sat down opposite him. Her face was like a cliff face weathered by centuries of waves. "This isn't an adventure, Arin. This is a war that no one has declared yet."
Arin chewed the tough fruit and looked the woman in the eye. "I guess that's how most adventures start."
Nyra didn't smile, but her gaze softened ever so slightly—perhaps from the memory of a time when she had been just as foolish.
The airship flew onward, and the night closed around them like a velvet prison. Somewhere ahead, beyond the darkness, something waited that would no longer let them go. Something that had no name, but was hungry.