In the cockpit of the dropship, Evander reached out and switched off the monitor, the light dying from his stern features. Caden, his hands resting on the controls, opened his mouth, a rare comment about the newcomers perhaps forming on his lips.
It was never uttered.
A sharp, static-laced chime cut through the cockpit, followed by a voice, deep and strained, bursting from the comms. "--any vessel, this is Daniel Kamath of the Stubborn Mule, we are declaring a mayday! We request immediate assistance!"
In the background, a distinctly different voice, full of wild glee, yelled, "Woohoo! That's what I'm talking about!"
"You blithering fool!" Daniel Kamath's voice snapped back, the sound of a scuffle briefly audible.
Evander and Caden shared a single, swift look. It was a look that bypassed words, a veteran's understanding that transcended their usual dynamic. Evander gave a sharp, single nod.
Caden's hand moved, stabbing the comms button. "Kamath. This is the JFF vessel Whisper Jet. What is your location?" His voice was flat, devoid of panic, a calm anchor in the storm of the distress call.
Coordinates rattled over the channel, a string of numbers that placed the Stubborn Mule in a contested debris field near the fringes of the Belt.
"We are en route. ETA, momentarily. Hold position," Caden responded, his fingers already dancing across the nav-console.
Evander leaned towards the ship's internal comm. His voice, calm but carrying an undeniable weight, echoed through the passenger hold. "All passengers, this is Evander. We are making a temporary detour to answer a distress call. I recommend you secure yourselves. This could get bumpy."
In the hold, the six newcomers exchanged a unified look of weary apprehension. They had just survived a swarm of metal-eating pests, and now this? Without a word, they moved, buckling harnesses and gripping handholds. Aurélie's hand rested on the hilt of Anathema. Kuro's fingers adjusted his spectacles, his mind already running probabilities. Souta scowled, his tattoos shifting restlessly. Ember, in contrast, grinned, her eyes alight with the promise of fresh chaos. Bianca muttered, "Like, can't we just have one quiet trip?" while Charlie clutched his satchel to his chest as if it were a lifeline.
In the cockpit, Caden's thumb hovered over a large, red-rimmed button. He took a half-breath, then punched it.
The universe outside the viewport did not so much move as it rearranged itself. The star-dusted void of the Belt stretched into impossible, streaking lines of light. The ship groaned, a deep, guttural protest from its core as an immense, unseen force shoved everyone deep into their seats. The transition was not smooth; it was a violent, lurching leap that made the previous flight feel like a gentle stroll. They were no longer traveling through space; they were being thrown across it, a stone skipped across the pond of reality, heading straight for the sound of trouble.
*****
Their path through Bounty's Hold was a sobering contrast to the earlier lively market atmosphere. The air was thick with the smell of pulverized cloud-stone, a dry, chalky scent that coated the tongue, and the underlying, acrid tang of something that had burned hot and fast. Around them, the scene was one of organized chaos. Medics in simple, sturdy robes moved between the wounded, their satchels overflowing with herbal poultices and rolls of cloud-woven bandages. Aerie Guards, their distinctive feathered cloaks smudged with grey dust, directed traffic and helped shift heavy chunks of debris, their giant eagle partners occasionally letting out piercing cries from the rooftops above.
It was amidst this controlled bedlam that Payton Samson, the head nurse, was kneeling beside a dazed man with a gash on his forehead. Her hands, always impeccably clean, were smeared with red as she deftly applied pressure to the wound. A soft, reassuring hum was on her lips, a practiced melody meant to calm. Then, her gaze lifted, scanning the passing crowd as Altair and Zeke led their unusual group of Blue Sea detainees through the wreckage.
Her eyes, usually so warm and focused, slid over the tall forms of Marya and Atlas, past the wobbling Jelly, and landed on the smallest member of the crew. On Eliane Anđel.
Payton's breath hitched in her throat, the calming hum cutting off abruptly. She blinked, once, twice, as if trying to clear a mirage from her dust-filled vision. The girl was petite, with long silver hair tied back, and olive skin. And there, just for a fleeting moment as the child turned her head, a faint, flickering halo of light shimmered above her brow and the subtle, unmistakable outline of feathered wings seemed to press against the back of her miniature chef's jacket.
"Nurse Samson! The splints, where are the splints?" a young medic called out, rushing towards her.
The sound snapped her back to the present. Her heart was a frantic drum against her ribs. "I—," she stammered, her mind racing, scrambling for an excuse. "The… the compound bone-setting kit. I left it at the sanatorium. It has the specific Dial-adjustable clamps. You… you handle this." She thrust the bandage roll into the startled medic's hands.
"But, Nurse—!"
She didn't stay to hear the protest. Pulling the white cloth of her mask over her nose, she melted into the flow of people, her steps quick and quiet, her eyes locked on the retreating forms heading towards the stone-spire command post.
Further down the street, Julian Sturm was assessing the damage to his mobile food stall, The Divine Spark. The once-pristine cart was now tilted at a sad angle, its awning torn and spattered with dirt. He was mechanically wiping down the counter with a rag, his movements stiff, the usual ready smile absent from his face. The sharp, smoky scent of his over-spiced skewers was overwhelmed by the general stink of destruction.
A figure appeared in front of his stall, blocking the light. He looked up, ready to offer a hollow apology for being closed, and found himself staring into Payton's face. The expression there—a wild, fervent intensity barely contained—struck him dumb for a moment. No words were exchanged. Her eyes flickered in the direction of the Aerie Guard post, then back to him, wide and insistent.
He understood. The silent command was as clear as if she'd shouted it.
He gave a tight, quick nod. "Right. The… the special vinegar reserve. It shattered. Need to get a replacement from the cold-storage cave before it spoils," he announced to the air, his voice a little too loud. He didn't look back at his ruined livelihood as he stepped out from behind the counter and fell in beside Payton.
She guided him, a silent phantom through the crowds, until they found a shadowed alcove tucked beside the towering base of a cloud-stone spire. From here, they had a perfect view of the heavy, carved-wood door of the Aerie Guard command post as Altair and Zeke ushered Marya's crew inside.
Julian's gaze, initially confused, swept over the group. Then he saw her. The little girl with the silver ponytail, the one who looked utterly out of place amidst the warriors and investigators. His breath caught in his chest. "Can it be?" he whispered, the sound barely stirring the air. He turned to Payton, his own face now a mask of awestruck realization. "Has the time come? The prophecy…"
A single tear traced a clean path through the dust on Payton's cheek. She didn't wipe it away. "He needs to know. Castor must be told."
Julian nodded, his earlier shock hardening into resolve. "You stay here. Keep an eye on them. I'll let him know." Without another word, he turned and hurried off, his form quickly swallowed by the labyrinthine streets of the lower strata, moving with a purpose that had nothing to do with vinegar or salvaging a food stall.
Alone, Payton Samson pressed herself back into the shadows, her eyes fixed on the closed door. The quiet, healing chaos of the disaster zone continued around her, but she no longer saw the wounded or the rubble. She saw only the closed door, and behind it, a flicker of silver hair and a dormant power that, to her, signified the beginning of everything.
The Aerie Guard command post was a chamber carved directly into the heart of a stone spire, the walls bearing the rough-hewn marks of its creation. The air was cool and carried the faint, earthy smell of cloud-stone and old leather. Sunlight filtered through a single, large window shaped like a stretched eagle's eye, illuminating motes of dust dancing in the beam that fell across a heavy, circular table of dark, polished wood. Marya, her crew, and their two self-appointed shadows were seated around it, with Altair and Zeke standing at the head, forming an intimidating, if unofficial, tribunal.
"For the last time," Galit said, his voice a study in strained patience, his long neck angled forward as he ticked points off on his fingers, "we have no affiliation with, no knowledge of, and no interest in your 'Storm-Callers.' We are transients. Our business is our own, and it moves on from here."
Zeke leaned forward, his hands planted firmly on the table. "And you're on your way to Lumenara," he stated, his tone suggesting this was a crucial piece of a puzzle. "What business could a crew of your… composition have on an island like that?"
A faint, dry smirk touched Marya's lips. "We're looking for something specific. There is nothing of interest for us here, other than gaining our bearings to the next location." Her tone was calm, but the implication was clear: Aleria was a pit stop, not a target.
The door to the chamber swung open, and Glen Tuul strode in, her aerial scout's leathers dusty from the patrol outside. "Sorry for the interruption, but the preliminary sweep of the eastern spires is—" She stopped mid-sentence, her sharp, golden-hazel eyes scanning the room's occupants. Her gaze lingered on Marya's distinctive jacket, then on Jannali's headscarf, and Atlas's unmistakable Mink features. "Wait. I know you lot."
Altair's brow lifted. "And how is it you know them, Lieutenant?"
"They gained entrance to the island earlier today," Glen explained, folding her arms. "Said they were here to visit someone." Her eyes did another quick count of the faces around the table. "Wait. One of them is missing. The big one in the lazy suit."
A collective, weary groan rippled through Marya, Galit, Atlas, and Jannali. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated frustration.
Galit pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes. He is visiting an associate."
Zeke's own brow furrowed deeply. "That is offlay convenient. Who, exactly, is this 'associate'?"
The four senior crew members exchanged a series of blank, almost comically helpless looks. In their desire to respect the former Admiral's privacy and avoid his notoriously low-energy drama, they had committed a fundamental tactical error.
"We, uh…" Jannali started, scratching her cheek. "We didn't actually catch the name, to be fair."
Atlas shrugged, his nubby tail giving a lazy flick. "Didn't think it was important. He said 'friend,' we nodded, and we were all happier for it."
Glen Tuul, looking unimpressed, answered for them. "I believe they said they had an association with The Honest Blunderbuss."
Altair's eyes narrowed, his gaze sweeping over the crew with fresh, accusatory intensity. "And none of you thought to learn the name of the proprietor of the establishment your companion was visiting?"
"Wasn't on the itinerary," Atlas said with another nonchalant shrug.
It was at this moment that Eliane, who had been watching the back-and-forth with her brow increasingly furrowed, decided she had heard enough. The adversarial tone, the suspicion directed at her friends, if perpetually sleepy, uncle-figure, was unacceptable. She marched out in front of the group, her small fists balled at her sides, her silver ponytail swishing.
"Uncle Aokiji is super nice and wouldn't do anything mean!" she declared, her voice ringing with childish conviction. A little flame, bright and warm, flared to life from her back with a soft whump, and the subtle outline of her Lunarian wings pressed against the fabric of her chef's jacket. "So don't go and say anything bad about him!"
Jelly, utterly oblivious to the implications but swept up in the supportive energy, bounced beside her. "Yeah! Super frosty frozen nice!" he chimed in, his azure body wobbling.
Jannali, her third eye practically itching under her headscarf with secondhand anxiety, lunged forward and placed a consoling hand on Eliane's shoulder. "Don't mind the kid, she's ahh… a bit passionate about her uncles."
Eliane looked up at Jannali in protest, the little flame flickering. "No! They are trying to—"
"Kuzan Aokiji," Altair interrupted, his voice low and utterly still. The name hung in the room, sucking the air out of it. "The former Marine Admiral."
Galit let out a long, weary sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul. "Yeah. That's the one."
Zeke's face was grim. "And he is traveling with you. And then, mere hours after your arrival, this happens." He gestured vaguely in the direction of the destroyed street.
Marya's voice cut through the tension, cool and sharp. "I can assure you, he has nothing to do with this any more than we do. We are more than happy to leave your island without any further interactions."
"That," Altair said, his tone leaving no room for debate, "will not be possible."
Marya raised a single, challenging brow. "And how exactly do you expect to keep us here?"
Glen Tuul injected, a hint of smugness in her voice. "We've suspended all sea travel. Port's closed. Until we're satisfied, your vessel is impounded." She met Marya's gaze with a challenging glare. "You're not going anywhere."
Marya's jaw flexed, a tiny, almost invisible tic of pure frustration. The black veins on her arms seemed to darken.
Vesta, who had been nervously chewing her lip through the entire exchange, saw the deadlock and felt a desperate need to help her new, albeit reluctant, idols. "What if they could prove it?" she blurted out.
Every head in the room swiveled to look at her.
Zeke folded his massive arms. "And how, exactly, are they going to do that?"
Vesta shrank under the combined weight of their stares. "Well, I… I don't really…" she stammered, her confidence evaporating.
Seeing an opening, Galit came to her rescue, his mind latching onto the idea with tactical speed. "If we can prove our innocence in this attack," he clarified, his voice intense, "then will we be free to go? All travel restrictions lifted?"
Altair and Zeke shared a long, silent look. A silent conversation passed between them, weighing the risks. Finally, Zeke gave a short, sharp nod.
Altair turned back to them. "Yes," he said. "You prove you had no hand in this, and you can sail to Lumenara on the morning current for all I care."
The game had changed again. They were no longer just answering questions; they had just been handed a case to solve.
---
The knowing smile on Geo's face was met by the ghost of a plan taking root in Kuzan's eyes, a silent understanding passing between them that was cut short by the sharp, cheerful jingle of the bell over the tavern's front door.
From inside, Kathy's voice rang out, warm and familiar. "Teagan Breen! How are you? What brings you by so early? Thought our appointment to go over the books was for later this evening."
The voice that answered was gasping, strained. "Yeah, but… there was a major incident!"
Kuzan and Geo exchanged a single glance, the unspoken language of men who had spent lifetimes responding to trouble. In one fluid motion, they were on their feet, their quiet rum-fueled council adjourned. They moved through the back door into the main tavern.
Teagan Breen was bent double just inside the entrance, her hands on her knees, sucking in deep lungfuls of air. Her usual severe bun was slightly askew, and her sharp grey eyes were wide with adrenaline. "An explosion!" she managed to get out.
Geo's voice was a steadying anchor in the room. "Easy now, Teagan. What's this about an explosion?"
She straightened up, placing a hand on her hip as she caught her breath. "In Bounty's Hold. The chipping district. Everyone's saying it's the Storm-Callers."
Kuzan, who had been observing with his typical languid posture, now focused his attention fully on her. "Who are the Storm-Callers?"
Geo let out a heavy sigh, the sound of a man tired of a familiar problem. Kathy looked away, busying herself with a perfectly clean mug, her lips pressed into a thin line.
"They're Birkan sympathizers, but…" Teagan trailed off, her efficient mind searching for the right term.
"But they're more like terrorists," Geo finished for her, his voice grim. He looked at Kuzan. "Ever since the Great Welcoming, when Birka was destroyed and their people were scattered across the sky, there's been civil unrest. The Storm-Callers are fanatics. They follow the extreme teachings of that… deity, Enel."
Kuzan's brow furrowed, his hand coming up to thoughtfully stroke his chin. "I'm confused. Isn't he the one who…?"
Teagan nodded, a sheepish, frustrated look on her face. "Yes. The very one who destroyed our home. Not all of us follow his teachings, but there are some who do. And because they are so literal and extreme, it's been a source of unrest and distrust. The Alerians have been reluctant to completely accept all of us because of their actions."
"Guilt by association," Kuzan stated, the concept clearly familiar.
"Yes," Teagan agreed, her shoulders slumping slightly.
Kuzan gave a slow nod. "That explains the graffiti we saw coming in, then."
"Most likely," Teagan said with a helpless shrug. Then, as if suddenly remembering a crucial footnote in a ledger, her eyes widened. "Oh! Yes, I almost forgot. There were some Blue Sea dwellers who were able to deflect the blast and debris. They were taken in for questioning."
Kuzan let out a low, resonant groan that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards.
Geo chuckled, a dry, knowing sound. "Sounds like your travel companions."
"It does," Kuzan conceded with a nod. He straightened up to his full, imposing height. "Well. It looks like I have to cut my visit short."
Geo clapped him firmly on the back. "Try not to get in too much trouble."
Kuzan's gaze shifted to Teagan. "Young lady, would you be able to tell me where they may have taken them?"
Teagan shrugged, her professional demeanor returning. "I'd assume the Aerie Guard command post. It's the only place with holding cells."
"Leaving so soon?" Kathy asked, her hands now planted on her hips in a classic maternal stance.
"Sorry, Kathy," Kuzan said, already moving towards the door with his long, ground-eating strides. "But things might be getting complicated. And they are my ride."
"Don't be a stranger," she called after him, the command softened by the genuine warmth in her voice.
As the door swung shut, the little bell jingling in his wake, Geo turned his attention back to the slightly calmer Teagan. "So," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "You still want to take a look at the books?"
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