The Airbus A380, The Flying Palace cruised high above the endless Pacific, its four Rolls-Royce engines humming with quiet power.
At this altitude, the world stretched in all directions like an endless canvas of blue and white. The ocean glittered far below, flecked with scattered waves, while banks of cloud drifted lazily, their shadows sprawling across the water.
From the outside, the aircraft looked like something out of a dream — obsidian skin swallowing sunlight, platinum streaks glinting along the fuselage, its sheer size dwarfing the empty sky around it.
Most aircraft crossing this route were widebodies, but compared to The Flying Palace, they were ants beside a whale.
Inside, however, serenity reigned.
