10 (REVISED)

FALORA

Lamps swung in the train tunnel straight to the quarry walls of Notalsald. A single blind spot in a city full of eyes. Mist steamed out of the aethergines along the side of the train, and the clouds slipped around the wheels into a slowing effect. Falore stood at the edge of the container, with Orilion beside her.

"Okay." Falora measured the distance between them and the light at the end of the dark. "We make our way right to the center of the city. Try not to talk to anybody." Falora braced her footing and the lamps doused. "There are questionable people about the lower levels."

"Questionable?" Orilion raised an eyebrow.

"They're the type that if you look at them the wrong way they decide you're easy pickings." Falora hid her coin pouch, then scoffed. Though, he is still a dragon god... maybe I should be more worried about whoever would decide to attack him. "We head to the airlift, and from there, we reach the airship landings and factories."

Sunlight scattered across the quarried stone. Grass flowed from the explosion of aether, and Falora whispered, "Let's go." Into a jump, she braced herself into a roll. Orilion leaped, and steadied himself with irritating ease, as if he hadn't jumped off a moving train. Falora patted the dirt off her knees when he approached her, and waited for the train to disappear into the station. It didn't take much effort to join the flow of people among the farmlands of golden wheat. Huge buildings squished against each other and sat on the lower foundations. Smaller houses tucked at their bases, with the lowest of alleys hiding the shadowed predators.

Celestial Templars chose their opponents; and looked away from what wasn't the sky. It forced the people who lived among those who preyed on the innocent to take matters into their own hands. Cobbled paths wound around the twirled alleys. Stairs went higher into other buildings, but none reached the peak of Notalsald. Beside her, Orilion swung his attention to every corner in confused curiosity at the people who haggled, bartered, and chattered for their days. Falora grabbed his forearm and tugged him to a city map on the wings of her excitement. Its parchment creased on the edges from age, but she tapped the middle of Notalsald. "There," she said. "We're not too far off." She traced the most efficient path with her finger. "As long as we keep going straight and keep the skyway in our sights, we'll be there in no time." Falora hesitated when Orilion scanned the environment, a dragon in a human form. She almost spoke out his name to get his attention, but stopped herself short at the groups of people all around them. Back into her own silence, she tugged out her sketchpad and drew the lines.

Skylift looming over the cities horizon, she kept on her route, but slowed to a halt at the sounds of protest within the dark. Orilion stopped beside her with a frown. "This place is nothing like—"

"Sh." Falora followed the trail of her curiosity and peeked around a corner.

In the shadows of the clouds and spires, she counted three figures. Two large, burly men cornered a smaller individual. An Azari, from their curled, painted horns, where golden bands wrapped around the bases. One of them yanked on one.

"Can you let go of me?" the Azari snapped with a hiss, their pointed ears wriggling.

"I wonder how much that gold goes for," the other man questioned while his accomplice tugged once more to pull him off the wall. "It's dangerous down here, on the ground. I bet you'd feel safer on your cloudtop kingdoms, thinking you're so far above us 'Landers'."

The Azari tried to slip out of their grasp, bringing their hands to their forearm. "You're not getting the gold."

Falora frowned at the scene in front of her — and noticed too late Orilion disappeared from her side.

Faster than the lightning of his namesake, a crack echoed through the tight corridor. The man who held onto the Azari released a yelp of pain when Orilion punched him in the nose, which sent him sprawled at his feet. Blood streamed from betweent hier fingers when they scrambled from Orilion, but his graceful movement sent him straight for his accomplice, who went for his own stupid attack. His fist crushed the front of their shirt when he shoved them into the other wall, putting himself between him and the Azari, who straightened themselves out. Beads swept through his pupils, and deep within her mind, in her soul, a draconic hiss filled her ears when Orilion scowled. Darkness hung beneath his eyes, but it broke apart in silver clouds when she came closer.

He let the other man go.

The uninjured troublemaker spat on the ground, but when Orilion stepped for him once more with flared nostrils to match a dragon's rage, he sped for his friend and they bolted out of the alley.

Falora checked on the Azari. "Are you okay?"

His hair curled around the base of his horns. He huffed and brushed himself off with a flick of his ears then rubbed the yanked horn. "I'm fine," he said, but turned to Orilion and bowed low. "Thank you, I would have impaled his hand, but—"

The vertical pupils left Orilion's gaze, and he lowered it to the floor with heavy shame. "It wasn't a problem," he mumbled.

Falora released a breath as the tension dissipated. "We need to get going topside." She poked Orilion in the side, and he broke out of his daze. "Um, do you need—?"

"I'll be alright," the Azari said with a wave. "Don't let me keep you two. If I'm pressed again, I will certainly jab one of those miscreants with my horns." He hesitated, then came closer. "However, I'd like your names. Let none say an Azari forgets their debts."

"I'm Falora Tyvlon," she answered, but winced when the Azari turned to Orilion, the one who jumped into the jaws of injustice with his own teeth.

"What about yours, sir?"

Orilion shuffled in his spot and refused to look the Azari in the eyes.

"He can't remember," Falora lied. "I was hoping to take him to Celestan — maybe the Elementalists there could see what ails him." Oen pointed look at the wayward god, he nodded with all the convincing nature of a bad liar.

"I am sorry," the Azari said. "To lose your name." He shook his head, then sighed. "That's a long journey you wish to undertake. I wish you well on that endeavour." Hand over his heart, he bowed his head forward. "My name is Zyle." He raised his head, then tipped it. "Actually, I might know someone who might be able to help you."

"We have to be under the radar," Falora said.

"He'd say 'Under the Radar' is his soul name," Zyle joked, full of glittered affection. "You need not accept, but if you're interested there's an inn topside called The Golden Cloud. I had a few things to attend to down here. Take time to think about it." With another wave, he moved back onto the street.

Falora stared after him, then at Orilion. "Well."

"Well." Orilion's expression flattened.

"You should have warned me first." Falora folded her arms. "I mean — I get why you did it, but unless it hasn't gotten through your head once, people think you are evil and the Tyrant Titan of the Skies. Try not to draw attention to yourself."

Orilion frowned. "I couldn't stand back and watch." He rolled his shoulders with a windy exhale. "Shall we continue on to this skylift of yours?"

Falora set her hands on her hips. "I guess we should take him up on his offer." On the street once more, she avoided people who shuffled into buildings. No Celestial Templars hunted for heresy on the lower bowels of Notalsald, in their gleaming plate stamped with the sigils of the Dragon Gods they dedicated their bows too. The last time I was here... Flynn boarded a Celestial Airship and I haven't seen him since. Falora approached the large machina tower. Aethermist billowed out of the separating sections, and she walked into the open lift without any crowds, but when she attempted to pull Orilion long, he planted his feet.

"Is there really no other way up?" he asked faintly.

Falora glared at the airlift's small compartment. "It's not as bad as it seems." She tugged, but it was akin to hauling a mountain for all the good it did. Orilion didn't budge. "Unless you can sprout wings again, there is no other way."

"I cannot." Orilion shuffled his feet, then brushed his arms. His face scrunched in dismay, the motion oddly endearing, though she threw the thought out of her mind. "Are you certain there isn't? I saw stairs leading into the higher buildings." Hopefulness cast the cyan clouds in sunlight. "I'm sure there are different ways?"

"Not to the airship level." Falora tugged once more. "It is not that bad, and we shouldn't hold anyone up."

He shook his head and refused to move, and she winced when some within the other lines turned to their argument.

"Hey," she hissed. "I said don't draw attention to yourself. You did that enough breaking a bigot's nose."

The darkness returned to Orilion's windswept features. "He deserved it."

"And I'm not saying he didn't," Falora growled. "You want to get home? This is the only way. You want to get to the sky? This is the only way. Every airship docks at the highest ports of the city."

Orilion peered over her shoulder at the airlift, but she whispered, "You can close your eyes and imagine the sky, and it'll be over before you know it." Falora rounded to his back, and gave a nudge of incentive to get him into the airlift. He dove into the corner as the grate closed behind them. Falora tugged on the levers, and tapped the buttons.

Air echoed through her ears, and the people disappeared in the mist. Orilion closed his eyes tight and mumbled something in Celestial Draconic, shuddering with each word.

You really are claustrophobic. Falora observed his self-soothing motions. I guess it makes sense. A Titan of the Sky not liking enclosed spaces? Someone who was imprisoned for a millenia... I'd be claustrophobic from that alone.

Aether bloomed out of the sections of the lift and the levels waved them by. Forests weaved through plains, a painted picture of greens and golds, but Orilion tucked deeper into the corner, and he missed the beauty as it got farther away. His ancient language died on his lips. His breathing eased the higher they went, but her lungs tightened with the pressure. "It'll be over soon," she assured.

Orilion ignored her with his hands on his chest.

Falora abandoned the painted view and knelt in front of him. "Orilion, why did you help that Azari?"

His face eased. "I... knew nothing else."

His vague answer threw her for a loop, but when he opened his eyes against the fear, the hurricane's power took in a windsheared breath.

"Well," Falora forced out. "It was a good thing you did."

"Yes." Orilion closed his eyes once more. "Doing nothing would have been the same as if I had done it myself."

Chaotic scales of bloody pitch. Evil incarnate. He ruled the skies with a cruel, iron fist. Falora tasted the books of victorious history. He wasn't thinking when he acted. He was following an instinct. Fast as lightning, and he did not question it once.

Words of agony and torture in the ink of history slipped out of her fingers at Orilion's sense of justice. In an electric moment, he gauged the problem, and leaped. He ran faster than she could register the potential of human cruelty. In an instant, the mirage of the dragon returned, the truth of his heart and his soul. The gale of anger subsided without trouble, but the vertical dragon beads remained in his justicar fury.

Asen'Orilion, the Tyrant Titan of Storms, who waged war on the seat of the Dragon Gods.

Falora widened her eyes.

Why did you really do that?

"I knew nothing else," he repeated, but he sat in the corner and shook with the airlift.

An idea of potential swallowed the thoughts of his cruelty, lost in curiosity's wonder for the absolute truth.

Were you... pushed to that point... to rend the heavens asunder, not out of evil... but in punishment? What injustice did you experience that made you what you are? Questions danced on her lips, but she let them die in the air when the airlift slowed.

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