FALORA

The last time I was in the airship district of Notalsald... Flynn was leaving me behind, to devote himself to Ase'Lesinia as a Celestial Templar. Celestan wrapped itself on a volcanic island in the far reaches of the ocean where Arth'lun first fell from the sky to create the molten crater the city built itself around. History merged with religion and muddled all truths. There is something beneath the surface... something that I can draw on paper and bring to life as Dad always had. Bag holstered over her shoulder, she kept an eye on the wayward, amnesiac dragon god who was certainly not a dragon for the moment as they tread through the highest districts. Aetherical chimneys released oxygen for those who lacked Azarian lungs, though the pressure remained on her chest as she swept her gaze over the multitudes of market stalls and homes. "The Golden Clouds..." Falora came to a stop on one bridge to the next section when Orilion faltered behind, his body a little more relaxed at their height. "Seen it?"

"I have not seen a golden cloud." Orilion folded his arms within his cloak, the hood resting against his black locks of tumultuous, furious storms, but his eyes remained the softened cyans of a hurricane's eye.

"No." Falora groaned. "It's the name of the tavern up here. We need a pilot that will work under the radar to get us to Celestan." A sigh escaped her through her nose, but the next inhale stiffened in her throat. Lungs full of pressure, she held onto the railing of the bridge before swiping out her sketchbook to distract herself from the discomfort and to take a picture with her mind's eye and perspective with a quick line or two of the distant skylifts. "We need to hurry before Zyle thinks we decided against their offer and we're stuck."

"Are you having a hard time up here?" Falora opened her mouth to bite at his question, but found a finger pressed into her cheek. It lightened the air around her when Orilion brought his hand back and shook it with the smallest slivers of his power sprinkling off his point of contact. "Temporary, I question how you mortals manage up here without real wings and... actual working lungs."

"Hey—" Falora grabbed his forearm to squeeze it. "Remember, no one knows who you are." Falora twisted her head around, but the loud shouts of peddlers deafened his voice. "Try and act normal will you? I can maybe pass you off as a master Air Elementalist as long as you don't refer to us as mortals. Let's go find this tavern and hope we're not too late." Sketchbook stuffed back into her bag, she broke into a rush, and as expected, Orilion kept an even, effortless pace while she stumbled and tripped her way through the crowds. Elementalists drew upon the world and brought its power to life with their blessed brushes. Orilion tipped his head at the showmanship with a curious frown.

Hanging off a sign, a golden cloud marked double doors people poured out of at varying stages of drunk stupor. "Perfect." Her hand wound around Orilion's to drag him from the show and closer to the pub. Up the small steps, she shoved herself inside past a burly figure, who Orilion pushed aside with ease. They swung around at the ready, but the look Orilion gave him twisted him around once more. I won't complain if he can just keep his mouth shut... Several people sat at the extended bar table and jeered into their cups. Lines swirled around her, and back into her lungs at another steam of mist pulsating through the pipes being fed into the building. Orilion's brow creased as people toppled over their bars, and he muttered something draconic under his breath.

"Never seen a pub before?" Falora asked.

"Not one such as this..." Orilion commented. He shook his head at a shout from one of the larger patrons who smacked his mug against the counter.

"They are quite different from Azarian establishments, I agree!"

Falora leaped into Orilion's arm at the voice beside her. An Azarian man with horns painted with deep twilight mixtures to contrast the dark grey bone, where a ring wrapped around the base. His own dark hair fluttered with the wind pouring through the nearest window. He wore light-fitting garb, unbuttoned to reveal a crystalline necklace dimmed of light, though the metal swirl kept it secure in its place. Instruments she failed to name hung on his toolbelt, though the few she recognized denoted him as a Skyhunter — one pair of aether rappels and an aircharged gun. On his back, a larger harpoon hooked itself out of the way. He blinked his silver eyes then smiled. "I hope I didn't scare you."

"No..." Falora realised her hand was wrapped around Orilion's arm, who appeared more interested in the small scuffle across the way. "Who're you?"

"Glad you asked! Alexavier, Skyhunter and pilot of the Vortex." He pushed his hand into his stomach and bowed, and Orilion turned in full to him. "I just saw two people I haven't seen before and thought I might as well nose my way into yet another conversation I probably had no business being in," he teased with a warm heart, and she painted the curve of his horns and noted it down for later.

"Skyhunter?" Orilion asked.

"That's my trick of my trade," Alexavier said with a click of his teeth. "I hunt aether beasts within the clouds. I also protect more endangered routes from poachers and pirates alike." He leaned back against the windowsill. "I'm currently waiting for my skyhunting partner."

"Oh." Falora smiled at him. "We came here looking for a pilot to take us to Celestan."

"At my behest, my love. You always had a keen nose for this — some may claim it divine providence. They helped me out of a bind, and I owe them a debt for it."

Falora turned at the familiar voice. Zyle stood at Orilion's other side with a small smile as he held out the bags in his arms. Alexavier beamed and took one of the bags into his arms. "Divine or not... how fortuitous! Except..." He brought his pointer and thumb together then pointed to a booth table where a couple of burly men sat with grumpy expressions. "I still need to deal with those two gentlemen over there. I've been trying to wrangle them into a drinking contest, but I think they're smart enough to realise that Lander drinks do nothing to me and they are quite determined to bleed us dry."

Zyle sighed. "Of course..."

"It should not take too long," Alexavier rolled his shoulders and returned to the table, and Falora relented in following behind in hopes to get her out into the open air of adventure. "Listen, my friends, it is not like I asked the aether shark to attack your airship. You had flown into its breeding ground, and that's not my fault. Most know better than that."

"Are you not a skyhunter?" the biggest one asked.

"Do you not have Celestial Templars at your beck and call?" Irritation flashed in the silver's but Alexavier's smile remained true. "As a rule, I try not to get in the way of the Templars' work. They are quite stuffy and devoted to their chosen holy Dragons." Alex put his hand on the table and the other against his hip. "So, how about a little wager? I still say we should have a couple more drinks, settle our nerves to talk this out."

Orilion squinted, then said, "I'll join."

"And you are?" the burly one spat.

Don't you dare.

"A guy who if you can get drunk, I'll go out in those clouds myself and take down the aether shark while in my cups with no expenses on your part," Orilion bounced with Alex's wager. Zyle brushed their nose as Alex slipped in beside Orilion with a wide beam in his direction.

"If you're worried about the Lander drinks not affecting me, this Lander right here should do the trick." Alexavier snapped his fingers at a tavern waiter, who brought over a plate full of mugs. "Don't worry, Miss... let me settle this debt first with the help of your friend here." He slid each person at the booth a mug, and Falora clued in what Orilion and Alex intended.

By all accounts, the Dragon Gods couldn't get drunk on mortal drink. Not that it stopped those types of offerings, maybe some High Priests could ferment them into pure draconic ambrosia... Huh. Falora gazed into the cyans when Orilion gave her a side-eye. Not half-bad, Orilion...

"Are you worried about your Lander friend?" Zyle whispered to her when the drinking contest began with money thrown around by Alex and the two large men.

A smile crawled on her face. "You know what? Not at all."

Round upon round, it continued with Orilion and Alexavier piling on the mugs with effortless ease while the burly men wavered. Every cup downed, another took its place with deftness as money piled higher. Another. Another. Her own head spun with second-hand nausea from the threat of intoxication. Red in the face, the burly man took another hesitant drink — meanwhile, Alex and Orilion showed zero signs of slowing down, and for a moment, she spotted the sparkle of amusement within the hurricane's eye when Orilion finished other drink with a slice of his tongue, a reptilian playfulness tightening his pupils.

Dextrous movements echoed out of Alex when he passed another mug and slid the money back into his pockets, rolling an extra across his knuckles.

"You Landers make excellent drinks," he commented, another minute distraction. "How're you feeling, sirs?"

Both the men responded in incomprehension as Alexavier gave an absolutely wicked grin and pushed another mug into Orilion's hands, who downed it with continuous ease. One more round, and the money bet was back in Alexavier's pockets as he waved down another waiter and nudged himself and Orilion out of the booth with the men too drunk to notice anything changed, though he flipped the last coin onto the table for them.

"Works everytime." Alexavier returned to her and Zyle, his gaze following Orilion. "I am surprised you're not stumbling! I am feeling a little strange myself, you seem quite in control of your faculties."

Falora jumped in when the amusement died in an instant in Orilion's face. "He's got a high tolerance, most of our drinks can't get him under the table no matter how hard anyone tries."

"Ah, a Lander with a dragon's spirit. I like you already." Alexavier grinned and bowed at Orilion, who gaped. "Are you sure you don't have Azari in your lineage?" Finger up in the air, he said, "Let us depart before they come to their senses." Out of the tavern, Falora inhaled and strained against the newfound pressure in the environment, though waved off Orilion when he raised his hand again to prevent either of the Skyhunter's noticing something off about her companion. "Now! Have either of you flown before?"

"No," Falora answered in time with Orilion's quick affirmation.

Alexavier took out a piece of thin licorice, sprinkled with white powder. "Eat these," he said, almost stuffing it into her mouth. "Once we're out of the air barrier that discomfort you're feeling is going to change into what will feel like you constantly getting punched in the lungs." He popped another into his mouth with a shrug, tearing it apart before giving the rest to Zyle, who finished it. "It's a difficult adjustment for Landers." He offered one to Orilion, who took it, then pursed his lips at it. "I mean, unless you enjoy the feeling."

Falora drove her elbow into Orilion's ribcage, and he stuffed it in his mouth with a nod.

Led through the tighter alleyways and to the landing pads, some airships hauled the aether beasts within nets, coated in mist to preserve the meats. Dizziness wrapped around her lungs, but it dissipated when Alex motioned at a hunting airship. Its sails tied up against the masts, but still much mightier than her pitiful cloudsweeper turned rickety fishing boat. Dragons etched themselves around the side and down the keel. Hooks wrapped around the railing with a release for a hunting net at the ready near the back. Boyish glee filled Alex's face when he turned to them.

"She's lovely, isn't she?"

"Definitely impressive."

"Thank you!" Alexavier bowed with both hands on his knees. "The Vortex is second to none when it comes to airships." He motioned the cloud glass into the decks. "She's weathered many aetherbeast and storm alike, I daresay Asen'Orilion himself would be hard pressed to take her down a notch."

Falora jolted at his easy call of the tyrant's name. "Shouldn't you be more careful mentioning—"

Alexavier ignored her to bounce to the gangplank.

"Are people punished for speaking out the name?" Orilion asked under his breath as they followed the two Azarians up onto the deck.

Falora chewed on her tongue and failed to answer him, which contorted his brow in disbelief. Moneybag in her hand, she went to pass it to Alex, but he held up his hand with a grin.

"I'll consider you two helping out Zyle payment enough. I was heading in the direction of Celestan anyway." He prodded some of the altimeters around the main wheel, taking out the locking device from the spinner.

"You're going to want these." Zyle handed them airdisks. "These will keep you anchored to the ship." He took out a brush to paint across the runes to fill the divots with aetheric power. It glowed when she hooked it onto her belt, though when Zyle went to repeat the process with Orilion's, they stopped when it brightened in his palm. In the silence, Falora fought for a lie, but Zyle pocketed his brush and left them alone.

Orilion pocketed the disk.

"Alexavier Fortai!"

"Time to go!" Alexavier pushed one of the nearest levers and it released the sails with a pulse of wings while burly figures trampled into the airport. "Some people are so hard to please." Another lever pulled, and the gangplank retracted into the grey hull. He pushed the wheel forward, and Falora held on tight when the airship raised into the air and backed out of the landing area. Unable to stop the grin on her face, she let out a breath when Notolsald got farther out of reach.

The wind-swept fields to Crackjaw and the sea fluttered while aether mist billowed out of the sides of the airship with a hiss of cathartic release. Orilion stood beside her with his own exhale, effortless compared to his fatal closet ones. Glittered life sprinkled across the cyan into crystal raindrops as they burst through the air barrier and into the cloudlands.