Ibris and Yoshua were aboard Marcus' latest bespoke airship, the Ishtar's Veil. Yoshua had slept through most of the flight and had only just woken up. Inside, the ship was split into two distinct sections: the pilot's area at the front, where Yoshua now sat beside a state-of-the-art humanoid android named Nabu-9, and the lounge-like rear, where Ibris and Marcus drank loudly.

Ishtar's Veil was a masterpiece of design, a cross between a predatory bird and a dream made from metal and light. Its body was long and tapering, painted in a deep obsidian hue that reflected faint traces of the ship's ambient light in muted ripples. The wings, angled sharply back, were fitted with glowing conduits of energy, giving the illusion of slashing claws poised to strike. The cockpit was a seamless glass dome tinted with a faint violet. Beneath it all, the ship's thrusters hummed softly, a low and steady purr that promised speed and power far beyond anything Yoshua had ever experienced.

Nabu-9 was clad in a sharp, military-style uniform, complete with crisp lapels and polished boots, exuding an air of command that was impossible to ignore. Its face was almost human yet subtly uncanny, with glowing blue eyes that pierced through the dim cockpit and a jawline so flawlessly symmetrical it betrayed its artificial nature.

Yoshua sat stiffly in his chair, arms tightly folded across his chest, his gaze locked forward, avoiding both the android's eerie presence and the muffled noise of revelry coming from the rear of the ship.

Uneasy in the same clothes as yesterday, Yoshua shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "So, you can fly this thing, connect to local ports for clearance, and serve ambrosia all on your own, huh?" he asked Nabu-9. Yoshua's attempt at conversation was less about curiosity and more about distracting himself from the noise of Ibris and Marcus, neither of whom had slept all night.

"I am programmed to ensure the comfort and safety of all passengers aboard Ishtar's Veil," Nabu-9 intoned. "Ishtar's Veil mostly flies itself."

"Comforting." Yoshua said, spinning in a storm of anger and worry. Kaya had not responded to any of his messages. Maybe she lost her tablet in the Clinic—or maybe she did not know how to respond to call on her new tablet. That was plausible, he thought bitterly, remembering her lack of patience with technology. What gnawed at him even more was the silence from Mazi.

Yoshua recalled the holographic image from the security logs of Ibris' apartment, which Ibris had shown him hours earlier. It captured Mazi and Kaya entering together, confirming they were safe. Ibris gave Yoshua every assurance that Kaya was in good hands with Mazi. "He's very honorable," Ibris had joked. But Yoshua could not shake the dread pooling in his stomach.

In the rear section of the ship, Ibris leaned back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. The warm glow of the airships dim lights reflected off the crystalline edges of the drink. Marcus, ever the charming host, poured himself another round.

"To the South," Marcus toasted with a grin, his polished demeanor intact despite the alcohol. He leaned back in his seat, his tailored suit impeccable, the crisp lines and sharp cuts accentuating his composed, professional air. Even in the dim glow of the ship's lights, the fabric of his outfit seemed to shimmer with understated luxury, fitting him perfectly, like someone accustomed to power and precision.

"To the South," Ibris echoed, raising his glass. He sipped slowly, eyeing Marcus with a mix of amusement and skepticism. Ibris' suit jacket lay discarded on the chair beside him, and his fitted shirt clung messily to his muscular build, undone at the collar and wrinkled from the careless manner in which he had worn it. The sharp edges of his usually composed appearance had softened, his posture loose and relaxed, a stark contrast to the immaculate state Marcus still projected.

Yoshua leaned back in his chair, but his thoughts already drifting, drawn to the events of the previous evening...

Yesterday, the images of the torn Yucan ship on the news streams had left all three men stunned. Marcus, sensing that Ibris knew more than he was letting on, insisted Yoshua and Ibris join him for dinner. Yoshua immediately recognized the proposition's ulterior motive and tried—unsuccessfully—to decline. Ibris, however, was already buzzing from an earlier dose of ambrosia. He was intrigued, particularly when Marcus hinted that he would divulge more about his connections to the Yucan government over dinner. Dinner, as Yoshua expected, seamlessly turned into drinks.

The bar Marcus chose exuded understated opulence, with polished dark marble floors reflecting the warm glow of pendant lights and a gleaming rosewood bar lined with rare, imported ambrosia. Shelves of illuminated bottles framed bartenders whose precision felt more like performance art, while low marble tables and plush chairs hosted the city's elite murmuring in hushed tones. A faint sweetness, tinged with citrus, lingered in the air as a string quartet played softly in the corner. When their drinks arrived, the golden ambrosia shimmered like liquid sunlight, a delicate flourish of petals crowning each glass. Everything about the place felt deliberate, its elegance a stage where Marcus played the master of ceremonies.

"...My brother, reluctantly—thanks to my father's demands—put me in touch with the Yucan Prime Minister's cabinet, and that's how I was able to secure shipments of corn for the Alemurian Queen," Marcus said, finally finishing the long-winded story that had dominated most of dinner. He took a sip from his ambrosia glass, as the faint clink of cutlery and low murmurs from the surrounding tables filled the air.

"I still can't wrap my brain around how you're in Atlantis again," Ibris said after a pause, reaching for the bottle to pour himself another drink. The flickering light of the room danced across his features as he swirled the liquid in his glass. "With the serious charges to your name, I thought I'd never see you again after the war."

"To be perfectly honest," Marcus replied, taking a measured sip of his own drink, "nor did I."

His words were smooth, but Yoshua could tell there was more he was not saying. Trusting Marcus had never come naturally—honesty was not exactly his strongest suit.

"Nevertheless, it's good to have you back, my sky god friend," Ibris said with a laugh, raising his glass in mock cheer.

Marcus casually watched the news streams on a screen nearby, still showing the destruction of the Yucan ship along the southern coast. "I know those were your guys," he said, pointing with a glass of ambrosia in hand.

Ibris glanced at the screen. 

Marcus watched him intently, waiting for a reaction.

Yoshua shook his head in disapproval, and took a sip of his pomegranate juice. There it is—the question he's been dying to ask all evening, he thought.

Ibris paused for a moment. "This ambrosia has a hint of black spice, doesn't it?" He swirled his glass again and examined it closely.

Marcus' annoyance flickered for a brief moment—he was clearly more interested in prying information from Ibris than discussing ambrosia—but he recovered smoothly. "It's Alemurian, so it probably is black spice. This bar is renowned for its imports."

"Delicious," Ibris said, taking another sip. The ambrosia softened his usually guarded demeanor as he added, "I can't seem to get in touch with my men in the South." He frowned into his drink, news stream images of Esa in the Syris flashing through his mind.

Yoshua's eyebrows shot up, surprised that Ibris would mention anything about the South. He wanted to urge Ibris to say less but hesitated, aware that Marcus was watching their every expression.

"Three days, you say?" Marcus leaned towards Ibris slightly. "I've been having trouble too. People I know in the South... silent as a grave."

Ibris nodded, his drunken state loosening his tongue further. "It's been dead air. It's... disconcerting." His voice trailed off, uncharacteristically uneasy.

Marcus studied him for a moment before leaning back with a knowing smile. "Well, luckily, I might have a solution." He set his glass down with a deliberate clink and, with a flourish, pulled out his high-end tablet. He turned the screen toward them, revealing an image of a sleek, state-of-the-art black airship. "I call her Ishtar's Veil," he announced, proudly.

"I do like that name," Yoshua remarked, drinking his non-ambrosia drink.

Ibris glanced at him, a knowing smile playing on his lips. He understood perfectly well why the name resonated with Yoshua.

"She's incredible," Marcus said, with childlike enthusiasm. "Custom-built from Mutapun crystalline ore."

"That ore is incredibly rare," Yoshua replied, recalling his experience working with it on airships during his time in the military. "Even the Atlantean government can't get its hands on it."

Marcus shrugged, the casual gesture underscoring his wealth and privilege. "The Ishtar's Veil is one of a kind. She's equipped with super stealth technology—can't be picked up on most radars. Makes her practically invisible to anyone not looking directly at her."

Yoshua's brow furrowed, suspicion evident. "How does someone charged with treason get a ship like that in Atlantis?"

Marcus sidestepped the question, continuing instead, "The Ishtar's Veil can make it to the South from Bayhan City in six hours. No other ship, military or private, even comes close." He paused, tapping his fingers lightly against the rim of his glass. "Well, no, she's not the fastest," he admitted finally. "Your guys' ship was much faster. I saw it on the Nexus Umbra system."

Ibris laughed drunkenly at the thought of Esa's movements being mistaken for a ship. "Right, right," he said, waving a hand as if to change the subject.

"I think we should call it a night," Yoshua said, firmly.

Marcus laughed and threw up his hands. "Oh, come on! Let me help you. Let's head South tonight—right now!" He looked between Yoshua and Ibris with enthusiasm. "We can get in direct contact with our people. Who knows? Maybe we'll get some answers."

Yoshua scowled, his jaw tightening as his thoughts churned. You don't care about answers. You just want to know about that ship.

Ibris hesitated, glancing at Yoshua, who was already shaking his head. "Only six hours?"

"Ibris, no," Yoshua muttered, visibly frustrated.

"I don't know, Yoshua," Ibris said, drinking his ambrosia, contemplatively.  "A six-hour trip to the South. That's... tempting."

"Tempting?" Yoshua's voice rose sharply. "You can't be serious. My niece—"

Marcus cut him off. "Don't worry, I can get you there and back in a day," He said with practiced charisma.

Ibris nodded with drunken eagerness. "All in one day, Yoshua!"

"Ibris, no," Yoshua repeated, his frustration deepening, his disapproval clear.

"This might be the fastest way to figure out what's going on down there," Ibris argued. "Besides, we need to speak to Esa—" He stopped abruptly, realizing too late that he had said too much.

Marcus' eyes lit up with interest, and he leaned in, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Esa? Who's Esa?"

Ibris exhaled heavily, as he tried to cover his slip. "I accept your offer," he said evenly.  "We'll go."

Marcus grinned, standing and raising his glass. "Done."

Yoshua objected further. "We should head back. The blood results for Jah—"

Ibris, though more drunk, now had enough presence of mind to catch Yoshua. "The results will be there when we get back. All of the results," he said firmly, his eyes locking on Yoshua with pointed intensity.

Yoshua caught the unspoken warning, fully aware that his own blood results were still pending in the lab as well. He clenched his fists, saying nothing further.

Then Ibris, with a confident air, stood up and raised his glass to clink against Marcus'. "To the Ishtar's Veil. Let's see if she lives up to everything Marcus claims..."

The memory faded, as a low rumble of turbulence pulled Yoshua from his thoughts. "What was that, Nabu-9?" He asked, sitting up and checking the kinetic stabilizer strapped around his torso.

"Although rare, the Ishtar's Veil occasionally experiences minor turbulence," the android replied smoothly. They had been flying for over five hours, and this was the first time the ship shifted even slightly in the air.

Yoshua adjusted in his seat. "How much longer until we're near the monastery?" he asked.

"In about twenty-nine minutes," Nabu-9 replied, precisely.

Just then, the android froze mid-motion, its glowing eyes dimming to black. Every screen in the cockpit flickered before going dark. The ship's hum of energy cut off abruptly, replaced by a deafening silence. Yoshua's heart dropped as a sudden lurch signaled the ship's descent.

Red warning lights flared to life, bathing the cockpit in an eerie glow. The Ishtar's Veil was nosediving, the black vessel's speed turning gravity into a merciless force. Yoshua's breath came in short, panicked gasps as he unbuckled his restraints and shoved the inert android from the pilot's chair. It slumped to the floor with a lifeless thud.

"Manual control, manual control..." Yoshua muttered under his breath, his hands trembling as they found the ship's control yoke. His fingers gripped the cool metal desperately, and he pulled with every ounce of strength he had.

The ship groaned in protest, its aerodynamic body shuddering violently as it fought against the rapid descent. Yoshua's mind raced, a chaotic blur of military training and sheer survival instinct. Stay calm. Stay calm. Pull up. Don't overcorrect.

The cockpit view was a dizzying spiral of clouds and the dark landscape below, rushing closer by the second. Sweat dripped from his brow, stinging his eyes as he forced the ship out of its deadly dive. The yoke resisted, shaking in his grip, but inch by inch, the airship began to level out.

Behind him, chaos reigned. Ibris was being tossed around like a rag doll. He clutched at the edge of a table, slurring curses as a glass shattered nearby. "Ava Nori! What is going on? Thought you said your ship was state-of-the-art, Marcus!" He yelled, his voice muffled by the sound of objects clanging against the walls.

Marcus, somehow steadier on his feet, had braced himself against the doorway into the cockpit. His face was pale, but his composure held despite the chaos around them. "What happened?" He demanded, gripping the back of Yoshua's chair for balance, his knuckles whitening with tension as he examined the lifeless Nabu-9.

Yoshua did not look up, his focus glued to the controls. "All the technology just... died," he said, taut with concentration. "Nabu-9, the airship's A.I., the navigation—everything. We're flying blind." Each word was clipped, straining under the pressure of keeping the ship steady.

At that moment, Ibris stumbled into the cockpit, his face flushed, hair disheveled, and a napkin snagged awkwardly on one of his horns. He clung to the doorway for support, his lopsided grin at odds with the palpable tension. "Oh, aren't we glad," he slurred, swaying unsteadily as he pointed a wobbly finger at Yoshua, "that our dear friend here used to work on airships back when he was in the military?" The words had barely left his mouth before he lost his balance, stumbling forward and collapsing in a heap on the floor with a drunken groan.

Yoshua exhaled sharply, gripping the yoke tighter. "I'm flying manually now," he said, curtly. "So, unless you want us in pieces, let me focus."

Marcus shook his head in disbelief, the gravity of their predicament fully sinking in. His gaze darted from the dead screens to Yoshua's tense grip on the controls, then to the jagged mountains looming closer in the distance. He swallowed hard, his earlier bravado dissolving. "Right," he said finally, quietly. "Just... keep us alive."

Yoshua shot a sharp, irritated glance at Ibris, who lay sprawled awkwardly on the floor, then at Marcus. "Take him and strap in," he snapped.

Marcus nodded quickly, still pale and visibly shaken. He braced himself against the doorway again, his grip tightening as he struggled to drag Ibris' large frame toward the back of the ship. With considerable effort, he hoisted Ibris into a seat at the back of the ship and strapped him in. Then he returned to the cockpit and secured himself in the seat next to Yoshua.

The airship finally stabilized, though the ominous quiet of its systems remained. The low sound of manual propulsion filled the void, a testament to Yoshua's quick thinking and steady hands.

Still under the heavy influence of ambrosia, Marcus retrieved his military-grade tablet from his suit pocket, hoping it was still functional. He swiped his finger across the display, but nothing happened. The screen stayed dark, completely unresponsive. His brow furrowed in frustration as he shook the device slightly, as though that might bring it back to life.

Marcus wondered whether he missed something in his parliamentary debriefings recently. There had been no talk of potential political unease in the South, no hint of a recent Southern technology dispute. His mind raced, processing every possible scenario. What could be happening? What had gone unnoticed? Each unanswered question only added to his mounting headache.

"This can't be right," Marcus slurred, staring at the dead tablet, his frustration mounting. "Someone's jamming technology here," he said, paniking.

Yoshua shot him a look, arching a brow. "Yeah, no kidding." He said dryly, his hands steady on the yoke. "Now tell me—where do you want me to land this thing? Because with zero navigation, I've got nothing but guesswork here."

Marcus rubbed his temple, clearly flustered. "We'll have to land it by sight," he said, scanning the terrain outside the cockpit windows. "Do you know the area at all?"

Yoshua exhaled sharply through his nose. "Never been South before. Only know it from Ibris' stories."

Marcus' expression twisted with distress as he glanced out at the looming mountains, their jagged terrain ominous and unforgiving. "Stories won't help us right now," he muttered, struggling to think clearly. The lingering haze of ambrosia clouded his thoughts.

Before Yoshua could retort, a small object appeared in the distance, moving impossibly fast. It darted toward the Ishtar's Veil like a streak of silver, slicing through the afternoon air with uncanny precision.

"What the..." Marcus' voice trailed off as the object drew closer.

Yoshua, however, knew exactly what—or rather, who—it was. "Esa," he muttered under his breath.

Effortlessly matching the ship's speed, Esa glided alongside the cockpit, his movements precise and fluid. He raised a hand in a casual wave, acknowledging Yoshua's presence.

Yoshua waved back hesitantly, then muttered under his breath, "Great Mother..." as relief washed over him at the sight of Esa's familiar face.

Marcus' head whipped around, his confusion evident. "Is that a man flying outside my ship?" He asked, leaning forward to get a better look through the cockpit.

Before Yoshua could answer, the ship lurched subtly, as though an invisible force had taken control. Both men felt it—a shift in the ship's trajectory, smoother and more precise than any manual adjustment Yoshua could have made.

Yoshua's hands hovered over the controls for a moment before he leaned back and released them entirely.

"Don't let go!" Marcus shouted, frantic. "What are you doing?"

Yoshua remained calm, his eyes fixed ahead. "Esa's got it," he said with quiet certainty.

"So that's Esa," Marcus stared at Yoshua, in disbelief. Esa's face felt familiar to Marcus, but he could not place it.

Esa guided the Ishtar's Veil smoothly through the air, the ship responding to his unseen command as if it were an extension of his will. Yoshua sat back, his hands falling idly to his lap, his eye's fixed on the terrain before him. He prayed quietly under his breath. The jagged mountains and rough terrain below gradually gave way to a wide valley, where sparse, ancient trees swayed gently in the wind.

Marcus gripped the edge of his seat in disbelief, as he stared at the scene unfolding before him. "What... what is he doing?" He muttered, trembling slightly. His eyes darted between the cockpit controls, which lay dormant and unresponsive, and their descent with an ease that defied logic.

"He's landing us." Yoshua said, calmly.

Marcus leaned forward, gripping the edge of the dashboard. "This... this isn't possible," he muttered.

"I'm surprised you think so," Yoshua said, amused. "Surely many sky gods can use their gift in this way?"

"No, they can't," Marcus said curtly. 

Yoshua's eyes tracked Esa's fluid movements, noting his effortless command of his gift. In that moment, it became clear to Yoshua that while Esa looked like a sky god, he was clearly no nobleman Marcus knew.

As the ship neared the ground, the trees directly beneath them trembled, their roots straining against the earth. Yoshua could feel it—a deep, resonating power that made the very air in the cockpit hum. Without warning, the trees ripped free from the ground, their massive trunks rising and twisting as if plucked by a giant hand. The displaced roots, soil, and debris fell away from the ship, as the valley cleared itself to make way for the landing.

The ship touched down gently in the newly-opened space, the ground barely shifting under its weight. Yoshua exhaled in relief, murmuring a quiet, "Thank the Great Mother," while Marcus remained frozen in stunned silence.

From his seat, Yoshua stared out at the now-barren patch of earth beneath them, where only moments ago the trees had stood tall. 

Marcus glanced at Esa, still hovering nearby, and then back at Yoshua.

It hit Marcus like a wave. 

"Esa... Esa ..." Marcus' voice cracked slightly as he gestured out the window, "ripped out those trees from the ground? He's the one who tore that Yucan ship in half, isn't he?"

Yoshua did not reply. He watched Esa fly towards the airship.

Marcus immediately slammed a button on the cockpit console, the one that controlled the airlock door. As the hatch hissed open, Marcus stood at the door and inhaled the cool valley air. Yoshua could hear Marcus' heart pounding with adrenaline. 

Esa soared toward him, suspended in midair, moving as effortlessly as if gravity were a suggestion rather than a law.

"Is everyone alright?" he asked. 

Marcus was stunned and could only nod.

Yoshua leaned around Marcus, poking his head out the door. "We're all fine," he said, shaking his head, "though Ibris passed out while the ship was plummeting. I guess he thought a nap was the best survival strategy."