The dull early morning light filtered through the high window of Edric’s cell. He had been up well before dawn, sitting on the edge of the thin mattress, elbows on knees, staring at the faint rectangle of gray light above. Another day in this strange world.
The sound of approaching footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. Keys rattled in the lock, and the door swung open to reveal Mira, arms laden with clothing.
“Good morning,” she said, professional but with a hint of excitement in her voice. “I’ve bought both a set of formal clothing and a set of traveling clothes. We leave within the hour.”
Edric accepted the bundle, surprised by the quality. Simple but well-made: sturdy boots, wool trousers, a linen shirt, and a rugged, heavy cloak. Looking closer, he noticed the fabric was slightly worn in places but had been recently tailored to fit him. A small embroidered bow and arrow—the Ranger Hero’s emblem—decorated the breast of the shirt.
“Where did these come from?” he asked, running his fingers along the stitching.
“A portion of the custody transfer fee Lady Zylenaia was obligated to pay was allocated for traveling provisions,” Mira explained. “Lady Zylenaia insisted we use every penny they allowed us. As she put it, ‘They won’t be offering refunds if we don’t use it all.’”
“Practical of her,” Edric remarked, though he couldn’t help feeling a bit guilty—Zylenaia didn’t strike him as someone who could afford to spend frivolously.
“Indeed,” Mira replied, turning respectfully away as he began to change.
The clothes fit perfectly—another reminder of how this world had reshaped him to its specifications. The stranger’s body, in a stranger’s clothes.
“We should hurry,” Mira said, gathering his remaining garments. “The winds favor early departures, and the Regent is already waiting at the shipyard.”
The corridors were quiet as they made their way through the city streets, most nobles still sleeping off the previous night’s festivities. Guards watched them pass with expressions ranging from indifference to contempt.
At the city’s eastern gate, a familiar armored figure waited, arms crossed.
“Sending us off personally?” Edric asked, unable to keep the edge from his voice. The bruises from Halric’s rocks had faded to yellowish smudges, but the memory lingered.
Halric’s eyes flicked over him, taking in the new clothes with a curl of his lip. “Don’t flatter yourself, long-ears. I’m merely ensuring you actually leave.”
“Your concern is touching,” He replied.
“Enjoy Galenmurk,” Halric said, his tone making the name sound like a curse. “Perfect match, really—a criminal like you and that half-breed Regent’s swamp of a kingdom.”
Edric rolled his eyes but held his tongue.
Mira’s expression remained perfectly professional as she turned to Edric. “We really should hurry, my lord.”
As they walked away, Edric glanced back once to find Halric still watching them, face unreadable in the pale morning light.
The shipyard sprawled across a series of tiered platforms at the city’s eastern cliffs. Edric and Mira followed a winding path upward, passing dockworkers, merchants, and the occasional noble entourage preparing for departure. The air smelled of treated wood, strange oils, and that peculiar tang of magic Edric was beginning to recognize.
As they crested the final ramp, the full spectacle unfolded before them. A dozen skyships hung suspended on massive mooring lines, hulls floating impossibly above the loading yards. Workers scurried below, hauling crates and barrels that were winched upward through openings in the vessels’ undersides.
Edric stopped, awe replacing his guarded expression. At first glance, they looked like seafaring sailing ships from Earth’s Age of Exploration—the proud masts, the curved hulls, and intricate rigging echoed vessels he’d seen in museums and history books. But a second glance revealed profound differences. The details were all wrong and the proportions off…
These ships were not built for water. If someone tried to sail them on an ocean, they’d sink. These vessels were built to fly. Though without seeing one in action, it was difficult to determine what every feature was for.
“There,” Mira said, pointing toward the far end of the yard. “That’s the Galenmurk vessel.”
Compared to the grand ships nearby—one particularly lavish craft adorned in gilded trim and billowing silk banners—the Galenmurk skyship was humble—smaller and featured noticeable repairs.
“You can see the nations’ relative wealth on display just by comparing their vessels,” Edric observed quietly.
As they approached, Edric spotted a small figure pacing near the loading area beneath the ship. Zylenaia raised a hand in greeting, her white hair catching the morning light.
“Finally!” she called. “I was starting to worry Halric might have killed you in your sleep.”
*Ha-ha-ha. Very funny.* Edric was not amused by her *joke.*
“Apologies for the delay,” Mira responded with a slight bow. “We encountered Sir Halric at the gate.”
Zylenaia’s expression soured briefly. “Well, you’re here now. Come along—we’ve got favorable winds, but they won’t wait forever.”
She led them to a rope ladder hanging from the underside of the vessel. Above, crew members peered down through the open hatch.
“Welcome aboard the *Timblewhiff*!” Zylenaia declared with unassuming pride. “This beautiful little kiteship represents the entirety of Galenmurk’s great and powerful air fleet!” The self-deprecating, sarcastic humor didn't disguise her genuine affection for the vessel.
Edric hoisted himself through the hatch into the vessel’s interior. The lower deck held cargo lashed securely to the walls and floor, narrow walkways threading through the space. Soon, they climbed a ladder leading to the open upper deck.
As they emerged into sunlight, the ship came alive. The deck bustled with activity as the crew prepared for departure. Unlike the polished sailors he’d seen on other vessels, these men worked with rough, unrefined energy. Their clothing was mismatched, weathered garments, and their language was coarse with the occasional barked laugh.
Edric instantly understood Zylenaia’s earlier remark about her *unpresentable* personnel. These weren’t career sailors or dignified retainers—they were roughnecks, mercenaries, opportunists. All the crewmen would've looked more fitting in a tavern brawl than at a royal banquet.
Edric only caught a glimpse of Mira's apprehensive look.
Despite Galenmurk being primarily a halfling nation, the crew featured remarkably few halflings. The majority of the crew were beastkin half-breeds of various types.
“Zyl! We’ve got the last of the supplies loaded!” called a gruff voice. A wolfish man approached, sharp canines flashing as he spoke. His amber eyes narrowed on Edric with immediate suspicion. “This the Hero, then?”
“Kornic, meet Sir Edric—the Herald’s chosen Ranger,” Zylenaia said formally. “And his attendant, Mira. Sir Edric, this is my first mate, Kornic.”
Kornic made a gesture that might charitably be called a bow, though it carried more mockery than respect. “Welcome aboard, *Hero,*” he said, the title oozing skepticism. “Try not to fall overboard. I hear heroes don’t fly any better than the rest of us.”
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Without waiting for a response, he turned to Zylenaia. “Wind’s picking up. We should get moving.”
“Prepare for departure,” she agreed. “I’ll handle the lift.”
As Kornic barked orders, Edric’s eyes caught onto the ship’s bizarre central feature—a long, crystalline beam of ice running the length of the deck, suspended just high enough to step underneath. The ice was shrouded beneath a protective canvas—not for catching wind—but to shield the ice from sunlight. Stranger still, the crystalline structure was tethered down suspended above the deck as if it were trying to *float upward.*
Edric stared, fascinated and confused. He’d seen what he could only assume had been conjured ice during the tournament, but this sight was still unbelievable.
“Mira?” he asked. “What exactly am I looking at?”
She followed his gaze, then blinked at his question. “Does your world not have skyships?”
“We have airplanes, sure—but this looks nothing like those. What’s the ice doing?”
“It’s… what keeps the ship aloft,” she said, visibly struggling with the absurdity of explaining something so fundamental.
Before he could ask for clarification—“Take your position for departure!” Zylenaia commanded before turning to Edric. “You might want to hold onto something. First-time flyers sometimes find takeoff… unsettling.”
She climbed up to a small platform at the aft of the ship, positioning herself behind the “mini-iceberg.” Placing her hand on a mechanism at its base.
Zylenaia’s eyes flared with an electric glow as a surge of cold air flowed down from above. Ice crystals along the structure began to grow—forced to expand by an unseen pressure. The ship creaked and moaned as weight and tension shifted from the mooring lines to the chains embedded within the block of ice. Zylenaia released her magic; the ice stopped growing, the flow of cold air subsided, but her eyes retained a faint glow.
“Release the moorings!” Zylenaia shouted.
Crew members already in position released massive ropes from iron cleats. Edric felt his stomach lurch as the deck beneath him rose. His muscles tensed instinctively against the smooth motion, his body certain the Timblewhiff could plummet any second.
Once they cleared the skyport’s highest spires, the sailors dropped an enormous cloth kite off the starboard side. It caught the wind with a loud, thunderous snap, dragging the ship forward through the air.
Seeing Edric’s bewilderment, Zylenaia joined him, an amused smirk tugging at her lips. “It’s said heroes are often unfamiliar with magic. Ice constructed from magic is buoyant and thus floats into the sky,” she said.
To demonstrate, she conjured a small ball of ice in her palm and released it. The sphere soared upward into the sky.
Edric leaned over the railing, watching as it diminished to a speck against the open sky. “*Huh. It really just… does that,*” he murmured. “How high does it go? Does it ever stop?”
“Loose conjured ice settles at the inversion line,” Zylenaia explained. “All known magic ceases to function beyond that altitude.”
“Seems kind of weird,” Edric remarked.
“Why magic stops working at that height's been an ongoing subject of research for centuries,” she said with a shrug. “Personally, I think it’d be weirder if it didn’t stop somewhere.”
As the Timblewhiff climbed higher, Edric found his gaze pulled towards the view. Ayzelsted, the Cardinal City, unfolded beneath them—its entirety impossible to appreciate from ground level.
The metropolis clung to the mountainside like a crown, standing as both fortress and jewel. Sunlight glinted off the Great Cathedral’s dome, its metallic inlays shimmering like liquid gold. The structure dominated the highest tier of the city, wrapped by descending tiers of additional grand buildings—all adorned with their own spires and buttresses. It seemed an impossible location for a city of its size. On Earth, this place would never have come to exist. This mountaintop would have been too distant from trade routes and waterways for it to be worth building anything significant. However, in this world, skyships and magic would have both enabled and demanded its creation.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Mira’s voice was quiet beside him.
“It’s… unbelievable,” Edric admitted softly.
As the ship banked northward, other vessels rose around them, maintaining stately distance as they drifted toward far corners of the realm.
Zylenaia appeared beside him. “Don’t stare too long, or I might think you miss your prison cell,” she teased.
Zylenaia then gestured toward her quarters. “Come. We should talk while it’s calm. The winds grow less predictable the closer we get to Galenmurk.”
As they crossed the deck, the crew’s stares followed. One man spat overboard. Another muttered something that drew snickers. The message was clear—he wasn’t welcome.
Kornic watched from a distance, his amber eyes calculating. Whatever he was thinking, Edric doubted it was friendly.
Zylenaia’s quarters—“the captain’s lodge,” as the crew called it—occupied the stern. She withdrew a key from her tunic as they approached.
“Wait here, please,” she told Mira, who nodded despite looking uneasy about being left behind. “There’s barely room for two inside.”
As Mira took her place by the door, a low whistle echoed from the deck.
“Look at that, boys! Our Ice Queen found herself a pretty boy!” called one sailor, coiling rope. His mottled skin gleamed with scales that caught the light. “Going to be some *warming up* in there, that’s for damn sure.”
“About time someone thawed her out!” another barked.
A third leaned on the railing, grinning. “Doing your part to save the pointy-ears, eh, Zyl? Noble work!”
The subtle hostility was broken up by the crass laughter that rang across the deck.
Zylenaia ignored them as she unlocked the door, while Mira averted her eyes as the edge of her ears grew red.
Zylenaia gestured Edric inside, slipped in after him, and bolted the door with a decisive click.
The cabin was compact but efficient. A foldaway bunk lined one wall, serving double duty as storage. A desk built into the opposite wall bore scars from years of travel. Maps and charts covered another, held by wooden pins for quick removal.
Edric immediately noticed the precautions: reinforced locks, extra bolts on the door, chests banded with iron. Zylenaia sealed the latch before speaking.
“The walls are sturdy but thin,” she murmured. “Keep your voice down.” She nodded toward the single stool, taking a seat on the bunk herself.
“So,” she began quietly, “Lady Liora seemed remarkably concerned about what you might build in Galenmurk. I think it’s time you told me exactly what knowledge you’re bringing to my territory.”
Edric sighed, setting aside his irritation with Liora. “In my world, we have weapons far more advanced than bows or swords. We call them *firearms.* They use explosive powder to launch projectiles at incredible speed.”
Zylenaia frowned. Edric tried again. “Imagine materials that, when combined and ignited, release tremendous energy—like steam pressure in a kettle, but stronger. That pressure propels small bits of metal—bullets—forward faster than any arrow could ever fly.”
Zylenaia looked skeptical. “How deadly could a bit of metal be? Without a proper edge or point?”
“At the speeds I’m talking about, it doesn’t need one,” Edric said. “The force alone is enough to punch through armor that would stop arrows cold.”
Her confusion lingered, so he shifted tactics. “Imagine being able to point your finger at someone, pull it slightly, and kill your target instantly, assuming you hit something vital, even if they’re wearing the finest armor, even hundreds of paces away—no magic required.”
Her disbelief deepened. Lips parted, then pressed shut.
“I can see from your side it sounds impossible,” Edric allowed.
Zylenaia’s head tilted thoughtfully. “Would our skyships work in your world?”
“No,” he admitted. “They violate the physical laws as we understand them.”
“Then why be so certain these ‘firearms’ would work here?” she asked, curious more than combative.
Edric hesitated. “I can’t be *absolutely* certain,” he said. “But they rely on basic chemistry and physics—laws that seem to apply here too.”
“Chemistry?” she repeated, the unfamiliar term catching her ear.
“The study of how materials interact,” Edric explained. “The point is, I think the ingredients exist here. It’s just a matter of refinement, tools, and time.”
Zylenaia’s eyes sharpened. “And you know which materials—to create these weapons?”
Edric chose his words carefully. “I do. But that knowledge is… extremely valuable. Whoever controls it would hold an enormous advantage.”
Zylenaia’s smile was slow and thin, not unkind but shrewd. “So you’re keeping a card in reserve. Smart.”
“It’s more complicated than a formula,” Edric continued. “Early firearms were unreliable. They took time to reload, and manufacturing required precision you likely don't have here.”
“But you could build them,” she said. “Eventually.”
“Yes,” he admitted. “Though I’d have to start simpler—a crossbow, maybe.”
“A cross… bow?” she echoed.
“It’s like a bow mounted sideways on a frame,” he explained, gesturing. “You draw it once, then aim without holding the tension. More power, less training.”
Zylenaia leaned back, fingers drumming on her knee as she thought. “And such weapons—they’d give my people an edge? Against beasts? Raiders?”
“They could,” Edric said. “Especially against stronger enemies.”
Silence stretched between them while she considered. Then, softly, “It’s hard to believe such power is achievable without sorcery.”
“Once you see a prototype—” Edric began.
“If it works,” she interrupted.
“If it works,” he agreed.
Zylenaia stood, signaling the end of the conversation. “For now, I’ll reserve judgment. Regardless, you have my blessing to try developing these weapons in my territory. Liora will attempt to stop you, of course. But Galenmurk needs every advantage it can get. If what you’re describing is real… it could change everything.”
“It could,” Edric admitted quietly.
She unbolted the door. “Let’s rejoin the others before the rumors get any worse.”
As they stepped onto the deck, the crewmembers nearby pretended to look busy. Two of them exchanged smug glances.
Zylenaia ignored them, walking with disciplined poise. Mira rushed to join Edric, relief plain on her face, though her eyes were full of questions.
Below them, the landscape had changed—lush valleys fading to untamed forest and jagged foothills. They were leaving the heart of the realm, heading toward its uncertain edges. The memory of Sarah lingered like a ghost at his shoulder as they left the capital behind. With every mile, the truth of his new life settled deeper. *There’s no going back,* Edric thought.
