"The skyships came before the steamships did, funnily enough. The skyships were invented by magicked ancestor ships, where spirits and ghosts would wield wonderful powers to alight the skyships onto the air and they would row themselves. These were the first skyships. They were used even back then. But now it was possible to create skyships without the use of an ancestral spirit binding ritual, or a ghost binding ritual, creating opportunities for everyone in the Isles to fly."

  From The Treatise On Machine Ships

  The dorms and houses in Zanmetia were a mix of modern construction techniques and traditional artisanry. The pillars were made of concrete blessed with offerings to the spirits, and with stone carved into the shape of guardian lions. The roofs flanged like pagodas, with spirit talismans hanging from the awnings to protect from ill-will and black magicks.

  The Physicker's dorm stood narrow, but tall. It had three floors. The first floor was for visitors and the living room. The second floor was for Myu Fan, and was almost always locked shut. The third floor was for Myu Fan's interns, understudies, and students. Myu Fan only had two students now: Mijja from Selorong and Sotro from Melokite, in the Heavenshards.

  "What?!" Sotro stood up from his bed. Sotro's fluffy and curly silver hair contrasted Mijja's pitch black. He wore a loose button-shirt and even looser harem pants. His skin was the color of burnt brown sugar. "You're leaving?"

  Mijja leaned against the doorway. In her hands was Cutting Lightning. She held it by the sheath. The sheath itself had a leather cord that she wore across her chest, ensuring that the daggergun never left her. "Yes. That is what I just said. Thank you for repeating it to me."

  Sotro rose to his feet. "But you haven't even finished your internship here!"

  Mijja shrugged. Her face was in a kind of smug pout. "Well, that's the thing. It looks like this is the last part of my internship." Mijja noticed Sotro's darkened face. "Aw, don't be so sad, Sotro. We'll see each other again in the future." She walked over to Sotro—who had sat back down onto his bed—and used Cutting Lightning's sheathe to lift his chin. So that he looked up at her. "Are you going to miss me?" She smirked.

  Sotro nodded. His lip quivered.

  "Aw. Good boy. Don't worry Sotro. I'll come back for you. In the meantime, do your best for Doc Myu Fan. She'll need your help. Lots of diseases nowadays, in Post-Calamity."

  Sotro sighed. "Yes, Mijja. You take care then, okay?"

  "I will! Don't mess around with the Doctor too much while I'm gone." She took her traveling backpack and reached for the door. Before she opened it, she said: "May the Light guide you path, Sotro." A pang of niceness and politeness that surprised even her.

  "May the Awakened's Teachings be a lamp unto thy feet." They both performed the Heart Reverences to each other, and then Mijja was off.

  Mijja would be remiss to travel without wearing at least something nice. So this was Mijja's journey outfit. She had prepared it a year in advance, anticipating that she would have to go somewhere far away for some twist of work or tour of duty as a junior Physicker.

  A black, high-necked, frilled dress that billowed at the shoulders. What some would call a butterfly sleeved dress—this style was popular among the bourgeoisie and upper working class of Selorong. She wore black blessings underneath that, and then black boots underneath that too. No heels—she needed to be able to romp through mud and water while in the isles. On both hands she wore long, embroidered silk gloves that reached up to the sleeves of her blouse dress. She was so covered in black that her skin almost started to become too pale. Though, with her large, doe-like eyes and heavy eyebags she did not give off the impression of sickly meister or edgy witch, but rather, of a wide-eyed aristocrat.

  Ah, and she was beautiful. To the point of turning heads and soliciting catcalls. She had to close her eyes to ignore them. She had gotten used to it, at this point.

  She walked to where the caravan was stationed. It was a large carriage—a rectangular... casket? Almost? Where there multiple rows of seats. It was pulled by two birds of iridescent feathering, long meters, and teeth upon their beaks. A barker beside a post that said [KUBANG CARAVAN] was shouting: "Oy oy oy! Caravan heading for Kubang! 2 hour ride! Hop on now, we leave on the 14th hour!"

  A middle aged woman came up to the barker and asked: "H-Hello. Does this go past Zanhoasa?"

  "Yes ma'am," said the tanned barker. The woman smiled and nodded and boarded the caravan.

  Mijja offered the backpack to the barker and he graciously took it from her; placed it into a neat line with the rest of the luggage. Then, Mijja boarded the large carriage. There were at least 10 people here—the caravan was long enough to house 20 people. Mijja wished it wouldn't come to that. She hated the overcrowded caravans, especially considering how hot and humid it was in the Utter Islands.

  In all truth, Mijja did not know how exactly to feel about this deployment. On one hand, it felt like she was being whisked off to a war she never wanted to be a part of. On the other hand, she loved adventure. And she was growing awfully bored. Something new—she wanted to do something new.

  And this was definitely something new.

  A few moments passed. Mijja preoccupied herself with a book that she had been meaning to read—a treatise on the Mystical Meridians in Magomedical Application. Thne she heard: "Looks like no one else is coming, boy," said the barker to the driver. A fat man with a nice paunch and an even nicer smile. The driver nodded, and then leaned over to give the barker a few coins for his time.

  In a few more moments, the carriage lurched forward.

  As with all travels to Kubang, the ride was largely uneventful. The trick to it is realizing the fact that the paths here have become blessed with interspersed spirit terminals—shrines in equidistant parts of the road. These spirit terminals had dedicated spiritworkers working to their upkeep. This mean that, as long as the spirit terminals were clean, dirtless, and supplied with constant joss and food, none of the spirits, ghosts, and devils that would've been roaming this part of Pemi Island had a physical reason for wanting to attack passing caravans.

  This facilitated greater trade across the island. It cemented the Nunuk League as the primary state actor in the island. All other communes, communities, clans, homesteads, tribes... they would look to the theo-anarchistic league of Nunuk and depend on them for protection and international trade against the greater lands of imperialism. Away from the end of the world.

  And Nunuk did exactly that. Though they were anarchists, they managed to create warrior cells that fought alongside the harsh terrain of Pemi to ensure that none of the world imperialist powers—none of the fascist Amatsunese and none of the neoliberal Ressen-Nalenjese—would be able to fully seize the island.

  It still fights, of course. But to this day, the Nunuk League is unconquere dbecause of its diplomatic ties to the Shades of the Wood, the Ghosts in the Wind, and the Monsoon Kings Who Dance Upon Moonlight.

  The road was nothing but a padded dirt road with fences on either side to denote where to go. Bridges were built over large rivers and streams, made of ironwood reinforced with long mantras. The trees created a natural canopy that prevented the carriages from being too wet.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Mijja slept through most of the trip. As she was wont to do. She thought she would converse with the other travelers on the caravan but that was not what happened at all.

  Kubang is said to be the nexus of Pemi. It is the center of all roads. Though Kubang is much more inland, set at the mouth of the Lake of Li-im, it was the dockport for all the inland communities. For all the international seaprots. For all the landlocked and mountain communities. It was, in essence, the Heart of Pemi.

  And, of course, it was situated in front of Yemappia, the Sacred City. Pilgrim site of the Godtree worshippers, shamans, and spiritworkers. The City that housed the roots of the Godtree, where the Dragonfruits of Cultivation lie.

  Yes—Kubang sat across the lake, in front of the Godtree. The giant Godtree's black leaves shimmered and glinted like unsharpened obsidian as it fell periodically over the day.

  In Kubang they beuilt giant pagoda-towers. These pagoda-towers stood half-as-tall as the Godtree. A feat in and of itself. But these towers were strong, condensed and reinforced by spirit-fibers and strange geomantic woodworking magick diagrams to amek the wood inseparable but flexible. Earthquakes became a worry of the past for these pagoda towers.

  These pagoda towers became centers of housing and recreation and businesses. Small teahouses, coffee shops, bakeries and the like. The teahouses were owned by tea masters. The coffee shops owned by the baristas. The bakeries owned by the bakers. They would come on when they awoke and leave when they were tired. And the bread they baked was free unless the one paying wanted to pay more.

  The international currency of joss stems partially from Yemappia, you see. The wood used for the incenses are from the black bark of the Godtree. Joss is then manufactured by joss factories, and blessed by Joss Shrines minting them under the name of Hri Vaizzan, the God of Merchants and Mercenaries. Only those minted by Hri Vaizzan became considered worthy for international currency.

  Selorong has three of these joss factories and God-Bark producers. Shen has five. Soreh has one. Amatsu has two.

  Therefore, the people here in the Nunuk League could afford to live a much more anarchic, communalist lifestyle than those in the greater city centers. But to achieve this, Nunuk had had to become much more militant and zealous about protecting its land and its waters against imperial forces, to the point that Pemi (which is, of course, the End of the World) has become largely avoided by the world powers.

  And therefore, international trade has missed them most. But they do not need international trade...

  Though they do need international allies.

  Upon these pagoda towers were skyships. Most of them were of the Nunuk make—giant paraws flying upon karmic engines tucked under their hulls. Some looked like crested dragons, others looked like biers for the gods' eventual death. Others looked like great zeppelins but sharpened, with wings that looked like bat-wings pinned to their side.

  These skyships were the premiere choice of international travel across the world. The same is true for Kubang.

  Though, one of the skyships looked suspiciously like a Central Yavinian Guild's Dreadnought... With its reverse whale-like appearance, beaked front, and its dragonscale plating... It was definitely a CYG Dreadnought. No sane warrior of the Islands would dare use the scales of a dragon, of a nak, on the chassis of a machine. Unless that warrior was someone who has either subjugated nature completely—a testament to their great accomplishment—or that warrior worked for the neoliberal imperialist forces of either Amatsu or Ressen-Nalenji.

  But that's a conversation for another day.

  Mijja stepped down from the carriage and picked her luggage up. The caravan station here was not too far from the pagoda towers where one could fly on the skyships. Even here, throngs and throngs of people of varying faces and ethnicities swarmed the intersections, the ticket booths and lines, and the benches waiting for their carriages to arrive. To bring them to the various sections of Pemi island.

  Though Mijja can imagine that these throngs of people were small work compared to the megalomaniac crowds one can find in the great cities of Selorong or Soreh or Uzu.

  She wove her way through the station workers and bustling commuters. Her boots padded onto the stone streets of Kubang. Here in the Utter Islands, the vast majority of southern Utter Island cities had their urban architecture stems from the influence of the Mahabidaran Empire. An empire said to have been led by a Chakravartin—one of the last "good" Wheel Turners"—who conquered the entirety of the Utter Islands.

  She crossed the street, dodging horse-and-bird-drawn carriages and porters and carriers and bustling messengers who ran or glided or flew skating on swords. The doors to the skyport was open, thankfully. Mijja walked into it and walked up to the ticketing counter.

  The woman working the counter was a haggard and oversized woman with a mean scowl and drooping face. No doubt she was a nice lady, but her demeanor did not encourage an amicable interaction.

  "Good morning," said Mijja, putting on her best smile. She usually disarmed people with her smile—one of her best assets. Her soft features and large eyes made her look younger than she actually was, and the boys were a sucker for her. She used that to her advantage too.

  Despite this, the woman on the counter did not respond in kind.

  Ugh. Eye roll. Mijja continued: "One for Wegr, please."

  "Wegr? Please be careful. The Astrologians have prophesied turmoil there within the next few days. No doubt more monsoon god fighting. which will cause inclement winds and weather."

  Mijja sighed. Damn. Did I prepare clothes for the stormy season? Ah, no matter. I just have to stay dry. "Yes."

  "Very well. That will be 80js."

  Mijja handed over four bundles of 20js. The woman took it and put it on a drawer underneath her table, and then gave Mijja a mantra strip. Encoded within would be the thing that allowed her to pass the skygates and onto the skyship.

  "Thank you!" said Mijja again, with her signature smile. Still nothing. The middle aged woman moved to the next one.

  She sighed and pressed her lips together. She walked up to the lift and it swung open just as she stood to wait. It was mostly empty save for the nicely young lad sitting beside it, manning it. She walked in, glaimpsing at her ticket. It said: "SKY GATE 2033". That meant it was on the 20th floor.

  "20th floor, please," she said, offering the boy a smile. The boy was a local, for sure—young, small beady eyes. Wispy mustache he for sure thought made him look more grown. It only served to make him look more juvenile. Crooked and broken teeth—a wretch from the working class.

  That makes two of us, boy.

  The boy paused for a moment. At first Mijja thought that the boy was just waiting for more people to pile into the lift. But when the boy stuttered out—"A-ah! Y-yes, ma'am." Mijja knew her signature smile sitll hadn't gone away. Satisfied, she said, "Thank you." And she offered him another smile. The boy's look on her linger for a moment. Even when she broke eye contact. As this happened, more people piled in.

  Eventually, the lift doors dinged open to the 20th Sky Gate. A marvel of architecture. Large awnings and scaffoldings for any kind of skyship to dock onto. Long benches and rows for the various waiting areas of the Sky Gates. All of this built upon a mix of hardwood and talisman paper turned into adhesive. It did not look like a concrete slab, but rather, like an intricate operatic puppet held fast by invisible strings. Each sky gate jutted out the side of the pagoda spires and were kept stable by invisible, magicked threads that poised it in tension with all the other sky gates jutting out the side. From afar, they looked like wicked dread centipedes.

  Mijja rushed over to gate 2033 and found There was no time to sit down in the waiting area. No time to buy coffee or tea. The skyship bound for Wegr was already moored to the skyport. The gangplank lowered down. This skyship was a squaresail one with a deep hull. On the deck was a closed room with benches and beds for passengers to stay in. It stacked twice. It even had outriggers, though these were fixed in such a way to stabilize during flight. Outrigger skyships tended to be more stable and quicker in motion, but could not bank or lean, making it unlikely candidates for warships or combat ships.

  But there will be no skycombat today, Mijja hoped. She uttered a prayer to Seris Ranget, the Black Mother of God, to protect her on her journey as she walked up the gangplank. She smiled at the boys and crew handling her luggage. The boys smiled back. Good—that meant they were going to take care of her luggage. Probably. It doesn't always work that way. Sometimes she has to lie to herself for it to work.

  She found a bench that was sparsely populated. Mostly an elderly woman wrapped in a religious shawl and a man writing something on their notebook. For the most part, there were a lot less people traveling to Wegr than she thought would be. But then again, it was—what—the 15th hour of the day? Not a lot of people travel during this time of straight sun. And no doubt others were in the midst of the work day as well.

  She sat. Crossed her legs. She picked up two winged ear ornaments and placed them around her ears. Then, she fixed the "antennae" of the ear ornaments so that it was placed just at the tip of her ear-holes.

  Sonorous music filled her senses right then and there. A track from a popular new-wave synthetic music makers. Where the voices were heavily filtered and the piano sounds were artificial, generated from electric confluxes. It was a new style of music, coming out of Selorong and Hokou. She was quite fond of it.

  Right as the soft electric piano tunes created a sullen melody in her ears, the skyship whirred to life. She felt her entire body suddenly in tune with the frequency of the skyship. It vibrated so strongly that her body had no other choice. Then, the skyship lurched backward as it caught the wind. The mantras emanated from the karmic engine. The gods of the winds—or perhaps, their blessings—activated, and the skyship defied weft and wend.

  They unmoored the ship from their invisible strings. It flew backwards. Spun around. And lurched into a cruise as it ascended to the sky and made for Wegr.

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