Taking his spot at the stand, Reece could feel his heart pounding. The human was a stranger in a strange land, fifteen miles above the surface of the Earth. His mentor was on trial, accused of having a hand in the Princess’s kidnapping, and disappearing at the same time as her. The boy could only pray that the Avalonian Queen would listen to reason. The eyes of the furious council bore down on him, not to mention the spectators in the stands. Knights in heavy armor stood by, armed and ready to take his mentor– or anyone else for that matter– to the dungeon when called upon. The Queen herself eyed him curiously along with a tall feline woman who stood at her side.
	“Your majesty,” He rasped before giving her a traditional dwarven bow. The human was not an orator. He was completely out of his element. He had seen dwarven court sessions, but being on the stand in a completely foreign country’s court was wracking his nerves. He stood with his hands behind his back, feeling like a prisoner already. A few whispers came from the council and the small crowd.
	The Avalonian Queen raised a hand to silence them, her tall rabbit ears slumping slightly. The regal woman seemed the least outraged, though if that was just a front, Reece couldn’t tell. She gestured to her side and another avalonian, a rather stout man with mouse ears stepped forward and read from a scroll, “Presenting to the council, Reece M. Gawain, protege of the accused.”
	Jeers rang out. Humans, dwarves, avalonians, and all the other races in attendance had the same feelings about the Lowlanders now no matter their heritage. Reece figured the relations between the Low and Highlanders was going to be rough for the rest of his life due to the actions of a few. 
	With a deep breath, he raised his voice, “Hear me, people of Avalon!”
	The Queen raised a hand to silence the jeers but even she struggled to keep them in check. She slammed the butt of her rod on the ground to elicit a loud bang before shouting at them. With a hand, she gestured for Reece to continue. He turned to his notes, quadruple checking that they were in the right order. Deep down, he knew his carefully prepared speech was for naught. Would they care what his arguments were? These people wanted someone to blame, someone to send to the gallows, and they had their dwarf. Changing his plans, Reece set the pages down, “Before I begin, know this: whether you think Master Graxon is guilty or not, I will track down your missing princess!”
	The crowd went mad with rage.
	The promise of adventure? This has become a waking nightmare. The boy thought as he stared unflinching at the crowd.

	Days earlier.

	A fire crackled softly in a small stone fireplace. Candle wax melted as the wicks burned brightly casting a yellow glow across the room. A long L shaped desk sat in the corner, its stained dark oak surface reflecting the soft lights on its spotless surface– not that the occupant of the room had a hand in that. His typewriter, the preferred way of writing his scripts, sat dusty and unused, a single page of a manuscript sat unloved in it. Drafts sat stapled together in a plastic bin, none of them marked for changes or even read by one of his few trusted editors. Reece M. Gawain, once a prolific historian, chronologist, and author now languished in a miasma of uncertainty. The curtains were pulled shut to keep the evening sun out of his small domain. Sitting in his leather chair, he stared at the plastic phone. The rotary dial taunted him as he wet his dry mouth with a bit of liquor. The number sat on the page in front of him, a work order, something he had prepared days ago. Today the customer should have received their requested transcript. He need only make the call to confirm all was well. It was a task he had done numerous times, more than he cared to count, and yet now he felt paralyzed by apprehension. Taking a deep breath, Reece steeled himself and dialed in the number, his anxious heart pounding as he slowly rotated the dial. 
	The phone began to ring as he held the handset to his head. He nervously spun the crystal whiskey glass on his desk as he waited for the customer to pick up. The dial tone made his throat itch as he withheld a dry cough. A wave of relief washed over the boy as the tone stopped, “Hello?”
	Reece sputtered and coughed unwillingly, “Hail, Master Iggon.”
	“Ah! Gawain, my boy. I got the transcripts ya sent!” The dwarf jovially said, “The english half at least. Did you make a dwarven and russian transcript like I asked?”
	With frantic energy, Reece poured over the bill from when he was first contracted. There wasn’t any mention of either of these on it. Swallowing with a dry mouth, Reece forced a small smile, “It– It appears something was lost in translation. I’ll, uh, get them written up and sent out as soon as possible.”
	“Good man,” Iggon loudly sipped on his own drink, “I look forward to it. Thanks.”
	“Of course,” Reece held the phone to his head until the dwarf hung up. The phone let out a long, shrill tone as it asked to be put back on the receiver. The human boy slouched in his seat and slumped further down the back rest, “Another satisfied customer,” He bitterly hissed at himself with venomous sarcasm. Master Iggon wasn’t one to try and fleece him, but he couldn’t tell where he had gone wrong with the bill. This would cost Reece as he didn’t bill the dwarf for the time two translations would take the boy. Iggon was a good customer, he might even send Reece some of his famous Hoxxe Mushroom whiskey as a favor. But that wasn't going to pay the bills, and it would set an expectation for future prices.
	Before he could further spiral into his anguish, a knock came from his door, “Reece?” A soft feminine voice called, “Your dinner is ready. Roasted potatoes and medium rare steak, just how you like it. Master Graxon has brought out the good liquor too~” It was Miss Redbramble, the house chef. She tried to tantalize the boy into coming to dinner, knowing he had a recent streak of skipping meals.
	After a pause, Reece sighed, “Wonderful. I’ll be down soon.”
	“I’ll keep it on a warmer for you, dear.”
	The personal chef of his mentor stepped away on her small, halfling digits. She would be dismissed for the evening soon. Reece decided he had better let her see him eat, halfling chefs tended to worry or even get depressed if you didn't eat their cooking, he reminded himself.

	Snow fell outside of a set of tall and thin windows that lined one wall of the long dining room, perfect for hosting parties. Today the manor was quiet with only its residents to occupy it. The maid and gardener had both left for the day leaving the manor’s owner and his protege alone at dinner. Steak with fried potatoes slathered in a creamy, vinegary sauce. After Reece took a few bites, the chef took her leave as well. Graxon Goldrune was a dwarven hero of this world, the New World, and the Old World that his kind escaped from along with many other peoples. Decades had gone by and the non-humans had integrated well into the once only human society. The old dwarf was dressed in a polo that tucked into his slacks and a pair of plaid slippers. His gray beard was short for one that younger dwarves could call a ‘long beard,’ only coming down to his chest instead of his belt or even his toes as some old dwarves were want to do. He had an impressive mustache beneath his big red nose with hairs that had been meticulously brushed and waxed. His eyes blue like sapphires glanced up from the food on his young apprentice's plate. A human boy of twenty-four winters and Master Goldrune’s pride and glory. He had short blonde hair and blue eyes on a round, friendly face. But lately he had been wearing a frown, and worry wrinkled his brow. He had no facial hair, much to the dwarf’s chagrin, but he was still young by the old dwarf's estimate, what did he have to worry about? Then again, he couldn’t help but see all humans as rather young. Even if the boy was not his own blood, Graxon had come to see him as a son. Having someone in your care for nineteen years can do that to even a dwarf who has been described as having a heart made of frozen coal.
	Graxon cleared his throat, “Missus Bottombark sent a missive, Reece,” The dwarf began. His once otherworldly accent now sounding like any other Western American, “She said she is very happy with your editing on her cook book.”
	The boy smirked, “I’m not fourteen anymore, sir. I don’t know why she insists on involving you.”
	“Aye,” Graxon nodded, “She is one of your first clients. I already know how skilled you are. Even Master Zandillion comments that he wants to hire you. It's hard to find people as skilled in translating and typesetting.”
	“I learned from the best, sir,” Reece nodded at the compliments, but his eyes were still downcast.
	Graxon folded his arms, “Would you work for Zandillion?”
	Reece paused for a moment, “It would be some stable income. But I do well enough as a contractor.”
	“And an author,” Graxon reminded him.
	Reece shrugged, “Sir, you know as well as me I haven’t had any luck in a couple years. I’ll stick to contract work.”
	“But are you happy living like this? Are you happy doing this?”
	The boy paused and set his fork down, “I can’t say, sir. I can’t rely on you forever. Your old clan, even if you haven’t lived there in ages, has more of a claim to your will than me. It's just tradition, I know.”
	“Nay, the Goul'run clan isn’t getting so much as a coin from me. Good for nothing louts think they can sit on their rumps while I do all the work then take my gold. The only way they will get anything is if you're fool enough to marry one of ‘em. And you shouldn’t.” Graxon dragged a potato through the sauce that had fallen off the tubers, “I may not show it, but I am an old dwarf,” As Reece opened his mouth, Graxon pointed the potato at him on the end of his fork, “200 years, no older.” Reece’s lips did break into a small smile. He knew the dwarf was fibbing. He had to be closer to three hundred, give or take fifty years, maybe more. “I know you haven’t had much luck. Nary a draft has graced my desk in some time. A fog has come over you and clouded your mind. I know the feeling of stagnation well, the feeling of mental death and the strangling, choking writer’s block. I think I have an idea, my boy,” The dwarf tapped his fingers on the table, “You have heard of Myridea, yes?”
	The boy laughed, “How could I not? You've talked about it at least once a week for as long as I've been here!” Reece knew the name of the Old World well. He knew what the dwarf was about to say, and he braced himself for his stories again.
	Graxon’s stubby fingers clutched a pipe made of blue wood with a black metal mouthpiece. It was his favorite to use when smoking his preferred yellow pipe-mushrooms that he cultivated himself or simple tobacco like many New Worlders smoked, “Have I? Then you know this wood. Myridean timber. Avverwood. Carved by hand by a fetching woman that I regret never getting to know better. I miss home, my boy. As much as I love Earth, Myridea was a beautiful land. The strong, tall trees, their leaves of many colors! The mountains and their boons. The air was fresh, full of mana older and more abundant. There was more life in the land! People lived wonderful lives, their cultures were beautiful and the things they did and made are now gone forever, only memories for those old enough to remember and only stories for the generations after. This pipe is all I brought with me when we crossed into this world. But today that changes. Look at this.” He brought some photos out of his pocket that he set on the table. Flicking his ringed index finger, the photos slid across the table, pushed by a magical force. Reece picked them up and flicked through them. Trees with dark blue bark and brightly colored teal and red leaves. He cocked his head as he saw buildings made of the same material, people clothed in thick cloaks– mostly humanoids with animalistic traits like ears and tails. Many of them had limbs covered in fur. They had claws, and some even had hooves. Reece recognized them as the race they called avalonians. They lived among them here on Earth, but somehow these avalonians differed. Strangest of all in these photos: the Earth was below these smaller floating landmasses. “Myridea has returned. At least some small pieces of it.”
	“What?” Reece shook himself, wondering if he had heard his mentor correctly, “How?”
	“It has not become public knowledge yet,” There was a mischievous glint in the dwarf’s eyes, “Someone managed to fly above the earth with a camera and found these landmasses. About thirty miles up.”
	“Thirty miles? And they’re sure these are from Myridea? It's been eighty years since the Cracking. How have they survived?” Reece asked, “And you mean to go?”
	“Aye! I do!” Graxon laughed heartily at the boy’s shock, “I will go. I have already had an invitation extended to me. Not many know Myridean like you and I do. According to what little information we have, they still speak the old languages. Not that I am being asked to mediate agreements like I have in the past, just as a passenger, perhaps this is the event you need to shake the fog out?”
	Reece stared at the old dwarf. His mouth hung slightly agape. The near uneaten meat’s scent wafted toward his nose as he pondered it. Thousands of questions crossed his mind. How would they get there? Neither of them had the magic to sustain flight. Could they survive there? A question stood out in his mind: would this even help him? Should he brave this when he could simply keep working? “I don’t think I should go–”
	The lights shut off. Both of them heard a drumroll, “Ah,” Graxon leaned back, “Maybe she can talk some sense into you.”
	The table between the two had turned into a stage with bright yellow lights above it casting a bright glow down onto the two. An invisible crowd clapped as a red neon sign appeared with the simple command: APPLAUSE. “Pre–esenting,” A voice boomed as spotlights began to shine on a crimson curtain that burst open as a woman sauntered through. A radiant woman with a gorgeous face and short, curly, orange hair wearing a charcoal-colored satin dress that made a revealing cut at her thigh. It drew the eye to one of her legs that was covered in bright orange, shaggy fur and ended with a pair of black cloven hooves. The satyr woman put a hand on her chest where the dress was cut low and gestured to the boy, “A good evening to my most fervent of fans!” Golden chains with small ruby pendants hung from her dark onyx ram horns that came out of her head just behind the temples, spiraled backwards, and ended with the horn pointing towards the onlooker and away from her beautiful face. A ‘satyr's warning’ some have called them, an idiom akin to a rose’s thorns. An ugly avalonian was rarer than a thin halfling or a beardless dwarf, but that did not mean they could not be dangerous.
	Her orange eyes looked down at both the dwarf and human, “Why so dour, my sweets? My heart aches when I look upon my loving supporter’s sad faces!” She lie on her stomach in front of Reece, staring deeply into his eyes as she propped up her chin on her hands and kicked her legs up behind her, “Darling. My little playwright. Favored stage hand. Reece,” She grinned, “How are you? You never write.”
	“Sorry, Phoenix,” Reece gave her a small smile, “I’ve– I’ve been a bit busy.”
	“Busy? No drafts, no new plays, no confessions of love?” She teased, “Darling, no need to lie to me.”
	Graxon cleared his throat, “Impressive entrance. Could you please get off my dining table, Phoenix?”
	The lights, curtain, neon lights, and stage were all gone in an instant, like a puff of smoke. With grace, the satyr got down and sat next to the human. Her pretty freckled face got close to his, “Are you well?” 
	Reece knew he couldn’t lie to her. He was well acquainted with the woman’s magicks and charms. She knew how he felt with just a glance. She was eleven years older than him and he had known her since he was eight. Her very presence was warm and inviting and very quickly put him in a better mood. It was by design, he knew, but it was rather welcome in the somewhat chilly manor, “Well enough,” He found himself fibbing, “Forgot to bill a customer for some translations on top of a transcript I wrote from a recording. Just a bit down about that.”
	“I can barely get a word out of the boy but he spills his heart to Phoenix,” Graxon shook his head, “I don’t know how you do it.”
	“The boy just needs the love his parents neglected to give him,” Phoenix declared as she crossed one leg over the other, “Has Miss Redbramble gone home for the evening? I am a bit famished.”
	“After that display of magic, I am hardly surprised,” Reece chuckled, “I can try to whip something up.”
	“Eat your own dinner, first,” Graxon ordered as he poured the satyr a drink which he slid across the table with his magic ring.
	“Aye.”
	Phoenix had an amused look on her face, as she swirled the liquor in its crystal glass, “Did I interrupt? You have already told him about Avalon, yes?”
	“I was getting there. Talk some sense into him, he was just about to say no,” The dwarf waved his hand as he finished his meal.
	“What!?” Phoenix leaned back in her chair and sighed heavily, “For what reason? Work? Because you are a little down? My darling playwright, why do you fail to see the grand play that you are to play a part in?”
	“I don’t even know how we’re getting there or what we’ll be doing!” Reece was quickly eating his meal, “You said you are going to Avalon specifically?”
	“Aye,” Graxon gruffly confirmed, “The ancestral homeland of the avalonians is overhead at this moment. For the moment, they are sending researchers. Missionaries from the Ordo Sanctus Domini are attending as well. I will be doing little more than translating for those who need it.”
	“As for how we will be getting there,” Phoenix started adding on, “The Hamilton Foundation, the Ironstone Corporation, and a new branch of the American Navy have all worked together on a new vessel. A boat that can fly.”
	“Like a passenger plane?” Reece shook his head, “You both know that’s impossible. They crash at five miles up, much less thirty,” He paused, both his mentor and friend waited for him to continue, “The Ironstones? It's aether powered, isn’t it?” A flash of wonder crossed his face, “How am I the last person to hear about this!? Pin Ironstone got her ‘magnum opus’ off the ground then? She told me about using aether for air travel, but hadn’t even sketched plans for it,” Excitement rang in his voice, “And with the Hamiltons’ limitless coffers, no wonder they got it up and running. And the Navy? I guess if it's a ship they would bring it under the Navy. The airships are Navy. Are they putting Australian and Mexican defectors in charge like the airships?”
	Phoenix had a smile on her face, “I don't think I’ve heard you ramble like that in years!” She cackled, “My darling is rather excited, no? Then you are coming along, then?”
	Graxon cleared his throat, “He is. That’s final. I have already secured passage for the three of us.”
	“They couldn’t give you more tickets for your other students, hm?” Phoenix smirked.
	“Just the two. Thankfully your parents did not want to use their tickets,” The dwarf reminded her, “My boy.” He turned to Reece who quickly perked up, “Get our friend a snack and get packing. We will leave in two days.”
	The satyr took both of their cleared plates, “Enough time to catch up. When was it I last saw you? Three years ago?”
	Reece chuckled, “My twenty first birthday.”
	“When you kidnapped the boy for a twenty four hour long beach party. It was supposed to be a quiet bar crawl,” Graxon harrumphed, “A proper twenty first birthday.”
	Reece took the cleared plates, “May I be excused?”
	“Of course. You need not ask, boy,” Graxon chuckled, “I think I’ll have a smoke. No funny business, you two.”
	“I’ll have you know I am never on any funny business,” Phoenix gave him a bow, “Come, dear. I know where Miss Redbramble keeps the good sweets.”

	-

	A grand pair of doors were pushed open by the guards. A pair of avalonians, one stout and one tall and each donning the avalonian crest on their red and green checkerboard patterned tabard over plate mail. The crest was a golden tree adorned with glittering fruits like Christmas baubles, not that the avalonians knew what Christmas was. The castle halls were wide and tall with vaulted ceilings and a crimson carpet that spread across the stone tiled floor. The sides of the room held paintings of previous rulers and people of import. Stopping for a moment, the gargantuan woman stared at the painting of herself. Was her nose that big?
	“Miss Zyra!” An attendant came hurrying down the stairs. He was a small gnomish man with a big, bumpy nose wearing a green tunic and a red cap, “The Queen has been waiting for you! You are late! She is not a woman to be kept waiting!” He scolded the younger, but much larger woman.
	Zyra ran her clawed fingers through her massive mane of hair, “Is my nose that big?” She asked, directing his attention to the painting.
	The gnome rolled his eyes, “No, it isn't. Come along, please,” He begged as if he was the one who would lose their head should the Queen become annoyed.
	With a shrug, Zyra shifted her backpack and followed the gnome. Zyra was large, huge even. At just over seven feet tall she easily dwarfed the gnomish man as one of the tallest people in modern Avalon. She had furred appendages colored a steel blue from the elbow down and ended in long, clawed digits with coarse pads on her palms. She was dirty, her brown tunic was wrinkled and her pants were illfitting and threadbare. Scratching her head, she could feel how tangled her locks were as her yellow eyes scanned the tall halls of the castle. It wasn’t her first time being here, nor her last. Through another pair of double doors, Zyra entered the throne room while being led by the gnome.
“Presenting,” The gnome bowed, “Miss Zyra of Rivaan.”
Sitting upon a blue wooden throne with plush cushions was the queen of Avalon. A lagomorph avalonian, as were most of her ancestors. She had luxurious brown hair that fell in curls on her shoulders with blemishless tanned skin and brown eyes. Her flowing gown was colored a pastel green that was easy on the eyes and a silvered crown sat upon her head. Next to her was a smaller throne where a gold crown sat with gems shaped like fruit adorning it, “You may leave Us, Kyler.”
The gnome opened his mouth but bowed again and scurried from the room. Zyra knelt before the queen, “My lady,” She greeted.
“Rise, O hero of Avalon.” The queen picked up her scepter and idly examined the large crystal at the top, “Fashionably late again. As to be expected of The Lion.”
	Zyra smiled as she stood, “I had to pay back the sailors that brought me here. I brought some cargo on shore for them.”
	The Queen nodded, “Indeed. We will not keep you long. I know you are want to visit Our dearest daughter.”
	“What would you have me do?”
	“A vessel is coming soon. From the Lowlands.”
	Zyra raised an eyebrow, “Really?” She shifted uncomfortably, “They’re… Human? Or avalonian? Or–”
	“Yes, they appear to be of the races of men,” The Queen smiled amusedly.
	“And they speak our language?”
	“Those We have met do not. But they have the magic to speak and be understood as well as understand Us. They are not too different than Our people. Thankfully, you have the ring We gave you, correct?”
	Zyra searched her bag for a moment before procuring a ring on a chain.
	“Yes, that one. It will allow you to understand them no matter what language they speak. As We were saying, they are coming soon on a vessel that can charter the stars. A rather impressive feat. I would have you meet them along with a small contingent in Perlon. Ride aboard the vessel and take stock of their character. Then report to Us once you arrive back here.”
	Zyra nodded, “As you wish.”
	“And Zyra?”
	“Yes?”
	The queen looked her valiant hero up and down, “Get something nicer to wear from the tailor and please take care of it. You are an extension of Us as well as the model avalonian. People will judge you rather harshly. And by extension, all of Avalon.”
	The Lion shrugged, “As you wish.”

	-

“St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle.” The rest of the congregation spoke in unison, “Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the Devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly hosts, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan, and all the evil spirits, who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls.”
“Amen.” The host of holy men and women finished the prayer in unison. The halls of the huge cathedral echoed as the members of the forum settled into the pews. 
	There was a bit of murmuring as a man took to the front. A human in cleric’s robes lit candles at the front of the church before speaking in Latin, “We have decided who is to be sent to this Avalon. We have been offered sixteen places,” The old man explained, “From what little we know, these people have been abandoned by their Old World gods. We will show them His holy light. The warmth of his love.”
	There were a few amens from the crowd.
	The Ordo Sanctus Domini was the conglomeration of Catholics, Russian Orthodox, protestants, and the new Dwarven Orthodoxy. Each had sent many of their representatives: aging scholars of the Lord, loving missionaries, and young warriors eager to prove themselves.
	The man at the head began to list those who would be going. Paladins, preachers, clerics, and finally, “Master Bardanver Kel’rec of the Order of the Maker. We do not know what could be lurking above. Keep the faithful safe from witches and demons along with your pupil.”
	The old dwarf balled his fists and clutched his brown monk robes. He nodded, despite his age, being called upon had renewed his vigor. He turned to his large pupil, “My ears do not deceive me, do they?”
	“No, sir.”
	The dwarf sighed and nodded, “Aye.”
	“You have all received His blessing,” The head priest raised his arms, “Let us pray over those who will be travelling further than any of us have.”
	The tall, hooded monk leaned towards his mentor as the others prayed, “Master Bardanver?” He murmured in a hushed tone.
	“Aye, son?”
	“Should I be feeling nervous?”
	The dwarf scoffed, “We should not. But I would be lying if I said I am not worried either. Our Lord beckons us to adventure. We should be feeling blessed.”
	“I agree. I will pray that we have the confidence we need,” The man folded his large, green digits and bowed his head.
	“Aye. I will too. We must all trust in the Lord,” He took a deep breath and bowed his head.

	-

	Reece stepped out of the black sedan with dark windows as one of the guards pulled the door open. Each was wearing chainmail with swords at their hips. He found himself outside of a large metal building. The area was rather desolate without much around. The area was on a small plateau with guards pacing the fenced perimeter. The boy had expected a bit more fanfare, but perhaps being a small part of this secret government project was more exciting. He carried a briefcase adorned with small golden runes in each corner of the hard black surface while in his other hand was a leather duffel bag. Graxon took a moment to look around. He and Reece were dressed similarly with black slacks and buttoned up shirts. The boy’s was a dark gray while the dwarf wore long sleeves with a triangular pattern that went from a cream color, to a navy, to a blue in a spiraling pattern. Phoenix wore a red blouse and puffy and airy white harem pants, “What a dreary locale,” She mused aloud. 
	“Perfect for secretive government projects. You could tell me this was a film set and I would believe you,” Graxon jested. He had his own rolling bag along with a cane he used to walk and Phoenix had a shoulder bag, “Numerous train changes and a blacked out automobile. Exciting.”
	Reece smirked, “Yes it is, sir. Shall we go inside?” He started to pat at his pockets, “Where did I put my ticket…?”
	Phoenix smiled as she snapped her fingers. A flash of flame and smoke was emitted, “Is this your card?” She was holding his ticket as well as Graxon’s and her own.
	“Just trying to give the boy a heart attack, hm?” The stout dwarf shook his head. Phoenix gave the tickets over to the guard at the doors who quickly ushered them inside. A small crowd had formed of wizards, researchers, and missionaries, “No journalists or traders? I can spot an American ambassador, I believe, along with a navy general amongst those boarding. I suppose the journalists would just spoil things, right my boy?”
	Reece did not hear him. His eyes glittered in wonder as he stared at the vessel. A metallic galleon sat beneath bright white lights. The ship was four times longer than it was wide and was tall enough for four or more decks below the top. The stern had a raised section that made Reece think of a pirate ship with the wheel placed atop it under a covered, windowed section. Three tall masts carried navy-colored sails that were currently furled with ropes. The stern of the ship was set with large metal cones instead of a rudder, thrusters Reece figured, perhaps heat exhaust too. The ship had a thick wide prow on the front that looked like it could split icebergs. The entire vessel sat on a small ramp that could gently slide it out of the huge building. Reece quickly surmised this vessel was built for flight, but was surprised it lacked wings like a bird or the small hobbyist planes that had fell out of favor. A set of stairs led up to the top deck where the passengers were slowly boarding. Reece could hardly contain himself as he made for the stairs, “Reece, my boy!” An older dwarf suddenly barred his path. He was suddenly shaking hands with the bald monk as the dwarf’s beard adornments clacked together. Numerous wooden and silver effigies of Christ on the cross and the virgin Mary gleamed in the bright artificial lights, “Good to see you! Have you been studying? Is that old man with you?”
	Reece quickly gave a traditional greeting, “Hail, Master Bardanver,” With a raised hand before he cocked his head, “I always thought you were the older one.”
	Bardanver laughed, “He’s cheated his way into a long life. The boons of being a famous adventurer.” He wore a large golden ring with a gemstone cut into a cross inlaid into it that glinted in the light as he waved to the towering figure behind him, “This is my protege, Baldwin. Now forgive me if I’m wrong, I am a white-beard set in his ways, but I believe he is about your age.”
	The hulking robed man removed his hood. Reece didn’t flinch at the sight of his lime-green skin. With a pair of filed down tusks, the orcish man smiled sheepishly, showing his mouth full of thick teeth. His head was bald but for black hair around the back and sides, much like a friar. He had beady, orange eyes and a big, crooked nose, having been in many fights in his years– as was typical of his kind, “H-Hail,” He greeted the human in a strangely sheepish fashion.
	Reece was quick to shake his hand, never shying away from meeting new people, “Hail. Reece M. Gawain. You aren’t of Bardanver’s order, I take it?” He noted the 
The orc nodded, “Aye,” He had three fingers and a thumb on his calloused hands, a trait they often shared with some breeds of goblins. The palms and backs were wrapped in a medical tape. Baldwin had a squarish head with a strong jawline and nervous wrinkles on his forehead.  He anxiously adjusted his brown robes and tightened the white belt around his waist while Bardanver introduced the clerics and paladins with him to Graxon. The boy hadn’t even noticed that the dwarf and satyr had caught up, “I am of The Knights of the Intercession of Saint Michael,” He explained.
	Phoenix was a bit shocked at how wordy the name was, but Reece was nodding along, “An orphan of the Canadian wars, I take it?” She was quick to assume, “I am Phoenix Maxamillian, daughter of Arthur and Nambra. Charmed, I’m sure,” She was just as quick to introduce herself and move on from her comment.
	Thankfully for her, Baldwin didn’t seem bothered, “Certainly. A pleasure, mizz Maxamillian,” He bowed slightly for the avalonian who smirked at the six foot four inch orc acting so courteously. She hadn’t met much of his kind before, but even the ones in the cooking shows on TV were rather aggressive and loud. And yet Baldwin was so soft spoken and timid it was cute, in a way.
	“Seems we are moving, boys,” The satyr moved to catch up to Graxon and Bardanver. Reece nodded at Baldwin to gestured for him to climb the stairs first. He silently relented and went up the stairs. As he climbed, a band started to play, most likely some on board entertainment that had set up on the deck with a few speakers. The trumped sounded out their salute as the strings sang and the drums bellowed. The crowd stood on the light wooden deck. A grate was placed in the center of the deck that could lower cargo deeper into the ship. As he guessed, a band of handsomely dressed individuals played their music. Like the rest of the crew, they were dressed in navy slacks, white shoes, and white button ups. Reece took the time to look around at the vessel. The railing on the sides were tall and adorned with softly glowing crystals. When he passed by them, he felt them letting off a comfortable heat. Two sets of stairs led deeper into the ship.
	As the fanfare got quieter, a man stepped onto an elevated platform. The tall human could easily see over the crowd of mixed races, “G’day friends!” He called as he took off his hat to reveal his salt and pepper colored hair. His accent was thickly Australian, “Welcome aboard my vessel, a great work built by some of the greatest minds in America!” There was some cheering from the younger passengers, “Welcome aboard, the Myridea! Named after the Old World, her maiden voyage will be to Avalon!”
	Graxon nodded, “So it was true,” He mumbled, “A nice name, admittedly.”
	“I won’t bore ya with all the details, but the Myridea is the first of its kind, a ship powered by aether. Ya aren’t here for the ship, ya’re here for the Highlands. We have amenities like a bar and eatery on board. Anyone who is interested, please feel free to ask us for a tour!” He looked around, “My wonderful crew will show ya weary travellers to yar rooms as soon as ya’re ready. Please, enjoy your time on our ship and we will take off soon. Ah, where are my manners? I am your captain, Isaac O’Malley. I am honored to bring you all aboard my vessel on our trip to the Highlands!” There was a bit of a cheer from the crowd. Phoenix guessed they were about a hundred strong, “The Myridea has four decks, including the top. You will all be able to retire to your rooms on the third deck once we bring you aboard. This is my chief of security, Victoria,” A stone-faced gargoyle stepped up next to the captain and nodded to the crowd. She was wearing a light, navy colored brigandine with a sword at her hip, “My first mate Bruce is here to make sure things run smoothly,” A similarly dressed dwarf, with some trouble, managed to peer over the crowd, “Second mate Carlisle here has had a lot of contact with the Highlanders and will keep us on track,” A portly halfling stood on a box and waved to the crowd, “Third mate Nora will make sure you are all comfortable,” An avalonian woman gave a small wave, “If there is nothing else, please feel free to relax here on deck or below.”
	Graxon began to muse to himself, “I can still scarcely believe this is real.”
	“Neither can I,” Phoenix concurred. Being aboard the Myridea made it all feel so much more official and concrete. Before now, they had only heard of the Highlands and seen a couple grainy photos. Now they were preparing to fly miles above the earth to an almost untouched continent. Weary travelers including Bardanver were led by deckhands down into the hull and to their rooms while Phoenix, Baldwin, Reece, and Graxon awaited their departure. The band played again as the captain took his position at the helm. He had a panel in front of him made of lacquered wood with dials and levers, each pertaining to part of the Myridea’s functions. His second mate gave a nod. Captain O’Malley gave a two-fingered hand signal to the deck hands who began to unfurl the sails.
“Look at that,” Reece gestured to the docks behind the vessel. A small crowd had formed, mostly journalists with cameras. A woman in a black dress with raven hair stood by with a bottle of champagne in hand next to the president himself and a couple of other individuals, all of them surrounded by secret service to keep the crowd back.  An older human gentleman in a sharp suit with a little american flag pin on the chest. A flag was billowing behind the small grouping.
	Graxon nodded, “Of course Maxine would want to perform the bottle breaking.”
	“I can think of no one more deserving,” Phoenix smiled at the woman who was posing for a few photos, “I imagine she spent a lot of money on this and pulled in numerous of her researchers for this project. Our friend Red Hawk included.”
	Phoenix struggled to hear the dialogue above the deck’s chatter and the humming of the magical winds the ship was generating. At the end, the president gestured to Maxine, “Now let us have Lady Hamilton, our head of magical research, christen this ship for its maiden voyage.”
	“With pleasure,” Maxine purred, her cat ears twitching as she brought her arm back to swing the bottle tied to the rope at the stern of the vessel. With her toss, the bottle struck the metal hull, rung out, and a moment later it shattered with a burst of fizzing alcohol. There was some cheering from both the journalists and some of the crew and passengers. 
Phoenix felt a chill. For a nearly imperceptible moment Maxine had used magic to break that bottle. Glancing at Graxon, his sour expression told her he had noticed the old wizard’s quick, low-down hand motion as well. While the crew started up the Myridea’s engines, first a low whine then a proud hum, Maxine looked up at the deck, right at her student of magicks, Phoenix, and old friend, Graxon, and put on a strong smile. She winked, and the cat mage turned and disappeared into the crowd that was eagerly watching the Myridea take flight. The satyr tried not to think too much of it– that the bottle didn’t really break. Maybe the sailors of old would believe it was an ill omen, but that was all superstition. Right?
	The front doors of the hangar opened and the ship lifted into the air. The passengers all felt a feeling of weightlessness for a few moments before the feeling passed. A wind blew from the back of the vessel to the front, filling the sails and pushing the vessel out and into the air. With nothing more than a hum, the vessel flew into the air without much of any turbulence. Phoenix took a deep breath as the vessel listed back and began to cruise up. The incline was hardly felt by her and the others, “I wonder what magicks are at play here,” She wondered aloud, “It felt like anti-gravity magic. And this magical wind, oh it feels wonderful in my hair!”
	Reece nodded, “I have to wonder how much aether they need to power those,” He scratched his chin, “I’ll ask someone for a tour of the engine room.”
	“Aether?” Baldwin asked.
	“Perhaps we should find Red Hawk?” Phoenix suggested, “He would love to talk your ear off about it. He is an expert on magical power sources and he had told me he would be here.”
	Baldwin and Graxon followed Phoenix down into the hull of the ship while Reece leaned on the railing and stared at the sweeping desert beneath him. Rolling hills and spires of rocks dotted the landscape as he felt the hot air and cool wind on his skin. A small smile crossed his lips as he felt a feeling of contentness. He figured Graxon was right, this must be exactly what he needed.