The timbers of the carriage creaked and swayed as it hovered up the winding roads. Whatever kept it aloft - some piece of old tech, Eolh thought - strained as the incline steepened and the drudges struggled to pull it higher up the slop of the hill.

At the norther edge of Cyre, the hills crinkled the landscape. Switchbacks cut into the hillsides, allowing for carts and rickshaws to crawl up their heights, but the roads were too slender for a carriage of this size.

Gnarled olive trees sprouted from the cracks in the hill, seeming to grow out of the rocks themselves. And each time Eolh looked out the window, his stomach dropped - the buildings, the trees, the roads far below were now only tiny versions of themselves. It was beautiful, but the way the carriage floated off the edges of the road, and nothing was below him but that craggy drop far below...

Eolh could fly. But not while trapped in a box.

Neither Tribune Kirine, nor Annoch the merchant seemed bothered by the questions that bubbled up in Eolh’s mind: what if the tech gives out? What if one of the drudges slips?

Annoch was still trying to wrap her mind around Kirine’s intentions.

“You think me mad,” he said.

“No!” she said, “No, I think it’s perfectly reasonable for a lowly tribune to walk into the middle of an active war zone to demand the arrest one of the most powerful generals in the Cyran Empire. I see no problem.”

“Someone has to do it.”

“Do they?” Annoch asked, but Kirine seemed not to hear her. He seemed to hear only himself.

“There are no Venerate left with the strength to risk it all. Even Deioch, with all his legions, wouldn’t dare. She is at her weakest, she is a tree without any roots. And someone must make the first chop.”

“You want to die?” Annoch asked.

Kirine barked a laugh, “Hah! No one wants to die, Avian. But my death will bring her no gain, and will only give the rest of the Venerate cause to turn against her. I have her trapped. If she kills me, she will surely fall next. If she doesn’t, then I will be allowed to make my case for her arrest.”

“And if you’re wrong?” Eolh asked, tearing himself away from the window. His stomach was lurching, and the movement of the carriage didn’t help either. The anti-gravity wasn’t tuned to deal with the concrete suddenly disappearing every few yards, leaving only open space between them and the foothills far below. “What if it goes another way?”

“I have served as a Tribune for nine years. I have made hundreds of speeches. I have tried to bring the plight of our people to light. I speak for all cyrans. Not just those who live in Cyre proper. I speak for the provincials and dull scales. The servants. And yes, even the xenos. But where have all these words gotten me? Nine years, I have watched my enemies in the Veneratian grow stronger. Richer. While the people I serve grow poorer. Get sent to wars they can’t possibly win. Their lives don’t matter. And neither does mine. All life is borrowed time. How can I waste it?”

Every word that came out of his mouth was obviously driven by an insane passion. There was something about this city that had broken this man. Something about his own people had driven him to these suicidal beliefs.

And yet, there was something about the way the Tribune spoke. As if he had been considering this situation, from many angles, for a very long time.

“This isn’t even my carriage. This isn’t the life I wanted. We live in an impossible time. A god, the Emperor, watches my path. And now, another has come to our great city. How can I not act?”

Kirine reached up, and slid back one of the windows of the carriage open. A cool breeze slipped inside, carrying with it the scent of lemons and dirt and stone.

“Look up there,” he said, pointing at a gargantuan statue at the top of the hill. “Do you see him? The Everlord, he is called, for ever shall he reign. But I am not so lucky. I am no immortal. And if I must go eventually, I would rather go having made my act, instead of having it made for me. When I demand her arrest, either she kills me - which will only add fuel to my cause - or she will take me prisoner. If the latter, then I will find a way to return to Cyre, and bear my case in front of the entire Veneratian. Either way, justice must be served.”

Kirine’s eyes were distant. The scales on his face glistened in the sunlight, as if those few scales themselves were made of light. Eolh could see it now, in the lines of Kirine’s sharp face. He longed for power that he did not have. The power to change things. To right the wrongs of his world.

Odd. Eolh had never given much thought to the concept of Cyre, except as a singular dark, blue entity - hungry for destruction and control. He had never considered how fractured they might be.

One question stuck in Eolh’s mind.

“If she lets you live,” Eolh said. “If she locks you up. How do you escape?”

Kirine deflated, sank back into the deep leathers of the couch.

“I have no idea. Some part of me hoped our Savior Divine would grant mercy on me. But he has his own task ahead. Well. I have escaped imprisonment before. I have to believe I can do it again. My arrest should cause a disturbance in the courts, if word gets out. Gods willing, I will find a way.”

But Eolh did not think he looked like a man who was about to die. The proud set of his jaw. The old lines of stress on his brow, now smooth and free of worry. No. This was a man who had agonized over a decision for so long, only now to find the answer made clear.

Free.

“One idea comes to me,” Kirine said, as if only now thinking about it, “Perhaps, if the Savior Divine goes to Thrass. And if his guardian goes with him…”

He looked meaningfully at Eolh.

“Cyran affairs,” Eolh said. “Are for cyrans. Not us.”

“Vorpei is as much your enemy, as she is mine. No, I would think she is more your enemy. As long as she is consul, your kind will never rise above servitude.”

Not unless the Empire falls, Eolh thought. But that was wishful thinking. The Empire was older even than the city of the Cauldron.

“Do you only care for yourself?” Kirine said. “Vorpei and her ilk are responsible for the suffering of millions of xenos. Her downfall could be an example - not just in this life, but for so many to come.”

But Eolh was already shaking his head. “I’m not here to play your games. I came here to listen. To find out if your kind ever makes peace. Not this hopeless waiting.”

“Peace?” Kirine was leaning forward, his voice strained as he tried to persuade Eolh once more. “There will be no peace for any of us as long as people like Vorpei are allowed to reign unchecked.”

Eolh turned away, but Kirine was not satisfied.

“Tell me, Avian. Is it not better to live holding fast to your ideals - than to remain on your knees?”

“Last I checked, the dead don’t do much living. You said it yourself. She is ruthless. She has killed millions. If you think you can bring down a bloodthirsty general, just by asking her, I will not stand in your way. But I will not tie my life to some deluded hope.”

Annoch, Eolh noticed, inched away from him. As if she wanted to avoid being associated too closely with Eolh, in case the Tribune was offended.

But Kirine only sat back, with a smug smile on his lips. He looked anything but offended.

“Not all delusions are false, my avian friend. Some are only dreams, striving to become more.”

***

By the time they reached the top of the last hill, Eolh’s limbs were tight from sitting too long. Or from getting old. Either way, he needed to stretch. It didn’t help that he had spent the entire last day and night walking, running, and flying through the city.

Gods, I could sleep. He had drifted off several times as the carriage hovered through the city, but never caught any real rest. And when the carriage door opened again, and the brilliant sunlight streamed in, all of his aches and pains were forgotten.

The top of the hill had been leveled off, and made into a flat, wide platform of brick and stone. A low wall wrapped around the platform, overlooking all of Cyre splayed out below. All those shining white rooftops, and the red clay tiles. Verdant foothills and golden valleys, and over there he could see huge fields of grapes growing in the sun. And beyond it all, the great, blue sea.

Back on Gaiam, the sea was a thing to be feared. A place where only the most ancient, primordial things lived. Back home, the sea was a place you did not go, for it seemed to have a hunger all of its own.

But here, on Cyre, they had dominated the sea. Or maybe the sea had been tame all along. There were thousands of boats - most of them with sails, though trailed stacks of smoke with them as they trawled along the rivers or out into the ocean. Harbors and docks and ports lined the coastline, some of them looked like they had dredged out the land to create safe havens for all those vessels.

And there was Poire. Standing at the edge, his elbows leaning on the stone-and-mortar wall. Looking out over the ocean. The wind was whipping at his clothes and at the tight fluff of stiff, dark brown hair that covered the top of his head. Not at all like the fur of a redenite.

There were cyrans scattered around the platform, robed priests and other servants. But they were spread far apart, and kept a respectful distance from Poire. Some of them were kneeling on the ground, muttering to themselves, and Eolh got the feeling they had been praying a long time.

Poire turned, as if he could sense Eolh’s eyes on him. And then, the fledge’s face lit up into a brilliant smile, brighter than the cyran sunlight.

“Eolh!” he shouted, and started running towards him. Eolh only had time to brace himself, before the fledge collided with him, wrapping his thin, bony arms around Eolh’s waist, his face smashing into Eolh’s chest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave without you.”

“Just glad you’re safe.”

“I just wish they would stop doing that,” Poire nodded at Kirine.

Kirine had fallen to his knees. He was sitting back on his heels, his head bowed, his hands clasped before him. Eolh could see his lips moving, but he couldn’t hear what he was saying.

There was a muffled squawking from the ground behind him, where Annoch was laying on the stones, her beak pressed into the hard rock. Her wings outstretched, as she prayed noisily. “Divine One! I beg your forgiveness! Grant me your mercy - I am not worthy!”

Eolh sighed.

“It just feels wrong,” Poire said. “I know what they think I am, but…”

“I don’t know,” Eolh shrugged, “I kinda like it. Better than being shot at. Where’s the an-droid?”

He had been looking for her, and now a pit of worry was growing in his stomach. Had they done something with her?

“Laykis said she needed mods. Thrass et Yunum is a wet place, and she wanted to make sure she could handle it.”

“Thrass et Yunum,” Eolh said. “That’s where he wants you to go.”

“I have to.”

“How can you be sure? What happened to the library?”

“The Emperor said it was dangerous. He said if I stepped foot inside… well, he didn’t say what exactly would happen.”

“Sounds like he’s not giving you a choice.”

Poire shook his head hard, “I would choose this anyway, Eolh. There’s a station on Thrass. If I can get it working, I can restart the whole grid. Everything will be connected again. All the stars. All the worlds. If there’s anyone out there, we have to find them.”

“How do you know he’s telling you the truth, Poire? Do you even know what he is?”

“Human,” Poire said, “Or he used to be. He’s not...”

Poire didn’t seem able to finish the sentence. Eolh could almost feel the emotions rolling off the fledgling human. He could feel his own confusion feeding into Eolh’s.

Strips of cotton clouds floated over the city, creating long black shadows of the land. A small, white bird was flying high overhead.

Too many questions.

Too many unknowns.

Every part of him rebelled at the thought of moving too fast, when they didn’t know anything. Slow down. Breathe. Listen. Get your bearings. That’s what he wanted to do.

Why should they rush? They had been on Cyre for less than a day, and already the Emperor himself was trying to get them off world. Shouldn’t he want Poire to stay?

“Fledge,” Eolh said softly. “How are you doing?”

Poire only shook his head. His mouth was pressed shut, as if his mouth was full of words he didn’t want to say. His lips were trembling. And then, finally, he spoke in a whisper.

“Undone. Everything will become undone,” he said. “I can see it. So quiet, but I can hear it. Even the hills. Even the water.”

Eolh asked the question that had no answer, “When?”

Poire looked up at him. There were tears on his cheeks, but Eolh couldn’t see them through all that misted light, rising like steam from his eyes. Only when he blinked did it seem to evaporate.

“Does the Emperor know what it is?”

Poire shook his head. “But he’s afraid of it, too. That’s why I can’t enter the Library. He thinks it will speed it up.”

Eolh sighed. Leaned on the balcony, letting the wind whip against the feathers on his face.

How can we be sure about any of this? Eolh wondered. What if the Emperor’s lying?

Behind them, Annoch had joined the priests in their prayers. Kirine alone was sitting up now, watching the two of them. Though he was out of earshot, the cyran’s hard, piercing eyes followed their every movement.

He looked so much like Gaiam’s last Magistrate. Those proud cheeks, scattered with glittering scales. The way he held himself, his back straight, his chin held high. And yet... something felt different about him. More real. Filled with the frustrated anger that comes from years of witnessing injustices, and not being able to change it. Was he imagining it?

Ryke had sent Eolh here to find the path to peace.

Maybe this cyran could help.

Or, maybe, that’s just what Eolh wanted to hear - and the cyran was just another liar.

He wouldn’t be the first one, would he?