It was another few days journey back to the ship. After battling cannibals, being stuck in a deafeningly loud saloon, and again, fighting for his life, Jim retreated to the bowels of their ship. Despite his newfound friendships, he’d had enough of people for a while.

It was always a struggle for him - travelling the vast deserts of Ruin alone. Experience had taught him to avoid contact as much as possible. His was a dangerous life.

In his visits to Rock Bottom and other trading cities, he would often lay on his deck, listening to the world of man, wishing he knew how to fit in. Though he would only ever admit it to himself, he both loved and hated people. When he was away from civilization, he longed to be part of it.

When he was at port, he would try to be “among people” but always felt awkward. Gatherings of strangers made him nervous and he frequently found himself in the quietest corner of the room, doing his best to avoid drawing attention to himself.

Like a next day hangover, he would promise himself not to make the same mistakes, only to give in, return, and make them all over again. It was why he could never develop meaningful relationships. Surviving the wastes required that one trust no one. People betray. People steal. People hurt. And yet, the loneliness was still the worst thing about his life of solitude. No matter how he tried to reason his way out of it, the pull toward humanity was always there, nagging at him.

Why the hell did I go back to that place? Ahh right. Because a beautiful woman asked me to.

Jim smiled at the thought. He wasn’t too excited to return to a ship of relative strangers but, seeing Alia would help to dull the anxiety...a bit.

A prolonged creak at the back of the cargo hold announced Sasha’s entry. The young man crossed under a low ceiling behind Jim and slumped down against a bag of fire grain. The two of them had gotten away with offering only half of what Captain Rychist was willing to part with. Jim suspected the foreman, “Joe”, was more desperate for spices than he originally let on.

Sasha squirmed for a minute, struggling to form the bag into a more comfortable shape. Finally, sighing with contentment, he inquired, “So, Jim. I’ve been wondering, what’s your story?”

Jim pulled himself from his introspection, doing his best to feign annoyance. Less than enthusiastically, he replied, “My story?”

If Sasha could see Jim didn’t want to talk, he didn’t show it. He leaned forward and continued, “Yes. We hardly know anything about you. Who are your parents? What led you to the life of a wanderer? Did you ever suspect you possessed awakened potential? Things like that.”

“Is there a reason you’d like to know these things?” Jim asked.

Sasha shrugged, “Just curiosity, I suppose. Everyone has a story after all.”

Jim crossed the cramped space to the liquor cabinet and poured himself an uncomfortably warm glass of mead. He stole a few sips and paced as he thought about how to answer. He’d always felt that sharing any part of himself was the equivalent of exposing a weak spot in his armor.

Finally, he returned to the dilapidated wooden chair and table, set his drink down, and began. The ship creaked with the steady evening winds. Milky beams of moonlight broke through the portholes and breaks in the slats above and danced upon the floor with every subtle movement.

Somewhere above, Henry had taken night watch and was wearily piloting the vessel. He was almost sure he’d heard the clockwork man sigh once or twice.

Jim tried once more to dissuade Sasha. “Most of it is just quiet days and nights travelling the dunes and wastes.” The boy crossed his arms and stared Jim down. Finally, he surrendered. “I guess I’ll skip that part and paraphrase.”

Jim stared into his drink. Where to start? “I was born somewhere outside Dyelita. My father was a noble and my mother, an 'izalatan.” He paused for a moment to study Sasha’s reaction. ‘izalatan were considered the lowest class citizens in the Alliance. Their situations weren’t much better elsewhere.

The only true natives of Ruin, the ‘lizaltan were conquered over a thousand years before Jim’s time by the early form of The Alliance and had since suffered ever since as second class citizens.

When Sasha said nothing, Jim continued his story, “My father fell from favor in the Warlord Alliance after marrying my mother. Eventually, he left her and returned to his life of luxury. As far as I can tell at least.”

Sasha held up his hand. “Wait a sec. As far as you can tell?”

Jim nodded and stared into the bulkhead, his memory taking him to a far off place. “Yes, he left us when I was only five. My mother died not long after. I don’t know why. I vaguely remember her becoming ill and one day… she was gone.”

Jim paused. The memories were distant, but they still hurt. He could hardly remember, but the look on her face as she stared at him, tears falling, breathing her last, was vivid. She had said something to him on her deathbed, but with endless days in the baking sun, the memory of the words had faded. Some nights, he would lay awake, wondering what she had said.

Sasha urged him on, “So, how’d you survive without a family?”

Jim chortled, “That’s where the story gets boring. As you may know, the Alliance isn’t exactly known for its tremendous social programs. I was thrown into a run down orphanage, where I enjoyed another ten years of torture. As a mongrel kid of the best and worst parts of society, I was accepted by neither.”

Jim shook his head, recalling memories of his childhood, most of them unpleasant. “I learned to fight, defend myself, and survive during those years. Once I hit the minimum age, I signed up at the local docks and eventually worked my way up to land ship maintenance. On my twenty first birthday, I hopped on a ship, aimed for the wastes, and never looked back.”

Sasha stood from his grain bag, made his way to Jim’s table and sat. Tilting his head, he tried for another question, “How exactly did you get your hands on a ship? Even small Cutters and Sloops cost a small fortune for guys like you and I.”

A mischievous smile crossed his face. “Did you steal it?”

Jim stood up, walked over to him, patted him on the back, and smiled before making his way to a pile of blankets serving as a makeshift bed in the darkest part of the hold. “Goodnight, Sasha.”

“Aww come on, Jim. You can’t leave me hanging in suspense.”

“Goodnight, Sasha.”

***

Flying against the wind, while relatively painless thanks to their purpose built ship, was still a slow process. It had taken them another day before they reached The Liberator and filled the captain in concerning their dealings at Rock Bottom.

It was the evening of the seventh day since Jim, Sasha and Henry’s return. The Liberator had been carefully set back upright in the soft sand. Thankfully, they had set down at the border of the Dune Sea and Eternal Mountains… on the dune side of course.

Repairs to the balloon and hull were nearing completion. The sound of hammers and handsaws filled the air as carpenters worked on their last patches to the splintered Manzawood hull. Being a “jack of all trades” of sorts, Jim had spent most of his time each day running between hull and engine repair.

Thanks to the fresh delivery of black-crystal and some expert repair work by Jim and Captain Rychist, the crewmen had begun the slow process of heating the lift boilers. Steam was beginning to fill the balloon again, and they would be underway by evening.

Fate had smiled on the crew this day. The eastern hunting party had returned that afternoon with a bounty of Suahim Lizard and cactus fruit. A great cheer went up at Captain Rychist’s announcement of an evening celebratory feast.

The ship’s cook had been hard at work all day in the galley with a meat tenderizing mallet of impressive size. The enticing aroma of spices and cooked meat wafted through the mess hall. The crew was in especially good spirits as they sat around their elongated wooden bench tables, eating all the lizard meat, cactus fruit wafers, and fire grain bread they could hope to stuff down. To top it off, the galley had outdone itself, offering up haldel nut butter and milk to compliment the glorious meal.

Jim had watched, fascinated earlier that day, as the ship’s cooks masterfully skinned the pain inducing fruit, mushed the pulp inside, and separated the seeds out using an impressive hand cranked device of gears and straining screens. He was looking forward to eating this delicacy of the desert.

He had attempted to barricade himself at a dark corner table, content to watch the bustle around him as was his normal routine. However, Doctor Hanson, Sasha, and Henry quickly picked him out and made their way to his table. Careful not to show disappointment to his gracious hosts, Jim awkwardly plastered on his best smile as they approached.

Henry looked out of place among his flesh and blood crewmen. Although he didn’t eat, he was still quite fond of conversation and partook whenever possible. Where Jim enjoyed peace and quiet, Henry seemed almost on edge if he wasn’t plopped down in the middle of some kind of commotion.

Soon, Sasha and Henry were deep into an argument about the finer points of airship lore. Jim stared ahead, quietly, offering the occasional nod or chuckle at a well landed conversational point. He glanced at the doctor who was also glassy eyed about the whole discussion, content to enjoy his meal in silence.

As the two continued their argument oblivious to all else, Jim leaned in and whispered to his silent companion, “Doctor, as the only other awakened of earth, I was hoping to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

The doctor continued cutting delicately at the meat on his plate. Jim found uncomfortable silence was much more fun when he initiated it. After another moment, the doctor replied quietly, “Go ahead and ask your questions. I’m sure if I don’t know the answer, Henry here will think he does.”

Henry halted his argument with Sasha. Apparently, clockwork men also possessed an uncanny sensitivity to sound. Laughing and giving Doctor Hanson his signature back slap, causing the older man to drop his knife, he replied, “Your attempt at humor is appreciated, my good man. Keep working on it.”

The doctor rolled his eyes. “What I lack in humor, I make up for in manners. You could learn a thing or two about them. For example, slapping a man on the back while he eats is usually reserved for when he’s choking.”

A woman’s voice sounded from the end of their table, “I see you two are at it again. One would almost think you were married with the way you both bicker.”

The captain made her way over to the table with a plate of steaming lizard meat. Piled next to it were fire grain bread slices covered in haldel nut butter and cactus fruit jam.

Jim wasn’t sure how she kept so thin with her insatiable appetite. Most nights, she sat alone, opting for the solitude of her “Captain’s table” while usually deep in thought, covered in grease and grime from her duties around the ship’s boiler room. Somehow, seeing her alone night after night was comforting to Jim. It felt as if she shared an understanding of his own need for solitude.

Most evenings, after a few lonely drinks and quick conversations with her crew members, the captain would sneak off to bed. Jim couldn’t help but feel some pity for her despite his shared preferences. Although kind and sometimes outright gregarious, she kept a carefully practiced distance from everyone, only going through the motions but never getting too invested.

Tonight though, she had opted to clean up before dinner instead of donning her usual look. It seemed she was actually going to sit with them. Dressed in her usual mechanics boots and traveler pants, she was sporting a spotless white button up sailor’s shirt with frilly arm sleeves.

The slightly oversized shirt was buried underneath an armored like outer corset of cured Suahim leather and a golden pocket watch hanging from her neck. Her usual ponytail was absent too as black hair fell gracefully around her shoulders. There was of course the odd strand hanging over her scarred left eye. It didn’t matter though. To Jim, she was beautiful.

He’d hardly seen her since they’d returned aside from his rare encounters with her while repairing the boiler. Directing the controlled bedlam of over a hundred crewman left her little time for socializing, not that he would risk looking like a fool in attempting conversation.

Tonight, though, she looked lovely, albeit a bit uncomfortable without the usual work worn clothing and a belt of tools. He was too shy to say it aloud, but he found comfort in their shared discomfort.

Henry laughed heartily at the captain’s comment. The harder he laughed, the more mechanical his voice sounded. “I continue my quest to find a sense of humor for our good doctor. Alas, I have not been successful of late. Besides, if we were married, who would be the groom? I imagine a clockwork man in a dress would look rather ridiculous.”

The doctor jumped in, “Perhaps, but I’d pay to see it.”

Henry’s laughter was contagious, sounding of something between a snapping steel cable and a bag of silverware tossed down a staircase. “Captain! Hahaha, I am pleased to report, hahaha, I have found the doctor’s sense of humor!”

Trying to ignore the tinny noise, Doctor Hanson turned back to Jim. “Please, ask your questions before his laughing sends me to the infirmary with a headache.”

He had so many. Where to start?

“How did you all get to be… you? What I mean is, how are you all awakened and how did you all end up on this ship?”

Henry had nearly recovered from his fit of laughing. “Well, as you may have already been told, The Liberator is a very old ship. She...err I mean, he’s been around for just about four hundred years. In fact, I’d venture a guess that he’s the oldest airship still flying. Oh, and he was originally a Dagger Class Heavy Cruiser. Not that you know what that means of course. I’ll be happy to school you in airship classifications.”

The captain glared at him. Cowed only slightly, Henry continued, “Ahh, perhaps later. Back to the story at hand.”

Henry’s usual blue glow was especially bright. Jim recalled Henry’s mention of clockwork men’s glow representing their mood. He must have been excited to tell this story.

“At the conclusion of the last great crusade, as you know, the Prophetess subjugated the Warlord Alliance and the Free Citizens Federation. As part of their surrender terms, in return for semi autonomy, they gave up control of all their remaining airships to her awakened army and allowed her to build those damnable monasteries in every city, town, and village.”

Sasha snorted, “Including my home town.”

Henry’s metal body approximated a nod as he continued, “Yes, anyhow, this ship was one of the few remaining craft at the conclusion of that war. It served for hundreds of years afterwards in various duties. Mostly courier and anti rebellion patrol work. Tasks unworthy of such a glorious vessel. Pretty boring stuff, really.”

“Very boring in fact,” the doctor interrupted. “What does this history lesson have to do with us all?”

Henry continued unhindered. “Yes, well finally, about fifty years ago, they retired the ship. It was sitting abandoned in a military warehouse deep in Golden Spire, the capital city of her royal evilness.”

The doctor interrupted again, “aaaand here it comes.”

Henry’s light shone brighter, “THAT is precisely when I struck! You see, I served the prophetess for hundreds of years as an unwilling slave, like all other ether powered beings. Unlike my brethren though, I overcame her evil powers of control.”

Henry beat his chest, “I was biding my time, waiting for the right moment to escape! Then, in one night, I singlehandedly restarted the ship’s rusty boiler, set it to full steam, and slipped off into the blackened sky! Oh and, all of this without setting off a single alarm, mind you.”

The doctor was about to say something but Captain Rychist started in, “What he fails to mention is myself and Doctor Hanson were there too. The good doctor used his awakened powers of healing to break the Prophetess’ control over poor Henry. All clockwork men are kept in her tight grip.”

The doctor spoke up now, “And Alia… err Captain Rychist here knocked out her fair share of guards in our escape.”

“Yes yes.” If Henry could roll his eyes, he would have. “But, I was the one who got this old deathtrap working again and got us the hell out of there.”

Jim shook his head in confusion, “Hang on. Healing powers, knocking guards unconscious, and did you say you were both there? Last time we spoke of it, you mentioned this ship was stolen nearly fifty years ago. I’d never dare to guess a lady’s age but you don’t look seventy years old to me, captain.”

“And I do?” Doctor Hanson asked with an amused grin. “Well no,” Jim was digging himself a hole now, “but you...uhh. Well, how could either of you have been there, I guess is what I’m asking.”

Captain Rychist spoke before Henry could get his chance, raising one hand to him. “To answer your first question, each awakened is connected to an element. You have no doubt discovered this by now. You and the doctor are awakened of earth. The rarest of powers aside from water. I and most of our crew are awakened of fire which covers the vast majority of awakened. That includes young Sasha here.”

The young man smiled sheepishly. His transgression against the captain a few weeks earlier was still fresh in his mind, and he’d opted to keep his mouth shut.

“A few among us were awakened of air which is the second most prevalent next to fire,” the captain added.

The Doctor, glanced at the captain who was frowning. Turning to Jim, he added, “Unfortunately during that last fight, one of the boiler doors blew open and ...cooked them.” There was a moment of saddened silence around the table.

Taking a breath, Captain Rychist continued, “And, of course, there is only one known awakened of water - the Prophetess.”

Henry did his best to approximate a flatulent sound at the mention of the Prophetess. Everyone around the table laughed, and the dark mood was broken.

Alia smiled and finished, “You see, we each possess some level of control over our given elements. However, we can do more than just toss rocks around or throw fireballs.”

“What do you mean?” Jim asked, intrigued.

“Each awakened has secondary powers unique to their element. Earth can heal and shield or break others from control. Fire awakened can render another unconscious and even temporarily paralyze enemies with a touch.” A grin crept up the side of her mouth.

She nodded at the young man next to her, “Unfortunately, Sasha here has not yet reached that stage of his training. Otherwise, your escape from Rock Bottom may have been much less eventful.”

Henry was chuckling again, “Well, I for one am glad for it. A little adventure is good for the joints...and gears.” Sasha smiled and blushed, still too worried to speak directly to the captain.

Captain Rychist shrugged, “From what you told me of those cannibals, I’d say Jim and Sasha might disagree on that. Anyhow, air awakened can influence the weak minded and can sense nearby awakened as well as those with awakened potential within. Think of them as a sort of walking pressure gauge for elemental power.”

Glancing at Sasha, she added, “That’s most likely how that priest found you two.”

Sasha finally spoke, subdued, “Yes. You’re probably right.”

Jim felt it best to keep his experiences above the Liberator a secret. I was able to sense others during our fight with those fighters. But, I’m not an awakened of air. How was that possible?

The captain finished, frowning, “Last, water awakened can control the minds and willpower of others and speak telepathically over extraordinary distances. It’s how the Prophetess controls such a large force of awakened priests and clockwork men. Have you ever noticed the eyes of every priest are an unnatural shade of grey?”

Henry had waited long enough and again interrupted, “You can thank her royal bitchyness for that one. Somehow, her mind control changes the eye color of those she commands. It’s a great way to distinguish her minions from the average person.”

Henry leaned in toward Sasha. His voice was dripping with sarcasm as he noted, “You know, Sasha. Your eyes are awfully light in tint. Is there something, perhaps, you would like to tell us.”

Everyone at the table laughed, including the doctor. Sasha just blushed.

“There is one more thing you should be aware of,” the doctor started in, “There are also prime awakened. Among each group of awakened, there are maybe one or two in an entire generation that are primes. These awakened can do naturally what it takes normal initiates years, sometimes a lifetime to learn.”

Pointing at Jim, he finished, “For example, tossing a couple tons of dirt and rock at passing aircraft with literally no training. You sir, are a prime of earth. Possibly the only one alive as a matter of fact.”

Doctor Hanson let that sink in. Jim had so many questions, and while normally content to stay silent, curiosity got the better of him. He let loose with a flurry, “What does that mean? Am I someone special? I mean, why me? Before my awakening, I was just a trader, and a pretty bad one at that.”

Henry laughed, “Don’t go getting a messianic complex now. It’s simple numbers. In every one million people, maybe a thousand have the potential to be awakened. In that thousand, maybe one hundred are potential primes. In that one hundred, perhaps one or two ever survive an awakening experience… assuming they have one at all.”

Slapping Jim on the back, he joked, “You, my good man, are extremely lucky to have survived yours but, you’re nobody special. Well… you are special to us of course, for what little that matters.” That drew another laugh from the table.

Jim shrugged, “Well, I’ll take being a prime over scratching a meager existence from the wasteland. That still doesn’t answer my question about your ages though.” The doctor smiled, “The simple answer is, all awakened live longer than typical humans. Prime awakened longer still.”

“How long are we talking here?”

“About two hundred years.”

“Two hundred!?”

“Sometimes three hundred for primes.”

“Why is this the first time I’m hearing of it?” Jim was bewildered.

The doctor sighed, “The Prophetess is very good at keeping awakened firmly under her control. Before you met us, had you ever actually met an awakened?” Jim thought about that. “Aside from spotting a few priests from time to time, no.”

The captain crossed her arms and stared distantly ahead, forlorn, “Then it may surprise you to know, there are tens of thousands like us. Maybe more. Likely all under the prophetess’ control. Most of them live out their lives in Golden Spire.”

Seeing the last light of the setting sun poking through the mess hall portholes, the captain shifted the conversation. “It’s not a night for sadness and lost friends though. Tonight we celebrate.”

Jim had more questions, but they would have to wait for later.

“The other day I mentioned making money. You’ve probably figured it out by now, but The Liberator doesn’t exactly operate within the constraints of the law. In fact, it’s fair to say we ignore them completely.” There was a light chuckle from Henry and the doctor.

“The crew of The Liberator answers to no one. As far as I see it, we are the only free people in the entirety of Ruin. Free from taxes, free from control, free from the damned Prophetess -”, she ended, practically spitting her last words.

“Not free from the need to eat though,” the doctor interrupted dryly.

“Or the need to blow large sums of coin in saloons and gambling houses,” added Henry with a characteristic glow.

“Most importantly though,” the captain raised her voice now, “The need for DRINK!”

With that, the entire mess hall raised their steins and cheered. Judging by the size of her glass, Jim had no doubt the captain shared in the crew’s love of the deliciously sweet spiced honey mead. She could probably drink them under the table twice over.

Sweet Bliss as it was often referred to was illegal in all territories south of Freeport. It’s high alcoholic content was touted as a public health hazard and a menace to the “dignity of the civilized among us.” Naturally, as with all wonderful things made illegal by governments, a large clandestine operation had developed underground over the years.

In the northern trade city of Freeport, the drink was readily available for a relatively cheap price compared to the smuggled and often watered down variants in the Alliance cities of Trest and Dyelita.

“You see, Jim,” the captain was leaning over the table now with hands folded and a glint in her eye. “Awakened initiates aren’t the only… joys we liberate around here. Sometimes, we free the less deserving from their abundance of coin. In fact, tomorrow we will be doing exactly that.”

He was all ears as the captain continued, “There is a well hidden and lightly defended vault at the base of the Eternal Mountains, twenty kilometers east of Northern Monastery. It serves as a reserve for all the Prophetess’ tributes from the Alliance and Federation. We aren’t really sure what she is reserving it for, but I just don’t feel she would make very good use of that money.” Another laugh rounded the table, this time including Jim.

“Tomorrow night, we’re going to bust in, disable the guards, and grab as much coin as we can carry.”

“And what’s my role in all of this?”

“Consider this your first real action with the crew. Your… talents might come in handy if we need to, say, drop the mountain on the vault on the way out or bury some stubborn guards. Adventure is good for the heart, besides.”

Yeah but, getting killed? Not so much.