The clouds stretched like a blanket of the finest cotton. Not smooth by any means, but rich in its absence of color—a field of white. Rumors whispered of a time when the clouds were above people’s heads and contained patches that showed the blueness of the sky above. It was a foreign concept to James, looking up at the clouds. He had always known them as an unending stretch of white that was forever beneath him. In his fourteen years of life, he had never seen the world that existed beneath the clouds. If you asked Captain Shamran, there was nothing beneath the clouds. Just a barren wasteland filled with rock and ash. Nobody knew what happened to the world. Too many generations had passed since then, leaving the unwritten and rarely told information to drift away into the winds of their past. Why had we taken to the sky? What happened to the earth? These were questions that were never asked and never answered. A shame lingered whenever those questions reached someone’s lips, coming from nowhere and having no source. Eventually, people stopped asking; and people usually don’t answer questions that are never asked. Thus, the information disappeared. Lost in the sheet of white beneath him.

James peered out at the scenery that surrounded him. White, blue, and the blazing light of the sun were the only things he had ever known. The sky above him was always clear, always a warm welcoming blue, disturbed only by the sun that assaulted his skin with the unbearable heat. The clouds changed only in their formation, never in their color…usually. There were several instances where the clouds shifted to a slightly darker color, but that only occurred when the Divers ascended. Divers were the select few who were given the dangerous job of exploring beneath the clouds. James wanted desperately to be one of them. To him, the idea of being on the frontier, of venturing where no others had, thrilled him. And he had a secret, a secret that no one else believed was true.

“James! It’s time for dinner!” The voice came from a girl not much older than him. She hung over the balcony that extended out some distance above him. Her curly red hair fluttered in the ever-present wind. James looked up and sighed. He waved in her direction, which seemed to be enough of a response since her head and fluttering hair disappeared from view. James didn’t leave his perch immediately. The sun was lowering itself to cloud level. It was a part of the day he always loved to witness. He watched as the sun began to be swallowed by the horizon, sending beams of light shooting across the fluffy whiteness that sat below him, making some parts glow and other parts darken. There was something grand about it. Something greater than himself.

After appreciating the view for a few moments, he turned to face the ladder behind him. James had been sitting on a small platform that sat at the very bottom of his ship. It was connected to the main vessel only by six separate metal beams. Waist high metal fencing lined the perimeter, a fact that James was glad of. There had been several times where he had stumbled or been sent off-balance due to a particularly strong wind. The metal fencing had saved him on those occasions. He assumed that at one point in time the platform had been used to load crates and other items from below. Now, however, it was never used and never visited by anyone other than him. James had always loved the place, as it was the closest he could get to the clouds and one of the only places where he could watch the Divers descend to the surface.

James reached for the ladder, bracing himself against the wind. It wasn’t particularly safe to be out there. That much, he knew. It wasn’t as though he longed for danger. He just knew it was a fear that he would have to face if he ever wanted to descend to the surface. After all, the Divers descended on a rope ladder that swayed and whipped in the wind. Compared to that, a sturdy metal ladder was nothing. Though, that didn’t make it any less scary.

James hoisted himself up onto the ladder and began to climb. He was sweating but felt nearly none of it, the wind drying it before it had a chance to leave his forehead. He looked up. The ladder ended at the base of another platform that jetted out from the side of the main vessel. He could see parts of the door that led inside from his vantage point on the ladder. He breathed in deeply, attempting to steel himself for the climb. James raised one of his arms, reaching for a higher bar. He then placed one of his feet on a higher bar and hoisted himself up. He did this process very slowly. There were many ladders throughout the ships, most of which he launched himself up or flung himself down. This ladder was different. He looked down. The platform, though still moderately large in his eyes, was too far away for comfort. If he fell, he wouldn’t hit the platform. The winds were too powerful. They would pick him up and take him to the clouds. He shuttered. He always told himself not to look down, but he rarely followed his own advice. He supposed in some way it put the risks in perspective. A motivation through fear. He looked back up, his goal a mere few feet from him. He began to relax, loosening his grip instinctively. Just as he did so, a massive gust of wind hit his body, ripping one of his hands from the ladder and sending one of his feet dangling in the air. He quickly jerked himself toward the ladder. There was a frozenness to his body that only fear could bring. The breath that escaped his mouth was tired and ragged. James could feel the adrenaline coursing through his body, begging him to reach the top. Adrenaline was good for many things, but precision wasn’t one of them, so he waited, still clinging to the metal bars that made up the ladder. Once his heart rate had slowed to something more manageable, James continued his climb. Upon reaching the top, he slung himself to the side, rolling onto his back and breathing hard, watching the sky darken from blue to black. He cursed to himself.

I can’t afford to be afraid, he thought to himself. I need to be stronger.

With a renewed conviction, he opened the door and entered the ship. He was greeted with a skinny corridor that led to a set of stairs. He walked down it, peering into the rooms that lined the sides of the walkway. An easy task, since all their doors were open. Each room that he investigated was empty, which was expected. This entire floor remained relatively vacant. There simply weren’t enough people to require use of the bottom floor. Even if people did live down there, James knew most of them would be at dinner by now.

The rooms were all similar, with each one catering more to height than width, though no one room was the same as any other. Most of the rooms could sleep two to five people. Stairs would rotate the room, rising up to the beds that were fixed by chains to the wall. The bottom floor was usually a place for relaxation and talking.

James reached the end of the corridor and began to ascend the stair set, which was just as skinny as the corridor that he had walked through and nearly as steep as the ladder he had just climbed. At the top of the stairs was a hatch. He twisted the handle, unlocking it, and flung it open. He climbed out into a crossroad of four separate corridors. James took a moment to reflect on how easy it would be for him to get lost in the ships. He had fourteen years of experience in exploring the metal mazes that flew beside the one that he was in, and he still got lost in them from time to time. There were even a few that he had yet to fully explore. This ship, however, he knew well. It’s the ship he grew up on, and the one that he had explored the most.

Winding through the narrow hallways and steep stairs, it only took him several minutes to reach the dining room. He opened the door to find several long metal tables, each of which extended from one side of the room to the other. James’s senses were hit with laughter and discussion as he stepped into the room.

James eyed the counter to his left. Behind it was a door that led to the kitchen where a dozen cooks worked away at the meals that everyone was eating. Jarl stood at the counter itself, observing the feast. Jarl was a middle-ranking cook of slender build. He had a narrow face that gave him the air of an evil man even though he showed no traces of it when he spoke. James hunched his back, assuming a stealthier posture. His goal wasn’t the counter, but rather the door behind it. He inched closer to the counter, trying to slip beneath it. Jarl spotted him instantly. With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, he moved to the side, pretending to be busy rearranging a nearby shelf. James scuttled his way through the door as soon as Jarl turned his back to him. The first thing that hit him was the intense heat of the room. James narrowed the cause down to the dozen fires that currently cooked jesper meat. Jespers were large flying birds that migrated around the world. The fleet had long ago mapped out their flight paths and made a point of intersecting or following them whenever the necessity of food returned. Most meat was dried and rationed. There were only so many jespers in the world, after all. Overhunting was a major concern. Today, however, was different. It was Concord Day, the day in which the fleet first came together. A celebration of the beginning. Thus, fresh meat was on the menu. The second thing James noticed was the language, which included many words he had been told not to utter.

James maneuvered his way through the cooks until he spotted the one he was looking for. He was hard to miss. Standing a foot above everyone else with a jolly belly and powerful arms, he stuck out in most crowds. James scampered up to him.

“Bron!” James whispered, still crouching. Bron jumped at the voice and turned his head downward.

“Jameson, my boy.” Bron’s voice was deep, yet still soothing to the ear. “How many times have I told you that you can’t be back here?”

“Too many to count,” James admitted.

“So then why do I find myself having to tell you again today?” he asked in an irritated tone. James didn’t flinch. Despite his large stature and firm voice, he was one of the nicest people on the ship. James knew his irritation was just for show.

“Did you make any whisps today?” James asked, ignoring Bron’s original question. Bron eyed him with a serious expression before descending into a hearty chuckle.

“Did I make whisps? It’s Concord Day, my boy!” Bron reached up into the cupboard that hung above his work station and retrieved a plate. He fixed James a dish that contained one piece of jesper meat and one whisp. Bron then leaned down and tucked another whisp into James’s inner coat pocket. “For later,” he said with a wink. “Now get on out of here and go eat.”

James flashed him a thankful grin and then hurried his way out of the kitchen. Upon exiting the door, he made direct eye contact with Jarl.

“Enjoy your meal, Jameson,” he said in his drawling voice. James gave a curt, almost nervous, nod and scurried away to one of the tables. He scanned the three tables until he found a head of fiery red hair. He sat down beside her, having to squeeze his legs together to fit.

“Sorry, Celeste,” James said. “I didn’t mean to be late.”

She glared at him. “You never mean to be, but you always are. Be thankful that I’m the forgiving type,” she said in her girlish and somewhat sarcastic voice. James rolled his eyes. Having lived with her for his entire life, he knew for a fact that she was not the forgiving type. He had mentioned this to her before but had received nothing but a firm scolding in return. Both he and Celeste were wards of Vessel Nine, orphaned before they had the chance to know their mother and father. Celeste clearly took after their mother, who was known to have long and curly red hair the same as Celeste. Though, they had no knowledge of whether their mother had the same freckles that dotted Celeste’s face. James, on the other hand, took after his father with his jet-black hair and full brown eyes. If someone didn’t already know it, they never would have assumed that he and Celeste were siblings.

James eyed his plate of food. The meat looked delicious, but his eyes kept drifting over to the whisp. Even though his stomach was yearning for it, he wouldn’t eat it just yet. Whenever whisps were served with dinner, he would save it for very last, allowing the aftertaste to simmer in his mouth the rest of the night. He reached to the center of the table where a metal tray stretched the length of the table. It contained utensils and a few condiments to add flavor to the various meals that were served. James retrieved some utensils and began digging into his jesper meat. Laughter and discussion circled him from all sides. There were people discussing kiting, board games, drama between different vessels, and the recent Diver missions. James, unsurprisingly, zoned in on the discussion about the Divers.

“Nothing but scraps,” an old man said. James placed his name as Rupert. James had never truly interacted with the man, but he knew that he was headstrong and superstitious. A combination that, even at the age of fourteen, James knew was bad news. “I have said it before, and I’ll say it again. The winds are angry with us. We venture below the clouds too often. It is the wind’s will that has been keeping us from retrieving proper supplies. I say we heed it as a warning.”

“You’ve been saying that for the last ten years,” a women twenty years his junior said. James knew her as Marcy. He’d had much more contact with her than Rupert. She shared Rupert’s headstrong personality but lacked his superstitious nature. “There are ups and there are downs. For every low return, there is a bountiful one in the future. Don’t worry so much, old man.” Marcy let out a burp as she finished.

“May the winds forgive your ignorance,” Rupert said, shaking his head at her.

So, the Divers haven’t been bringing back any supplies, James thought to himself, considering the ramifications of it.

The Divers sole purpose wasn’t just to explore under the clouds, but also to bring back supplies. The whispers said that the remnants of past civilizations still existed under the clouds, but only the Divers knew the truth, and they were sworn to secrecy. No one seemed to mind this. James assumed the reason why was similar to the reason why no one asked questions about the past. No one wanted to know what fate had befallen the world below. Well, everyone except James. He wanted desperately to see what lay beneath the clouds, be it a land of wonder or a land of horror.

“Seems like your precious Divers have been underperforming,” Celeste teased. She was clearly trying to get under his skin. James didn’t bite.

“Yeah, and I agree with Marcy. It’ll turn around. It always has before,” he said, still focusing on his meal.

From the corner of his eyes, he could see Celeste pursing her lips. She was clearly hoping to get a bigger rise out of him than she did. Still, the news did worry him.

If only they would listen to me, James thought. His mind focused onto a memory from his past. A flash of green that was swallowed by a wave of white.