Gliding toward the shadowed base of the Orun Plateau''s towering cliff, Archeon''s sea stretched out in a silvery-green expanse, its surface glimmering in the fading afternoon light, waves crashing against rocky bluffs that loomed like sentinels against the tide. This wild, briny shore, unlike the farmland domes Anna had visited that morning, stood untouched by the village''s mechanical ingenuity, its raw frontier charm framed by the cliff''s imposing bulk. Now, as she coaxed Cloudchaser into a gentle descent, its bat-like, patched fabric wings catching the coastal breeze, the balloon-like canopy swaying softly, she spotted her friend and relatively new crew member, Kassia, waiting on the village''s landing platform of beaten earth and rusted metal sheeting, nestled snugly beneath the cliff''s rugged overhang.
Kassia hailed from this cliff-shadowed community, though she''d joined Anna''s air team only a few months back—eager to hone her skills as a mechanic and pilot-in-training amid Archeon''s inventive patchwork. Here, rocky bluffs rose sharply from the shore, their wind-scarred faces cradling the village below, while the sea murmured with the rhythm of waves against stone. Anna inhaled the briny air through the cockpit''s open hatch, letting it flood her lungs, the scent mingling with the faint tang of oil and steel from Cloudchaser''s weathered hull.
This was where Kassia had spent much of her youth—a retro-futuristic village tucked beneath the Orun Plateau''s looming cliff, alive with the gurgle of hydro mills rigged along streams trickling down from the cliff''s face, its patched-together buildings of corrugated steel and stone sprawling at the plateau''s base, bearing the scars of countless storms. Solar collectors, mounted on rooftops and rocky outcrops near the village''s edge, glinted faintly in the late-afternoon sun, their weathered glass panels a testament to the community''s resourceful energy mix.
The craft touched down, its propellers whining before powering off, the bat-like wings folding with a rustle of patched fabric, the balloon-like canopy settling gently above the platform. Boots crunching on gravel, Anna hopped out, her brass-toned goggles glinting in the late-afternoon sun, her gaze sweeping over the familiar yet ever-changing scene. Dozens of houses—some crafted from corrugated steel, others nestled against the cliff''s base—sprawled in a loose cluster under the plateau''s shadow, hydro mills creaking with wooden paddles that channeled water''s power from streams spilling down the cliff. High above, on the Orun Plateau''s crest, a scattering of wind turbines stood as sentinels, their wooden blades spinning lazily against the sky, their distant clatter drifting down to the village below, feeding energy to homes via salvaged cables strung from the cliff''s edge.
A few children played near a weathered hydro mill at the village''s edge, chasing each other with kites crafted from repurposed canvas scraps, their laughter blending with the faint hum of the turbines echoing from above. Anna couldn''t help but smile, her heart warming with memories of her own carefree days beneath this cliff, racing kites in its shadow, her father''s laughter echoing in her mind, the hum of his craft a distant melody tied to the village''s mechanical heartbeat.
Kassia approached from the far side of the platform, her footsteps soft on the gravel, her patched flight jacket fluttering in the coastal breeze. She called out a warm welcome, her voice cutting through the distant turbine clatter, then joined Anna with a crunch of boots, pausing as her gaze roved over the hodgepodge structures she hadn''t seen in months. She''d left this homeland village beneath the cliff to fly with Anna, and now, greeting it again, her chest tightened with equal parts nostalgia and pride, the turbine hum from above grounding her in familiarity.
"Wow," Kassia murmured, eyes flicking from one shadowed dwelling to another, the late sun gilding the dented panels and wind-scarred facades to molten gold beneath the cliff''s overhang. She adjusted her jacket, still reacclimating to the briny wind. "It feels good to be home. Funny how it looks the same but... different, you know?"
Anna smiled, warmth filling her chest, her red scarf trailing in the breeze. "I get it. Every time I come back, I swear another mill''s been patched or a new cable''s strung from up there." She nodded toward the plateau''s crest, where the turbines spun faintly against the sky. "It''s definitely changed since I was a kid. But still the same place at its core—harsh but beautiful, like our flying craft."
"Exactly," Kassia noted, turning to eye the rugged rooftops glowing in the late-afternoon sun, their steel and stone patched with salvaged wood under the cliff''s shadow. "Kind of like our airship, huh?"
Anna let out a soft laugh, the distant turbine hum echoing behind her. "Exactly. Don''t let the patchwork look fool you—we''ve got heart." She gestured toward the village square, where curious neighbors were already gathering beneath the cliff''s sheltering bulk, their voices carrying over the faint clatter from above, some waving with tools in hand. "Come on. I can''t wait to catch up with your folks, too. I know they''ll be thrilled you''re back for a visit."
They walked side by side, Kassia occasionally glancing around with quiet awe—she''d missed the scent of brine on the wind, the steady hum of turbines from the plateau above that powered her family and neighbors through Archeon''s tumultuous weather. Anna noted the way Kassia''s expression softened with each step, a flicker of a smile lingering at her lips, the turbine clatter a steady heartbeat beneath their boots. The late sun gilded the patchwork homes and tool sheds under the cliff, turning every dented panel and wind-scarred facade to molten gold, the village''s mechanical life pulsing around them.
As they made their way to the village square, the children with kites giggled and rushed past, weaving around their legs, their canvas creations fluttering in the breeze. Neighbors waved, some calling Kassia''s name in joyous surprise, their voices warm over the turbine hum from above, their trust in Anna evident from recent days of collaboration repairing skiffs, a shared rhythm of mechanical camaraderie. The pair exchanged a glance—feeling, for the moment, that they were right where they belonged, the turbine hum a quiet anchor in the briny air.
A woman weaving thick rope from tough local fibers paused, her hands rough with calluses, her spindle clinking softly against a hydro mill''s crank nearby. Spotting Anna, she broke into a wide grin, her voice carrying easily in the salty air. "Anna Freedman! You''ve finally come back!" Anna remembered her—Lira, an old neighbor who once mended skiff parts in the village, her laughter a familiar sound from childhood.
Anna smiled and waved, her heart giving a fond lurch, the turbine hum grounding her nostalgia. "Good to see you, Lira," she called, stepping closer, her boots crunching on gravel. "Still spinning those ropes by hand, I see. How''s the crank holding up?"
Lira chuckled, her laughter mixing with the distant turbine clatter. "The hydro mill''s crank''s been temperamental—jams every few days. Could use your touch, if you''ve got time. We''ve been patching it with scrap, but it''s not the same without your knack for machinery."
"Maybe I''ll take a look," Anna replied with a teasing grin, her brass goggles catching the sunlight. "I''ve got a few tricks up my sleeve from the farmland domes—might stabilize it with some grease and grit."
Nearby, a man carving miniature turbine replicas from wood paused, his hands dusted with sawdust, his tools gleaming softly. "Anna!" Tolvar called, his voice warm and gravelly, wiping sweat from his brow. "It''s been ages! You here to fix our mills, or just to reminisce over old kite games?"
Anna laughed, stepping toward him, the turbine hum pulsing faintly from above. "Both, maybe, Tolvar. Those miniatures still bringing joy to the kids?" She peered at his work, the wooden blades intricately detailed, a small echo of Cloudchaser''s design.
"Oh, they love ''em," Tolvar said, grinning, his eyes crinkling. "But the hydro mill by the western edge—its paddles are warped. Could you check it? We''ve been limping along, but a good tweak would save us days."
"I''ll swing by tomorrow," Anna promised, her voice steady, the turbine clatter a comforting rhythm from the plateau''s crest. "Might need to borrow some scrap steel—got any spares?"
"Plenty," Tolvar replied, gesturing toward a nearby shed, its steel walls patched with wood beneath the cliff. "We''ve been salvaging from old skiffs. You''re welcome to it—just don''t let it jam your own craft!"
As they strolled deeper into the village, an elderly man paused his work on a hydro mill, his hands callused from years of turning wooden paddles. "Anna Freedman, back at last!" he called, his voice rough but warm, leaning on a cane carved from driftwood. "Heard you''ve been soaring those skies—can you look at our mill''s paddles? They''ve been creaking something fierce."
Anna nodded, her heart warming, the hydro mill''s gurgle steady beneath his words. "I''ll check it, Eldric. Creaking''s just a misalignment—shouldn''t take long with a wrench and some grease. How''s the flow been?"
"Trickling, but steady," Eldric said, his eyes brightening. "Your father''s tricks live on in you—always knew those mechanical lessons would stick."
The narrow paths, coated in compacted sand and fine dust, stretched before them, occasional metal panels set down like stepping stones to cover rocky patches, their surfaces scarred by village tools. High above, on the Orun Plateau''s crest, the wind turbines spun with a clatter that softened to a low hum when the winds shifted, their energy feeding homes below via salvaged cables strung from the cliff''s edge. Solar collectors, tilted on rooftops, captured the sun''s last rays, their weathered glass panels adding a soft shimmer to the village''s patchwork skyline under the cliff. Hydro mills, rigged near cliffside streams, turned with a rhythmic creak, their wooden paddles channeling water''s power to keep the village alive against Archeon''s storms. This blend of water and solar ingenuity—salvaged steel, patched wood—grounded Anna in her father''s legacy, the hum of Cloudchaser outside a quiet pulse in the briny air.
From an open doorway, an elderly woman in a loose tunic and patched leggings offered Anna a nod of recognition, her hands busy with a water-driven loom, its wooden spindle whirring softly from the nearby hydro mill''s power. "It''s been a while, dear," she said, her voice gentle over the mill''s gurgle. "You''ll want to check on the new greenhouse we rigged near the cliff''s base—using a mill-driven pump for sea-salt vegetables. It''s been giving us a decent harvest." Anna nodded, promising to take a look, the faint turbine hum from the plateau above a steady heartbeat in her chest. The woman''s smile faltered slightly as she added, "Oh, and be sure to see your mother—she''s been up most nights with that ledger of mill maintenance."
Anna swallowed, knowing seeing Miriam would be an emotional crossroads, their drift softened by shared mechanical duty. They had parted on uncertain terms—not through argument but the quiet weight of separate lives. She murmured a quick thanks, then led Kassia through a winding passage curving alongside a hydro mill''s stream, its wooden paddles creaking rhythmically, the sound pulsing through the village like a heartbeat beneath the cliff''s shadow.
Not far beyond, they emerged into a small cluster of buildings forming a communal courtyard, their steel and stone patched with wood, nestled under the plateau''s looming overhang. A group of villagers gathered around a large pot suspended over a wood-fired coil, steam curling into the air, carrying the smell of spiced root stew, its aroma mingling with the distant turbine hum from above. One of them, a tall teen with a shaved head, noticed Anna and brightened immediately. "Anna''s back!" he shouted, prompting several heads to turn, their tools clinking softly against mill-driven spindles nearby.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
She found herself swarmed by handshakes, a few hugs, questions tumbling out: Where had she been, did she find new mill parts, was she hungry, would she fix the groaning mill by the western edge? The warmth of their greetings made her chest tighten with gratitude, the turbine hum from the plateau''s crest a steady anchor, her brass-toned goggles reflecting their smiles. A woman nearby, Mera, leaned forward, her hands still gripping a mill-driven crank. "Anna, the hydro mill''s paddles are groaning—can you take a look tomorrow? We''ve been patching ''em with scrap wood, but they''re near breaking."
"I''ll check it first thing," Anna promised, her voice warm, the distant turbine clatter echoing her resolve. "Might need to rebalance the blades—shouldn''t take long with some grease and steel."
A old man, Joren, chimed in, his voice rough but friendly, adjusting a paddle on a nearby hydro mill, its wooden edge splintered but sturdy. "And our big mill''s flow''s been sluggish—could use your touch. We''ve been limping along, but your tweaks could save us days."
"Count on it," Anna said, grinning, the turbine hum faint but steady beneath his words, her fingers brushing the weathered bench beside her. "I''ll swing by with some scrap from my airship—got plenty of steel to spare."
Eventually, Anna excused herself, promising she and Kassia would join them for stew later, the faint clatter of turbines from above echoing her resolve. They walked on, weaving through more huts and homes nestled beneath the cliff''s shadow, until they reached a modest structure built from repurposed shuttle plating and stone, tucked against the plateau''s base. Its roof, layered with hammered metal shingles Anna once scraped as a child, bore patches of rust now mended with the village''s stubborn ingenuity. She paused at the threshold, heart pounding, the distant turbine hum a quiet pulse in the briny air.
Her mother, Miriam Freedman, appeared in the doorway as if summoned by the breeze. She was a lean woman with dark hair threaded by silver, tied back in a practical knot. Her features softened the moment her gaze landed on Anna. They both hesitated, neither wanting to shatter the moment of recognition.
Then Anna''s feet moved on their own. She took a single step forward, then another, arms lifting almost shyly. Miriam rushed to meet her, and Anna sank into her mother''s embrace, inhaling the comforting scent of herbal ointments and a hint of old paper. There was a quiet that seemed to hum with emotion, as if both were realizing how much time had slipped by since they''d stood like this, the turbine hum drifting faintly from the plateau''s crest.
Miriam''s voice came in a gentle rush. "I knew you''d come back one day. The village needed you, and I... I missed you." She squeezed Anna''s shoulders, her eyes shining with relief, the briny wind tugging at her silver-threaded hair under the cliff''s sheltering bulk.
Anna cleared her throat to hold back her own tears, her brass-toned goggles catching the fading light. "I missed you too. And I''m sorry it took me so long." Her voice trembled slightly, the distant turbine hum grounding her words.
Kassia, lingering a respectful distance away, inclined her head in greeting, her patched flight jacket rustling softly in the breeze. Miriam offered a friendly wave but didn''t let go of Anna''s hand as they led each other inside.
The main room was lit by wide windows facing the sea, their sills shadowed by the plateau''s overhang, warm sunlight casting patterns across the floor and illuminating half-finished hydro mill parts, diagrams taped to walls, and a scratched workbench littered with tools—wrenches, bolts, and coiled wire glinting dully in the late light. There was a familiar hush, broken only by the faint sound of waves below the cliff and the distant clatter of turbines from atop the plateau.
Anna took in each detail, her chest tightening, the turbine hum outside a steady pulse in her ears. On one side, local grain sacks were stacked in a neat pile, their burlap patched with salvaged fabric. On another, water purification canisters—simple wooden barrels lined with rusted metal—were lined up, labeled in Miriam''s tidy script.
A single wooden chair stood near the workbench, its seat worn smooth by years of use, and more than a few broken tools lay scattered about—cracked hydro mill paddles, their steel edges dulled by time, and bent scraps from village repairs. Everywhere she looked, she saw evidence of ongoing work—loose wires, half-unscrewed panels, and scribbled notes reminding someone to check the mill''s wooden paddles. It struck Anna that her mother must have been laboring tirelessly, her hands callused from tending the hydro mills at the cliff''s base, her resolve a quiet echo of her father''s legacy.
Miriam caught Anna''s gaze, her eyes warm but weary. "I''ve been doing what I can to keep everything functional. The meltdown centuries taught us that our mill-based tech must be maintained carefully, or we lose what little advantage we have on this planet." She squeezed Anna''s hand once more, her tone turning warm, the turbine clatter outside a soft accompaniment. "But you and I both know you''re better at this than anyone—your father''s mechanical tricks live on in you."
Heat crept into Anna''s cheeks, her fingers brushing the brass frames of her goggles. She mumbled something about not being that special, but she couldn''t deny the surge of confidence Miriam''s words gave her, the turbine hum steadying her resolve. Taking a breath, she set down her travel pack, its leather creaking softly. "Well, show me what''s broken first. I can''t promise miracles, but I''ll try—might have some new mill ideas from the farmland domes."
Miriam nodded, relief etched in every line of her face, the turbine hum a quiet heartbeat in the room. "That can wait until tomorrow. You should rest, catch your breath. Let''s at least have a proper meal. There''s fresh stew in the courtyard, simmering over a wood-fired coil."
A grumble from Anna''s stomach answered for her, and they all laughed, the sound mingling with the faint turbine clatter outside. Stepping back outside, they found the sun had dipped closer to the horizon, bathing the village below in a soft, orange glow, the wind turbines atop the Orun Plateau''s cliff catching the last vestiges of sunlight, their wooden blades spinning lazily high above, their faint clatter a gentle rhythm drifting down against the briny wind.
Despite the retro-fitted contraptions—hydro mills patched with salvaged steel and wood—the scene before them held a gentle beauty, its rugged rooftops and wind-scarred facades bathed in molten gold beneath the cliff''s shadow. Children raced along the village paths, chasing the last rays of daylight with kites powered by hand-cranked spinners, their laughter blending with the mill''s gurgle, while an older couple sat polishing a small hydro mill used to gather sea kelp, its wooden paddles creaking softly. Someone else was fixing a jammed mill near the central walkway, their wrench clinking rhythmically against wooden paddles, everyone moving with a sense of familiarity and camaraderie, as though holding up their corner of the settlement with mill-driven grit was a shared duty none took lightly.
They headed toward the courtyard, where Kassia had already found a place by the steaming pot of stew, its wood-fired coil crackling softly, the aroma of spiced root vegetables and grain mingling with the faint turbine hum. A young girl stirred the pot carefully, taking pride in her assigned chore, her hands callused from tending the village''s mills. She doled out portions into curved ceramic bowls and handed them around, the bowls warm against Anna''s palms.
Anna remembered the taste of this stew: a hearty mix of local root vegetables and grain, supplemented by a dash of sea-sourced minerals that gave it a unique tang, its flavors preserved by the hydro mills'' steady flow. When she sipped it now, the taste flooded her with childhood memories—eating on this very spot under the cliff, hearing the howling wind outside, listening to grown-ups debate the best way to repair battered mill paddles.
Miriam settled on a bench beside Anna, its wood worn smooth by years of use, and Kassia perched on a rock close by, her patched jacket rustling softly in the breeze. Other villagers drifted over, some carrying mill tools, others just wanting a moment''s rest, their voices soft against the distant turbine clatter. A woman, Lira, leaned forward, her hands still gripping a mill-driven crank, her voice warm over the gurgle nearby. "Anna, the hydro mill''s paddles are groaning—can you take a look tomorrow? We''ve been patching ''em with scrap wood, but they''re near breaking."
"I''ll check it first thing," Anna promised, her voice steady, the faint turbine hum echoing her resolve, her brass goggles catching the firelight. "Might need to rebalance the blades—shouldn''t take long with some grease and steel."
A man, Joren, chimed in, his voice rough but friendly, adjusting a paddle on a nearby hydro mill, its wooden edge splintered but sturdy. "And our big mill''s flow''s been sluggish—could use your touch. We''ve been limping along, but your tweaks could save us days."
"Count on it," Anna said, grinning, the mill''s gurgle steady beneath his words, her fingers brushing the bench''s worn wood. "I''ll swing by with some scrap from my airship—got plenty of steel to spare."
An elderly man, Eldric, paused his work on a hydro mill, his hands callused from years of turning wooden paddles, leaning on a cane carved from driftwood. "Anna Freedman, back at last!" he called, his voice warm over the mill''s gurgle. "Heard you''ve been soaring those skies—can you look at our mill''s paddles? They''ve been creaking something fierce."
Anna nodded, her heart warming, the mill''s gurgle a steady pulse in her chest. "I''ll check it, Eldric. Creaking''s just a misalignment—shouldn''t take long with a wrench and grease. How''s the flow been?"
"Trickling, but steady," Eldric said, his eyes brightening, the mill''s gurgle a quiet accompaniment. "Your father''s mechanical tricks live on in you—always knew those lessons would stick."
Twilight fell, painting the sea and sky in layered pinks and blues, the wind turbines atop the plateau catching the last vestiges of sunlight, their wooden blades spinning lazily, their clatter a gentle rhythm against the briny wind. Kassia excused herself to organize the airship for the night, exchanging a good-natured grin with Anna before heading off, the mill''s gurgle following her steps.
Alone with her mother, Anna walked the short path to the village''s edge near the cliff''s base, the waves below whispering a constant hush against the rocks, their rhythm blending with the faint clatter of wind turbines from above. They stood shoulder to shoulder, quietly watching the silvery-green sea, Miriam''s arm slipping around Anna''s shoulders, a wordless comfort in the mill-driven hush.
"I''m glad you came home," Miriam said softly, her voice warm over the mill''s gurgle.
Anna nodded, the words catching in her throat, her brass-toned goggles glinting in the twilight. She let the moment linger before turning her gaze inland, eyes tracing the rooftops and winding walkways, their mill-driven life a quiet pulse in the briny air. "I am too," she managed, a breeze catching her golden-blond hair, the mill''s gurgle grounding her as she closed her eyes, feeling her mother''s warmth—this quiet, mill-driven moment enough.
For a long moment, they stood in silence, the wind turbines atop the plateau clattering softly, their wooden blades spinning lazily in the twilight breeze, a steady heartbeat against the briny wind. The silvery-green sea below shimmered under the fading light, its waves whispering a rhythmic hush against the rocks, blending with the gurgle of hydro mills near the cliffside streams. Anna leaned into her mother''s embrace, the warmth of Miriam''s arm a quiet anchor, her brass-toned goggles pressing lightly against her forehead, their scratched lenses catching the last glints of sunset. The scent of herbal ointments and old paper clung to Miriam, grounding Anna in childhood memories—the hum of her father''s crafts, the gurgle of village mills as she played beneath the cliff.
Miriam''s voice broke the hush, soft but firm, carrying over the mill''s gurgle. "Your father would''ve been proud, Anna—seeing you back here, fixing mills, carrying on with those mechanical tricks of his. The village needs that spirit, now more than ever."
Anna opened her eyes, the mill''s gurgle steadying her breath, her grayish-blue gaze tracing the rugged rooftops below, their steel and stone patched with salvaged wood under the cliff''s shadow. "I feel him here," she murmured, her voice trembling slightly, the briny wind tugging at her hair. "In every gurgle, every turn of a paddle. But it''s... heavier now, knowing I''m the one who has to keep it going."
Miriam squeezed her shoulder, her silver-threaded hair catching the twilight, the mill''s gurgle a quiet pulse beneath her words. "You''re not alone, love. We''ve all got hands on those mills—yours just turn them a little truer. And I''m here, same as the village. We''ll figure it out, mill by mill."
A small, wistful smile tugged at Anna''s lips, the mill''s gurgle a comforting rhythm, its wooden paddles creaking softly nearby. "I know. It''s just... I miss his laugh, his steady hands on the yoke, the hum of his work. But I''ll keep spinning, for him—and for us."
They lingered there, the mill-driven life of the village unfolding below—children chasing kites along the paths, their canvas creations fluttering in the breeze, an older couple polishing a hydro mill''s wooden paddles by lantern light, its creak mingling with the mill''s gurgle. Someone''s wrench clinked against a mill paddle near the central walkway, the sound a quiet testament to the community''s shared grit, its mill-driven heart beating strong against the storms.
As night deepened, the wind turbines atop the plateau caught the last vestiges of twilight, their wooden blades spinning lazily under a sky painted in layered pinks and blues, the sea below a silvery mirror reflecting the glow of lanterns fueled by wood-fired coils, strung along the paths in a gentle amber haze. The village settled into a quiet camaraderie, voices sharing stories and laughter drifting from communal areas, the mill''s gurgle a steady lullaby against the briny wind.
Anna exhaled, the mill''s gurgle grounding her, her mother''s arm a warm promise in the dusk. "Let''s head back," she said softly, her voice steady now, the mill''s rhythm echoing her resolve. "I want to hear more about those mill repairs—and maybe taste that stew again."
Miriam chuckled, her laughter mixing with the mill''s gurgle, and together they turned from the cliff''s base, their footsteps crunching on the gravel path, the village''s mill-driven life wrapping around them like a familiar embrace.