The warm glow of floating lanterns flickered above as Kite and Bastion continued walking through the bustling dining hall. The air was thick with the rich scent of seasoned meats and spiced ale, the occasional burst of magical embers from enchanted cooking pots casting brief glimmers of golden light across the room.


    All around them, laughter rang out, the boisterous voices of sailors and merchants merging with the sounds of clinking mugs and sizzling food. A group of rowdy skyfarers, their faces flushed with drink, clapped each other on the back as they shared stories of their latest plunder.


    Further ahead, a gaggle of children darted between tables, laughing mischievously as they dodged the half-hearted swats of a grizzled cook, who wagged a wooden spoon at them with an amused grin. The entire place was alive, buzzing with the energy of a crew that had seen both storms and victories.


    While other children—barefoot and wild-eyed—darted between patrons, snatching scraps of bread and fruit, laughing as they evaded the slow, heavy hands that reached to snatch them back.


    Bastion moved through it all with practiced ease, hands tucked into his coat pockets, his golden eyes flicking across the crowd with casual awareness. Kite, on the other hand, was still absorbing every detail, eyes wide as they passed merchants haggling over exotic wares, gamblers slamming down dice, and performers entertaining drunks for coin.


    But then—Kite’s gaze caught something different. A distant corner of the hall, veiled slightly by shadows and the thick wooden beams supporting the ship, housed something far less jovial.


    Kite’s eyebrows furrowed as he slowed his steps, watching as caged creatures struggled against their bindings. At first, they seemed like exotic animals, but as Kite looked closer, he realized—many of them weren’t just animals.


    Some had intelligent eyes, their expressions filled with fear and frustration. Others had features eerily humanoid, their forms blending animalistic traits with something unmistakably… aware.


    Some creatures—exotic, glowing beings—cowered in the corners of their prisons, their shimmering fur or iridescent wings dulled with exhaustion. Others still fought, their tired bodies slamming against rusted bars, claws scraping uselessly against enchanted locks. But the worst ones… the ones that made Kite’s stomach twist cold and tight… were those that had stopped trying.


    The creatures were trapped behind metal bars that were thick and rusted, the cages held wild companions of all shapes and sizes. Feline hybrids with sharp horns, scaled drakes with clipped wings, a shadow-hound muzzled and chained, and even a two-headed serpent, its scales dulled from captivity. Some creatures lay exhausted and limp, while others snarled and struggled, their eyes burning with defiance.


    While in one cage lay a lithe, fox-like creature with six tails, each tipped with glowing blue embers, its body curled in its too-small cage, its glowing eyes narrowed in silent defiance. Beside it, a tiny avian being with golden plumage clutched the bars with clawed fingers, its beady black eyes darting between passing strangers, silently pleading for release.


    Further down, an onyx-scaled reptilian hybrid, tall as a human, sat cross-legged in its cage, arms folded, its expression unreadable—but its fingers twitched, as if itching to break free.


    Kite swallowed hard. His breath felt heavy in his chest, a weight pressing against his ribs. How long had they been here? How long had they been waiting?


    Kite’s stomach twisted, a sudden weight pressing on his chest. “Why are they in cages?” His voice came out sharper than he intended, his fingers clenching unconsciously into fists.


    Bastion, who had continued walking without pause, only glanced over his shoulder before scoffing. “Because they were captured.” Bastion stated. “They were all hunted down. Now they’re being sold.” His tone was flat, matter-of-fact, as if stating the weather.


    Kite’s breath caught. “Hunted? Why?” His voice sharpened, eyes snapping to Bastion’s, searching for something—anything—that made sense.


    Kite now fully turned to him, disbelief flashing across his face. “What do you mean sold?” The word felt wrong on his tongue, bitter like spoiled fruit. He gestured wildly toward the cages. “They’re not objects.”


    Bastion sighed lightly, finally looking at Kite with an expression of both mild amusement and pity, as if he had just asked why the sea had waves. “Because it’s a business.” He tilted his head toward the traders, men and women wrapped in dark cloaks, exchanging coin with quiet, knowing smiles. “Slavery, trafficking—this is just how things work in the Celestine Seas. Everyone’s got to make a living somehow.”


    Kite’s jaw tightened. His heart pounded against his ribs, anger curling in his gut like a lit fuse. He could hear it in Bastion’s voice—the casual indifference, like this was just another part of life. Like it was normal. Like it was okay.


    Kite felt his stomach tighten at the casual way Bastion said it, as if it were just another harsh reality to accept. His gaze flickered back to the creatures trapped in cages, some still fighting against their restraints, their spirits unbroken but fading.


    Kite turned back to the cages, his green eyes narrowing. He could hear his own breathing now, sharper, heavier. His fingers twitched at his sides, itching for something—anything—to fix this.


    A loud clang snapped him back to the moment. One of the creatures, a tall reptilian hybrid, had slammed its chained hands against the bars, its ember-like eyes burning with rage.


    Kite met its gaze—and what he saw there made his pulse stutter. Not just anger. Not just frustration. Desperation.


    The kind of desperation that came when someone knew—knew—they weren’t getting out. When the fight was still in them, but hope wasn’t.


    Kite inhaled sharply, his grip tightening so hard his nails bit into his palms. A spark of something dangerous flickered in his chest, coiling deep in his bones. And then—he exhaled. Slowly. Carefully.


    Bastion caught Kite’s expression and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, Kite, I get it. It’s ugly.” His voice softened—just a little. “But there’s nothing we can do about it.” He nodded toward the vendors. “Take down one slaver, and another takes their place. That’s how it’s always been.”


    Kite’s pace slowed, his brows furrowing, his arms folding across his chest as he processed Bastion’s words. He didn’t want to accept that. He couldn’t.


    Bastion sighed dramatically, his boots scuffing against the wooden planks as he turned fully to Kite. “Listen, people do what they have to do to survive. Its not like they all get a kick out of this.”


    Kite’s frown deepened, his expression darkening as he looked back at the trapped creatures. Some still struggled, their desperation clear. Others had long since given up, their gazes vacant, tired, hopeless.


    Kite’s pace further slowed, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. His usual bright, playful demeanor was gone, replaced with something colder, quieter, more serious.


    Bastion must have sensed the shift in energy because he suddenly groaned, palming his face. “No. No, no, no, please do not do whatever you’re about to do.”


    Kite turned to him, still smiling—but now there was an edge to it. “I haven’t even said anything yet.”


    Bastion noticed, exhaling through his nose before groaning. “Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’re seriously thinking about this.” His lips curled into a lopsided smirk, his tone turning teasing. “What, you gonna buy them all freedom?”


    Kite blinked as his fingers twitched at his sides. He could feel it—the weight of it all, pressing against his ribs, coiling in his stomach like a storm waiting to break. If he walked away now, that was it. The creatures would stay in cages. No one else would step in. No one else cared. And that thought—that helpless, bitter thought—made something in him rebel.


    He exhaled sharply, his frustration cooling into something sharper, more deliberate. Well… if no one else is going to do anything about it…


    That just means I have to!


    His lips curled into a slow, mischievous grin. almost challenging even. “I just might!” Kite finally declared, his emerald green eyes glowing ever so slightly in proud defiance.


    Before Bastion could react, Kite’s fingers twirled a tecastick from his pocket, rolling it between his knuckles in a playful flourish. Then—he took off.


    Bastion’s eyes widened. “What the—? KITE!” But Kite was already moving, slipping effortlessly through the crowd. He dodged past a group of arguing merchants, leaped over a toppled stool, and slid beneath a table, his small frame a blur of motion.


    Then, in one fluid motion, he vaulted onto a chair, kicked off a wooden beam, and launched himself high into the air. His body spun mid-flip as he flew high above the heads of the crowd, lightweight as the wind itself. While the lanterns light was caught in his green eyes, before he landed gracefully—and kept running.


    Bastion groaned loudly, dragging a hand down his face before muttering a string of curses. “Damn it—Kite!”


    He hesitated only a second before shoving past a stunned trader and breaking into a run, his coat flaring behind him. “I swear, if you get in me in trouble, I''m throwing you off the ship!”


    Kite only cackled louder, his voice echoing through the dining hall as he disappeared into the crowd, his mischievous bright grin never faltering. Bastion shoved his way through the bustling crowd, dodging past towering figures draped in enchanted cloaks, and slipping between chattering merchants who barely spared him a glance.


    The din of the dining hall was overwhelming—laughter, bartering, the occasional clash of a mug against a table—but above it all, he could hear Kite. When he finally broke free of the mass of people, his gaze snapped ahead, instantly landing on Kite—who, unsurprisingly, was causing trouble.


    Kite stood in front of a slaver’s stall, arms thrown in the air in exaggerated frustration. The slaver, an eerie woman draped in layered black robes woven with shimmering purple glyphs, leaned lazily against the counter, amusement dancing in her glowing violet eyes.


    Her face was sharp, with high cheekbones and dark lips twisted into a mocking smirk. Golden rings adorned her fingers, and her long, clawed nails drummed against the counter’s surface. The moment Bastion saw the crackling violet energy flickering at her fingertips, his stomach twisted.


    The caged magical creatures were screeching and thrashing behind her, their glass prisons glowing with runic enchantments that kept them from breaking free. Some had fur of pure stardust, others had luminescent wings that pulsed with shifting colors, and a few even had multiple sets of eyes, blinking in desperation as they clawed at the cage’s enchanted bars.


    Bastion groaned. “Great.” He muttered as he walked up to the two bickering guests.


    Meanwhile, Kite was seething. “What do you mean my currency is invalid!?” he demanded, gripping his tecastick and waving it toward the slaver as If she simply hadn’t seen it properly.


    The slaver chuckled, dragging out the moment like a cat playing with its food. “Oh, honey,” she cooed mockingly, tilting her head. “I’ve never seen a ‘tecastick’ in my life, and I’ve seen a lot. Around these parts, we only take Sol Drakes.” She held up a shimmering blue coin embedded with the glowing silhouette of a serpent-like dragon. The coin flickered faintly, as though the creature within it were alive, shifting just beneath the surface.


    Kite’s eyes narrowed, his green irises flaring brighter, reflecting the glow of the caged creatures behind her. His fists clenched, veins bulging slightly along his forearms and temples. The air around him subtly shifted, charged with tension.


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    “Then maybe I should just take them by force!” Kite snarled.


    For a moment, there was silence. Then, the slaver cackled. The sound was low, electric, and darkly amused. “Ohhh, now that’s adorable.” She raised her crackling hands, violet lightning snapping between her fingertips as she smirked down at him. “You’re either incredibly brave… or incredibly stupid!” The woman cackled, her eerie tone drenched in malice.


    Before Kite could so much as twitch, Bastion was suddenly between them. “Enough.” Bastion’s voice was sharp, a quiet but firm command. He shot Kite a glare, shoving a hand against his chest to push him back. “Leave it.”


    Kite’s jaw clenched, his shoulders rising with his growing irritation. “She’s literally selling living things in cages!” he argued.


    Bastion didn’t budge. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.” His voice was steady, even as his eyes warned Kite to back down.


    Kite huffed through his nose, his entire body brimming with unspent energy, but he didn’t move. The two boys stood locked in a silent standoff, neither willing to be the first to look away.


    Meanwhile, the slaver simply leaned against the counter, watching the interaction unfold with a bemused smirk. Her glowing violet eyes flickered back and forth between the two of them—appraising, calculating. Then, slowly, her cold gaze landed on Kite’s wrists.


    Her smirk faltered slightly. The bracelets.


    Her arcane senses tingled as she studied them—deep, ancient power humming beneath their surface, coiled like a slumbering beast, stirring with every rise of Kite’s frustration. They weren’t ordinary artifacts. No, they breathed. They pulsed. They were alive.


    And worse? They were sinking into him, threading through his very essence like invasive roots burrowing deep into fertile soil. With every passing second, they entwined themselves tighter, their insidious whispers growing louder, their influence seeping into the very marrow of his soul. It wasn’t just corruption—it was consumption, an unrelenting force reshaping him into something else, something… not his own.


    The slaver’s smirk returned, but this time it was more knowing, more intrigued. That boy… is going to be trouble.


    Bastion finally spoke again, his tone sharp. “I said drop it.”


    Kite exhaled sharply, but then—to Bastion’s surprise—he smirked.


    Kite rolled his shoulders, exhaling like he had just made the hardest decision of his life. “Alright, alright. We’ll do it your way,” he said, dragging out the words like they physically pained him. He turned away, hands stuffed into his pockets, shaking his head dramatically. “I mean, it’s not like I could single-handedly save them anyway...”


    Kite slowly began walking away, the soles of his shoes dragging across the floor of the ship. “Yet.” he quietly quipped, his tone dripping with determination.


    Bastion didn’t trust Kite for a second. Still, he watched cautiously as Kite walked away, hands shoved deep into his pockets.


    The tension slowly unraveled, but not before the slaver let out a low, entertained chuckle. Bastion turned to her. Immediately, her amusement faded. Her glowing eyes bore into his, dead serious.


    “That being is dangerous,” she warned, her voice low and unwavering. “It needs to be dealt with immediately.”


    Bastion exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple. “I know,” he muttered, exhausted. Then, with a slight nod, he turned and followed after Kite.


    The slaver watched them leave, her smirk returning as she tapped a long, clawed finger against the counter. “How reassuring…” she murmured to herself.


    Bastion’s footsteps were heavy with irritation as he finally caught up to Kite, who still had his hands shoved in his pockets, walking with that same infuriatingly carefree stride. His smirk hadn’t faded, like he had already moved on from their argument, which only served to make Bastion grit his teeth harder.


    With a sigh, Bastion matched his pace beside him, his coat swaying slightly with each step. He shot a glare at Kite. “What’s your problem, anyway?” he snapped, still fuming from before.


    Kite tilted his head slightly, as if the question confused him. Then, with a nonchalant smirk, he shrugged. “I don’t have a problem.” His voice was light, almost teasing. “You’re the one who was freaking out earlier.”


    Bastion narrowed his eyes, his irritation spiking further. He could tell Kite was avoiding the actual issue, and it pissed him off. He opened his mouth, ready to order this reckless idiot to leave before he caused even more trouble—but just then, a loud voice echoed across the dining hall from behind them.


    “Yo, Bastion!” Bastion froze, recognizing the girls voice instantly. He turned on instinct, Kite mirroring him with a slower, more deliberate turn of his head.


    Two kids approached. The first was a dark-skinned girl who was about fourteen. Her skin shimmered faintly, as if kissed by the very essence of the sky.


    Though, despite her appearances, this is no human, she is Zephryxian. A race of mythical storm-born people with an affinity for wind, lightning, and sky magic.


    While her short, windswept deep blue hair was streaked with silver strands that shifted like storm clouds in motion, each one moving with an almost effortless glide. Her piercing white eyes practically glowed beneath the ship’s golden lighting, like the afterimage of a lightning strike.


    In her grasp, she held a double-ended black spear, its enchanted metallic-like shaft pulsating with trapped lightning, crackling faintly with raw energy. The enchanted double-ended spear is infused with sky magic. While the weapons shaft is made of an unbreakable sky-metal, its blades humming with trapped lightning.


    The girl walked with an unshakable confidence, her movements calculated and sharp, like she was always prepared for a fight. All the while delicate dark blue feathered markings trailed along her shoulders and down her arms, remnants of her people’s celestial heritage.


    Though, her most striking feature was by far the faintly glowing tattoos that were etched across her forearms, collarbone, and legs. Symbols of the legendary Stormfang Clan, pulsating with mythical power whenever she channels her thunder magic. These markings shift in brightness depending on her emotions, flaring bright when she’s excited, angry, or immersed in the flow state.


    The girl wears a short, asymmetrical tunic made from woven sky-silk, a material that flows like fabric but resists tearing like armor. The tunic is adorned with tribal lightning patterns, stitched in golden thread that crackles with latent energy. Beneath the tunic, she wears sturdy black shorts and leg wraps reinforced with conductive metal strips, allowing her to channel her lightning abilities into her movements.


    Lastly, she wore a high-collared, sleeveless coat—stitched with protective sigils—draped over her shoulders, its edges frayed as if permanently caught in the wind. Her fingerless gloves embedded with storm-runes and ankle-high, lightning-resistant boots that help her maintain footing even in the wildest tempests.


    The fourteen year old boy beside her was equally striking but for entirely different reasons. The kid was a member of The Ironwake Faction, a legendary order of technopaths, artificers, and engineers, revered for their ability to merge powerful magic with machinery, Hidden within floating steel fortresses, the clan thrives on pushing the boundaries of innovation, often venturing into dangerous territories to harvest rare Qi Crystals.


    Qi Crystals are naturally formed from the hardened essence of life force, remnants left behind by the spirits of the departed. These ethereal gems exist in every universe, their godly energy growing more potent with each passing soul. As time marches on, they become reservoirs of unfathomable power—an irresistible lure for those who seek dominion over life and death itself.


    This relentless hunger for Qi Crystals has driven countless armies to war, leaders to madness, engineers to revolution, and sorcerers to defy the very fabric of reality. Many have gambled everything in pursuit of these celestial relics, but few have been as ruthless as Hugo Namikaze—a man whose ambitions knew no bounds.


    That is, until Henry Cooper stood in his way, preventing Hugo Namikaze’s eternal reign from ever coming to pass and saving countless lives in the process. But victory came at a steep personal price, for in stopping Hugo, Henry lost everything he once held dear. With his sacrifice, he left behind all those who mourned his loss.


    The boy, Felix “Gearheart” Voss is a wiry, energetic-looking kid, his bronze-tinted skin smudged faintly with grease and soot. His messy, windswept auburn hair stuck up in odd directions, likely from some failed experiment or wild invention. A pair of steampunk-like cybernetic goggles rested on his forehead, their lenses faintly glowing as they adjusted with tiny mechanical clicks.


    Beneath the glasses, his sharp, hazel eyes gleamed with both intelligence and mischief, framed by slightly dark circles from long nights spent tinkering. His hands are calloused from years of working with intricate machinery, and faint burn marks tell tales of trial and error.


    His arms are lined with intricate cybernetic bracelets, and at his waist, two custom-built revolvers hung in well-crafted holsters, their barrels engraved with swirling arcane runes. While around his neck hung a cybernetic necklace.


    The necklace and bracelets serving as the core of his greatest invention—the Titan Vortex Exo-Frame, a powerful steampunk mech suit that manifests when he calls out his signature phrase. Meanwhile his high-collared navy-blue jacket is lined with brass piping, always being left unbuttoned for easy movement.


    While his cuffs are reinforced with small steam vents, occasionally releasing hisses of vapor. All the while he wore a fitted, double-layered vest with an intricate gear-and-circuit motif stitched in silver thread. With Hidden pockets that lined the inside, each one filled with tiny tools and vials of liquid energy.


    On his hands he wore brown leather aviator gloves with metallic fingertips that allow him to interface with technology through touch. For pants he wore slim, reinforced dark trousers with brass knee guards and gear-driven holsters for his two custom-built revolvers. The twin arcane revolvers being named ”Gale & Tempest”, capable of firing both magically infused bullets and compressed air shots.


    Lastly, he wore Heavy-duty boots embedded with thruster nodes that help with quick bursts of speed or short aerial maneuvers. Perfect for if his mech suit were to ever fail him, though that couldn’t possibly happen.


    Every inch of Felix’s attire—from his navy-blue high-collared jacket lined with brass piping, to his leather gloves embedded with metallic fingertips—spoke of an engineer, a tinkerer, a kid who lived and breathed machines. Bastion’s brow furrowed in surprise as he spoke. “Liora? Felix?”


    His voice carried both recognition and confusion, his arms instinctively uncrossing as he took a step toward them. Beside him, Kite remained utterly silent, his unreadable expression a stark contrast to the easy familiarity between the others. His now cold green eyes flicked from Liora’s crackling spear to Felix’s steampunk contraptions, his gaze lingering on the intricate metalwork of the boy’s goggles, bracelets, and holstered guns as if examining their worth—or calculating their danger.


    Liora grinned, seemingly unfazed by Kite’s icy demeanor. She adjusted her spear against her shoulder, and the latent lightning within its blade hummed, pulsing in sync with her movement.


    “We’ve been looking all over for you,” she said with an exasperated smirk. Felix folded his arms, a cocky grin pulling at his lips, though his eyes flickered warily toward Kite before returning to Bastion.


    “Yeah, man, we thought your dad was chewing you out again.” His tone was mocking, yet laced with genuine amusement. He then snickered, nudging Liora playfully. “We were worried you…” Felix stifled a laugh, his smirk widening. “Had to Holystone the deck again!”


    Liora instantly cracked up, her laughter ringing through the dining hall like a peal of thunder, while Felix doubled over beside her, shaking with amusement. Bastion sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. But despite himself, his shoulders loosened, and for the first time since Kite’s antics, a faint smile ghosted across his face.


    “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Laugh it up, you little brats.”


    Liora eventually caught her breath, wiping a tear from the corner of her bright, storm-lit eyes before she finally turned her attention to Kite. Their gazes locked.


    A long, silent moment stretched between them—a wordless contest of dominance, one of calm certainty versus quiet, cryptic amusement. Liora’s sharp, electric gaze bore into Kite, but Kite didn’t flinch, his stare holding an eerie stillness, as if he were studying her from the inside out.


    Bastion, sensing the shift in tension, quickly stepped between them, his presence cutting the silent standoff short. “Kite’s already caused enough trouble today,” he said firmly.


    Liora arched an eyebrow, her expression shifting slightly. “Yeah? Who’s the kid?”


    Felix groaned dramatically and stepped forward, throwing an arm around her shoulders with exaggerated flair. “Oh, you know,” he drawled, jerking his thumb toward Kite, “maybe it’s the kid standing behind Bastion.”


    Liora blinked, then looked past Bastion toward the silent boy. Her face remained perfectly indifferent. “Oh.”


    Felix let out a snort, shaking his head. Then, with that same reckless confidence, he strode forward, slipping past Bastion despite his warning glare.


    Bastion turned sharply. “Felix, don’t. He’s unpredictable.”


    Felix just laughed, stopping beside Kite. “Oh, come on, lighten up, will ya? He’s just a little kid. He won’t do anything bad.” Then, tilting his head, Felix grinned down at Kite, who was staring intensely at his necklace and bracelets.


    Felix chuckled. “Right?” For a split second, Kite didn’t move.


    Then, slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet Felix’s. His smile was soft—too soft.


    “I wouldn’t hurt anyone,” he said smoothly, his voice dripping with feigned innocence. “I just want some friends, is all.”


    Bastion groaned. Liora outright laughed.


    “Oh, is that all?” she teased, her stance finally relaxing. She exhaled, her posture shifting as she dismissed her suspicions. “Guess I misjudged you, huh?”


    With that, she stepped past Bastion and gently placed a hand on Kite’s shoulder, the weight of her touch grounding yet oddly light, like the breeze before a coming storm. “You should sit with us for lunch,” she offered, her grin warm, disarming.


    Felix immediately nodded. “Yeah, I second that.”


    Bastion, however, stiffened, his arms crossing again. “No way. He probably snuck onto the ship. He’s dangerous.”


    Liora and Felix exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable for a moment. Then, in near unison, they turned their eyes downward toward Kite.


    The boy was still smiling, his hands tucked casually into his pockets, that same too-innocent expression never faltering. Liora let out a chuckle, shaking her head. “Yeah, right.”


    Then, before Bastion could stop her, she swiftly scooped Kite up, lifting him onto her shoulders as effortlessly as if he were weightless. For the first time, Kite’s composure cracked as Liora carried him away on her shoulders. His eyes widened in surprise, his head tilting slightly as if this turn of events was not one he could have predicted.


    Felix burst into laughter as he watched the pair travel into the distance. Bastion groaned loudly. “Liora—seriously?!” Bastion snapped, exasperated.


    Felix, still grinning, slung an arm around Bastion’s shoulders, nudging him forward. “Relax, man. If anything happens, we’ll handle it together—like always.”


    Bastion exhaled sharply but didn’t argue. He watched as Liora and Kite continued to walk ahead, the two kids now laughing together, their conversation already lively, while Felix jogged after them, his usual energy unshaken.


    For a moment, Bastion stood still, arms crossed, his gaze trailing after them. Then, finally, he sighed in resignation, shaking his head before a small, reluctant smile tugged at his lips.


    “Fine, fine, whatever you say, Felix.” With that, he stepped forward, following the trio into the distance, their laughter echoing through the lively dining hall.