In a quiet corner of the skyship, far removed from the laughter, chaos, and drifting embers that trailed behind Rad and Vel’s wild chase, Bastion sat slumped in a weathered leather chair. The room was dimly lit—a soft amber glow from a hanging crystal lamp cast shifting shadows across the wooden walls, flickering with the rhythm of the ship’s gentle sway.


    Dust particles danced in the light like lazy fireflies, catching on the edges of well-worn maps and old nautical charts pinned across the walls. Faint echoes of clattering footsteps and raised voices filtered in from the hallway, but here, everything felt heavier. Slower. Still.


    Bastion had one forearm draped across his tired eyes, shielding them from the flickering lamp. His other hand hung limply at his side, fingers twitching slightly—perhaps from exhaustion, or some dream still clawing at the edge of his thoughts.


    Around him, the room breathed history. The walls were lined with magical moving pictures, each one alive with flickering motion and stilled laughter trapped in looping moments.


    Most were clustered in messy frames—some crooked, some nailed directly into the wood. They glowed faintly, enchanted to shimmer with time.


    A small group of the older photos shimmered with a frostbitten blue hue—memories from the time of the Eternal Winter. In one, a younger Bastion, cheeks flushed pink with cold, stood triumphantly beside a bundled-up Felix, goggles frosted, grinning from ear to ear. Liora, in a thick, fur-lined cloak, stood between them, mid-laugh as a snowball flew past her head.


    Another photo showed the three huddled around a small fire inside the hull of a ruined ship, steam rising from mugs in their hands. Felix’s gloves were too big, Liora’s hair frizzed with static, and Bastion’s smile was quiet but real.


    Then came the newer pictures—more vibrant, warmer. No more icy hues. The skies above their heads were now painted in dawn light.


    In one frame, Bastion held a sky-serpent feather like a trophy while Liora made a face behind him, and Felix photobombed the shot with exaggerated finger guns. In another, they sat on the ship’s deck at sunset, eating together, legs dangling over the edge, the clouds beneath them glowing gold.


    But among those clustered memories were a few older, more fragile photographs. These were different. They didn’t move.


    One showed a much younger Bastion, no older than nine, with tousled hair and a smudge on his cheek, perched on the shoulder of Captain Vareth Drassos, his father. Vareth’s dark blue scales shimmered subtly even in stillness, his arm around a smiling woman—Bastion’s mother, her dark curly hair catching the sunlight, eyes full of mischief.


    Another photo—creased and worn at the edges—was of just her, laughing with her eyes closed. That one was the oldest. It was cracked down the middle. She had disappeared not long after it was taken.


    Bastion’s fingers curled slightly at his side. The voices outside grew louder.


    “I told you we should’ve chained that galley door shut—did you see what she did to the cutlery?”


    “Who is that kid anyway?”


    “No clue. But that fairy nearly took off my ear with a flying skillet.”


    “We’ve got reports of magical interference, broken rigging, and someone said the observation deck roof might be cracked—again.”


    “We’ll need to file a Class-Three Hull Violation if this keeps up…”


    “…someone better find the captain…”


    Bastion lowered his arm slightly, exhaling through his nose. His eyes, bleary and golden, blinked toward the door. Still he said nothing.


    Across the room, Liora stood with her back to the wall, silent but thrumming with energy like a storm waiting to break. She held her black double-edged spear upright at her side, the tip brushing lightly against the floor with each subtle shift of her weight.


    Her foot tapped rhythmically, an outlet for the electric tension coursing through her lean frame. The base of her spear pulsed softly with lightning, the faint white glow crawling up the shaft like veins of energy barely held in check.


    Her eyes—storm-bright and restless—flicked toward the door, then to Bastion, then back again. “I can’t believe we’re just waiting here,” she finally muttered, the irritation bubbling just beneath her voice.


    Bastion didn’t answer. Outside, another shout echoed. “She turned the laundry cart into a projectile! I nearly lost an eye to a flying boot!” Liora sighed, the sound sharp.


    The room crackled faintly around her. Bastion finally shifted, dragging a hand down his face. Bastion’s gaze drifted to a photo near his bed. One where Liora was laughing and Felix was mid-backflip. He stared at it for a long time.


    His voice, when it came, was low. Hoarse. Tired.


    Bastion’s weary eyes lifted from the faded photograph as he shifted in his creaking chair. The muted glow of the lantern cast long, wavering shadows across the cramped cabin, where memories danced in enchanted frames along the walls.


    Bastion sat motionless for a moment longer, the low hum of the skyship vibrating beneath the floorboards, the dim golden light of the cabin washing over the room like the final hour of a sunset.


    He cleared his throat, the sound rough from disuse, and asked quietly, “Liora… what did you see last night?” Liora didn’t answer right away.


    Her foot stopped tapping. The soft hum of the spear in her hand dulled to a faint throb as the storm in her eyes dimmed for just a moment. Her jaw clenched slightly. She glanced toward the floor—then back to Bastion.


    “…In the workshop,” she began, her voice steady but low, “I saw Kite.” That name made Bastion finally lift his head.


    Liora’s expression darkened. She pushed off the wall with her shoulder and stepped forward, her grip tightening around the spear’s shaft.


    “He waited till Felix was fast asleep and… stole the workshop key from him. I watched him fiddle with it like it was some kind of secret treasure.” Her voice trembled slightly with a mix of irritation and apprehension.


    Bastion’s frown deepened. “I didn’t stop him,” Liora admitted, her tone clipped, frustrated. “I stalked him instead from the shadows. I thought maybe he was just poking around. But he wasn’t.” She narrowed her eyes. “He had a plan.”


    Bastion’s jaw tightened further as he absorbed her words. “And…?” he prompted.


    A faint, bitter smile ghosted across Liora’s lips. “He wasn’t done, either. The two of them—Kite and Felix—they’d been tinkering together. Not exactly on something ordinary, mind you. They built some kind of weird dog machine. It clattered and whirred like it had a mind of its own.”


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Bastion sighed, a heavy, knowing sound that spoke of long-held frustrations. “Felix is too naive and trusting for his own good,” he murmured, the weight of disappointment heavy in his voice.


    Liora scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh, absolutely. Felix is only smart when it comes to technology—and that’s it. He’s as dumb as a quargling dribble!” She spat the name out with disdain, the sound echoing in the dim room as if it carried a hidden truth.


    Bastion exhaled sharply through his nose, a half-smirk breaking through his gloom. Yet as he did, Liora’s expression shifted once more.


    Her eyes darkened with a seriousness that silenced even the low hum of the magical pictures around them. “I also watched Kite,” she said, her voice dropping to an almost conspiratorial whisper, “talking to himself after Felix had fallen asleep. He had a full-on conversation with people who weren’t even there.”


    Bastion’s eyes widened slightly. “You mean… he was speaking to… phantoms?” he asked, his tone laced with disbelief.


    Liora’s gaze hardened as she nodded, and her voice grew tense. “I think that kid is either completely mad or—far more dangerous than he lets on.


    Bastion’s stomach tightened. The dim cabin suddenly felt smaller. Colder.


    Liora pushed herself off the wall, pacing the small space with restless energy. “When I first saw that boy in the dining hall… when had we first locked eyes… I thought I’d seen a scared little boy. Fragile. Lost.”


    She shook her head. “But that’s not what I really saw.”


    Bastion raised an eyebrow, slowly. “…What did you see?”


    Liora turned to face him fully, her gaze intense. The room crackled faintly around her once more as the storm in her soul stirred.


    “I’ve spent my whole life hunting,” she said. “In the peaks. In the wilds. I’ve killed prey—lots of it. Prey that always had the same look in its eyes. That empty, helpless stare. Like it knows it can’t fight back.”


    She stepped forward, slow and deliberate, her storm-marked arms tense. “But when I looked into his eyes…”


    She stopped just short of Bastion’s chair. Her eyes burning with a cold fire as the air grew heavy.


    “…I saw a predator.” Her voice was quiet, but it struck like lightning. “Not a scared kid. Not prey. I saw someone studying me. Watching. Calculating. Like I was his target.”


    A heavy silence fell over the room, as if the very air had thickened with the weight of her revelation. Bastion lowered his gaze, clasping his calloused hands together in deep thought. The distant, ghostly echo of that robed woman’s words—“That being is dangerous, it needs to be dealt with immediately.”—seemed to reverberate around them, stirring the shadows and memories in equal measure.


    The moving pictures on the walls flickered softly, scenes of laughter and firelight and snowfall dancing silently behind them. The storm outside the cabin door raged on, but inside—a deeper storm had begun to form.


    And Bastion could feel it in his bones. Kite was not who he seemed. And the question that now sat between them—unspoken, but real—was what exactly he truly was.


    In that silence, amidst the flickering images of past winters and sunlit days, both Bastion and Liora began to understand that the calm before the storm was nearing its end—and that the danger Kite represented was more than just a childish mischief. It was a harbinger of a reckoning that neither of them could afford to ignore.


    Bastion slowly lifted his gaze—not toward Liora, but to the far wall of his cabin. His eyes settled on a still, cracked photograph.


    One of the few that didn’t shimmer with motion. The image was faded with time, the edges browned, but the memory it held burned clear in his mind.


    In the photo, a much younger Bastion sat proudly on his father’s shoulder, his cheeks streaked with soot and snow, one hand clenched around the hilt of a wooden toy sword. Captain Drassos—stalwart and regal—had one clawed hand on Bastion’s leg to steady him, the other raised in a mock salute.


    Behind them, the backdrop of the ship’s early days shimmered with hints of motionless sails and smoke. Bastion’s younger self wasn’t smiling.


    His eyes were wide, but not innocent. There was something older in them. Worn. Watching. Guarded.


    He remembered the whispers. Crew members who looked at him not with affection—but worry. Superstition. Like he was something wild, something dangerous wrapped in the skin of a child.


    “…People used to say I had eyes like that,” Bastion muttered, his voice dry and rough, like gravel under boot. Liora glanced at him sideways, her expression unreadable, but wary of the turn.


    “Like I was always watching. Waiting. Dangerous.” He exhaled through his nose, the breath long and tired.


    “Maybe they were right. Maybe…” He rubbed his hands together absently, the sound papery and hollow, like dead leaves in wind. “That’s what the world makes you when you lose too much too young.”


    His gaze remained distant, haunted by a different time. “So if Kite’s got that look…” he said, quieter now, “…maybe the question isn’t why. Maybe it’s what happens next.”


    Liora’s brow furrowed slightly as Bastion stood from his chair, his silhouette cast tall against the flickering light of the cabin. “I know his goal,” Bastion said. “Freeing the captives. He’s been planning it ever since he laid eyes on them.”


    Bastion began to move, tension rippling beneath his shoulders. “We just have to catch him before he can act.”


    Liora leaned her spear against her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “And how do you plan to do that?”


    “I’ll report it to my father,” Bastion replied, voice firm. “Let Captain Drassos deal with this.”


    But Liora scoffed, unable to hold it in. “Oh, you mean the same Captain Drassos who’s currently passed out and snoring on a pile of anchor chains?”


    Bastion blinked, caught off-guard. “What? That’s not possible. My dad only drinks on special occasions.”


    Liora shrugged one shoulder, unconcerned. “Wasn’t my observation. It was Marrow’s. Said your dad was found sleeping with fairies earlier.”


    She chuckled softly to herself, clearly amused. Bastion’s expression darkened.


    His fists clenched. “…Of course he did,” he muttered bitterly, eyes narrowing.


    The thought of his father—the man who had claimed he still clung to the memory of Bastion’s mother, who had sworn he still searched for her—entwined in drunken revelry with fluttering strangers made his stomach twist.


    Liora watched the anger simmer just beneath his calm. Then, with a flourish, she twirled her spear, its tips sparking faintly with lightning. “Well,” she said, “until your dad sobers up from his cuddle party, I guess we handle this ourselves.”


    Bastion sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Great. He gets drunk, and I get to clean up after him.” His voice was bitter. “Thanks, Dad.”


    He stepped forward, running a hand down his jacket and setting his jaw. “Then we’ll imprison Kite. Keep him locked up until the captain’s ready to deal with it.”


    But Liora didn’t move as she blocked his path. “No,” she said simply.


    Bastion turned, frowning. “Why not?”


    She met his gaze without blinking. “Because from what I’ve seen? He’s too smart. Too unpredictable. You lock him up… he’ll escape. He’ll adapt.”


    She stepped closer, lightning pulsing softly from her spear. “I’m not taking that risk.” Her voice lowered, steady and deadly. “I’ll kill him.”


    Bastion froze. His face shifted—confusion, disbelief, then cold resistance. “Kill him?”


    He stepped forward, now inches from her, his brow furrowing. His posture stiffening. “He’s a kid, Liora. He’s just in over his head.”


    Liora laughed. Sharp. Icy.


    “At his age?” she said. “I’d already killed a dozen men.”


    She stepped sideways, slowly pacing a tight circle around him, spear dragging lightly against the floor. “He talks like prey. Acts like prey. But he isn’t prey.”


    She pointed the spear at Bastion’s chest, her stormy eyes narrow and electric. “As long as Kite lives… this ship is in danger. So is its crew. So is Felix.”


    Bastion’s face hardened. He didn’t flinch at the spear point, but his shoulders squared, his stance rooted.


    Bastion’s face hardened. He didn’t flinch at the spear point, but his shoulders squared, his stance rooted.


    “Not everyone’s born a warrior like you,” he said. “Some of us get to grow up without blood on our hands.”


    Liora scoffed and raised an eyebrow. “So what—you’re getting cold feet now?”


    Bastion’s voice dropped. “No,” he said flatly. “I’m just not so eager to kill children.”


    A silence settled between them. Heavy.


    Neither looked away. Neither blinked.


    Liora’s spear remained still for a breath longer—then slowly, she lowered it. The storm in her eyes softened, but it did not vanish.


    “You’re softer than you look,” she muttered. “Fine. Then I’ll give him a chance.”


    Bastion’s brow lifted. “I’ll test him,” Liora said, stepping back, her voice firm with resolve. “If he proves to me by day’s end that he’s not a threat—if he’s just some scared, clever boy—then I’ll let him live. I’ll let the captain decide his fate.”


    She turned back to the door, lightning crackling softly behind her. “But if I’m right… and he really is what I saw…”


    She looked over her shoulder at Bastion, eyes hard as flint. “…then I’ll kill him before he even realizes it’s happening.”


    The air between them pulsed—charged and still. And Bastion knew, as he looked into her cold eyes, that she meant every word.


    Bastion watched her leave, the last sparks of her lightning casting shadows on the still, cracked photo beside him. He didn’t follow.


    Not yet at least.