Fly to the Light

The airship sailed endlessly through a sea of clouds, its massive form a floating city gleaming in the sunlight that never penetrated to the lower decks. On the high decks, the golden air shimmered with warmth and luxury. Loren stood on his balcony, overlooking the expanse of the upper decks, where marble and polished brass gleamed in the sun. The scent of fresh cultivated greens from a lower deck wafted on the breeze, mingling with the tang of salt from the sea somewhere below the clouds.

Loren's sharp gaze swept over the deck, lingering briefly on a group of upper children playing with a mechanical bird which flapped its wings and tweeted. Their laughter rose like a melody, and his lips curled in a smile that never reached his eyes.

"All is well, Captain," a guard reported, standing rigid at attention. The guard's voice cut through the ambient hum of the ship's engines, a constant backdrop to life aboard the airship.

Loren nodded, his fingers absently tracing the ornate railing. “Good,” he replied. “Ensure it remains so. The lowers must be kept in their place. Ironic that ages ago they flew above us, and now they toil forever below us”

In the lower decks, the air was heavy with the scent of oil, metal, and sweat. The dimly lit corridors of the lower decks were a maze of pipes, steam vents, and shadowy alcoves. Here, the airship’s heartbeat was all encompassing, a rhythmic thrum that pulsed through the metal walls and floor, echoing in the bones of those who lived there. The lowers moved like shadows, their useless wings bound tightly to their backs, navigating the narrow passages with a practiced ease.

Vantio’s voice was a soft murmur, barely rising above the clanging of machinery. She sat cross-legged on a grate, surrounded by a circle of children whose eyes glowed with curiosity. “There was a time,” she whispered, her voice rough as the worn leather of her bindings, “when our wings spread wide, and we soared through the clouds. We touched the stars, and the earth was beneath us, a vast and green land.”

Ayril knelt close, his heart beating in time with the ship’s engines. Vantio’s tales were forbidden, dangerous, but they sang to something deep within him, a longing he could not name. He could almost feel the air under his wings, the freedom that her words conjured.

“Do you truly believe, Vantio?” Ayril asked, his voice barely more than a breath. The smell of grease and metal filled his nose, a sharp contrast to the sweet promise of her words.

Her eyes, dark and wise, met his. “I know, ages ago before the Great Burning it was so” she said simply. “The sky calls to us still, Ayril. You’ve felt it, haven’t you?”

Ayril nodded, his hand drifting unconsciously to the bindings on his back. In a hidden alcove far below the decks, where the shadows were thickest, he had felt it. There, in a hidden space , he had spread his wings to exercise them, had felt the pull and push of muscles long unused, the whisper of air through feathers. The other littles had found him there, and had demanded to practice as well. His wings ached to fly, to lift him from the darkness into the light.

A sudden shout shattered his thoughts. Mace, the guard, loomed at the entrance to their makeshift sanctuary. His bulk filled the doorway, his eyes alight with fury. “What’s this?” he barked, striding forward. “What nonsense are you filling their heads with, old crow?”

The children scattered like pebbles, but Vantio remained still, her gaze unflinching. “The truth,” she said softly. “Something you fear, but cannot escape forever.”

Mace’s hand struck out, a blur of motion. The sound of knuckles smashing flesh was loud in the confined space. Vantio crumpled to the ground, her breath a ragged whisper.

“You’ll pay for your lies,” Mace spat, his voice low and venomous. He turned on his heel, his boots clanging on the metal floor as he stalked away.

Ayril rushed to Vantio’s side, his heart pounding in his chest. He could taste copper on his tongue, the sharp tang of fear. “Vantio,” he breathed, lifting her gently. Blood smeared his hands, red soaked her white hair.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled, a fragile curve of lips. “It’s time, Ayril,” she whispered, her voice fading. “For me, for you, for us all.” Her hand fell away, lifeless, and Ayril’s world narrowed to the ache in his chest.

Grief turned to resolve, hard as the steel deck beneath his feet. Ayril stood, the air thick with the scent of smoke and sorrow. He turned to the children, their faces pale and fearful. “Vantio is gone,” he said, his voice trembling but determined. “We can’t stay here. We have to go… now.”

The children looked at him with wide eyes, doubt flickering in their gaze. “But how?” one of them asked, voice quivering. “We can’t fly. Our kind haven’t been able to ages”

Ayril’s hand traced his bindings, his fingers tracing the rough leather. “We can,” he said, more to himself than to them. “We must.” He pulled a small blade from his belt, the edge glinting in the dim light. He cut his bindings, the leather falling away like the chains of a prisoner.

His wings unfurled, feathers ruffled, tentative. He moved them experimentally, muscles awakening, instinctive memories of flight stirring in his veins. But as he prepared to flee, Mace’s voice boomed through the corridors, harsh and commanding. “Stop them!” he roared, his footsteps echoing. “They can’t escape!”

Panic surged, but Ayril’s resolve held. He ran, his wings half-extended, guiding the children through the maze of the lower decks. The metal walls blurred around him, the air thick with the heat of the engines. The smell of burnt oil and sweat filled his lungs, but he pushed on.

They burst onto the upper deck, the sunlight blinding after the gloom of below. The wind whipped at his wings, a harsh reminder of the world beyond. Ayril glanced back, seeing Mace charging toward them, rage twisting his features.

The edge of the ship loomed ahead, the sky a vast expanse of blue. Ayril’s heart pounded, his breath coming in short gasps. The air hummed with the weight of a decision that could not be undone.

Mace reached out, his hand closing on empty air as Ayril leaped. His wings caught the wind, the air rushing past him in a roaring embrace. For a heartbeat, there was only the sensation of falling, then his wings snapped open.

***

Loren was in his cabin, and the smell of roasted seagull filled the room, the aroma mingling with the scent of fresh greens. As he lifted his fork, something large passed by the porthole, a shadow against the sun. Loren froze, his breath caught in his throat. Just a large bird, he thought. He hoped they’d catch it for breakfast tomorrow. But the winds of change were driving the sails that night.