The gangplank creaked under their weight as they boarded, the sound deep and reassuring, like the ship acknowledging them. Up close, the airship felt less like a miracle and more like a stubborn piece of craft that refused to fail.

  The deck was wide, planked in dark, weathered wood polished smooth by boots and rain. Brass fittings lined the rails, etched with old wind-runes that hummed faintly under Paola’s skin. Thick ropes ran everywhere, neatly coiled, their fibers threaded with thin veins of crystal that pulsed softly as the ship shifted against its unseen moorings.

  Above them, the sails were furled but unmistakable. Not cloth. Not quite crystal either. They were layered membranes of pale ivory and translucent blue, stretched over curved spars like wings at rest. Rain slid off them in shimmering sheets, refracting the dock lanterns into soft halos. Paola could already imagine them catching the sky itself, drinking in wind and light and something stranger besides.

  “This thing’s alive,” Yasmin muttered, eyes bright.

  “Everything worth trustin’ is,” Roric replied without looking back.

  Crew moved with practiced ease, unbothered by fog or rain. Not many of them, Paola noted. Enough. Exactly enough.

  A massive man leaned against the starboard rail near the main winch, arms crossed like he’d personally dared the ship to misbehave. He was built like a siege engine, thick neck, broad shoulders, scars mapping his forearms in pale lines. His hair was cropped short, iron-dark and flecked with grey. One eye squinted slightly, permanently unimpressed.

  “That’ll be Bram,” Roric said. “If he scowls at you, it means he likes you.”

  Bram grunted. “Means I’m watchin’ you.” His gaze slid over the group, lingering on Selene and Paola in equal measure. “Cap’n didn’t say we were haulin’ trouble.”

  “We didn’t say we weren’t,” Yasmin shot back cheerfully.

  Bram snorted, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. “Hardheaded idiots,” he muttered, already turning back to his work. He adjusted a tension line with surprising gentleness. “Watch your step. She don’t like sudden movements.”

  On the opposite side of the deck stood a man who looked like he’d stepped out of a romance novel and refused to leave. Tall, lean, dark skin kissed by sun and sky alike. His hair was long and tied back with colorful cord, a few loose strands framing a face that knew exactly how charming it was. Gold hoops glinted in his ears. His coat was open at the chest, rain be damned.

  He smiled slowly when he noticed them.

  “Ahhh,” he purred, accent thick and musical, vowels rolling like waves. “Fresh souls aboard my beloved sky-maiden. Is good luck, yes?”

  “That’s Lucien,” Roric said flatly. “Ignore him.”

  Lucien placed a hand over his heart. “Cap’n wounds me.” His eyes flicked to Paola, then Evan, then Poca. “Welcome, friends. If you need anything—directions, stories, company—I am generous.”

  Yasmin laughed outright. “Oh, I like him.”

  “Everyone does,” Bram called without turning around. “Until they don’t.”

  Near the helm, a woman with wild curls of copper-red hair bounced on her heels, clearly vibrating with barely-contained excitement. She wore a sleeveless jacket over a mess of belts and tools, goggles perched on her forehead. Her grin was manic and infectious.

  “Oh! Oh! Are these the passengers?” she blurted, already halfway toward them. “Cap’n, you didn’t say they were interesting.”

  “That’s Fira,” Roric sighed. “Do not encourage her.”

  Too late. Fira was already circling them, eyes alight. “You’ve got wings—oh, and glass ones—oh, and a tail! Is that obsidian gear? Do you fight? Do you explode? Can I watch?”

  Yasmin leaned down, nose-to-nose. “Yes.”

  Fira gasped. “We’re gonna be friends.”

  And then there was the last one.

  She was draped across a coil of rope near the aft mast like gravity was optional. Dark skin, long legs bare except for a loose wrap that barely qualified as clothing. A cropped top hung off one shoulder, exposing more skin than fabric. Her hair was long, dark, and completely unbothered by the rain. She yawned, stretched, and cracked one eye open to regard the newcomers.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “…We takin’ passengers now?” she drawled.

  “Lazy one’s Mira,” Roric said. “Best navigator I’ve ever had. Works exactly as hard as she needs to.”

  Mira waved a hand lazily. “Sky’s in a good mood. Don’t worry about it.” Her gaze drifted over the group, paused on Evan’s hooded figure, then slid away without comment. “Wake me if we hit turbulence or destiny.”

  Paola stood there, rain dripping from her hair, heart thudding with excitement. The ship creaked softly beneath her feet, sails whispering overhead, crew moving like parts of a familiar machine.

  This wasn’t just transport.

  This was a home that flew.

  And as Roric’s crew went back to their duties, the airship seemed to lean subtly into the fog, eager to leave the city behind.

  “Come on, follow me.” Roric’s voice led them into the bowels of the ship.

  Roric ducked through a low hatch and gestured for them to follow. “Careful with your heads,” he said. “She wasn’t built for giants or egos.”

  The space beneath the deck closed in fast.

  Paola stepped down the narrow ladder and immediately had to crouch. The sleeping quarters were long and low-ceilinged, the beams above dark with age and oil. Lanterns hung from hooks along the walls, their light warm but dim, swaying gently with the ship’s subtle motion. Everything smelled like damp wood, rope, and old salt, with an undercurrent of something sharper and cleaner—ozone, maybe, or whatever kept the ship aloft.

  Bunks lined both sides of the narrow corridor. Stacked three high. Simple wooden frames bolted directly into the hull, each fitted with a thin mattress, a folded blanket, and a narrow chest tucked underneath. No privacy curtains. No wasted space. The walls curved inward just enough to remind you that this was the inside of something that moved.

  Paola stared.

  “…Oh,” she said.

  Yasmin poked one of the mattresses experimentally. “I’ve slept on worse,” she said. “Usually while on fire.”

  Poca ducked in behind them, taking it in with a thoughtful hum. “It is… cozy,” she offered diplomatically.

  Selene said nothing, already assessing sightlines and exits.

  Yucca tilted her head, eyes tracking the spacing between bunks. “Efficient,” she noted. “If somewhat… intimate.”

  “That’s one word for it,” Evan muttered, carefully navigating the ladder without snagging his cloak on anything. He glanced at the bunks, then at his height. “I’m going to be sleeping like a folded chair, aren’t I?”

  Ayla crossed her arms. “Alright,” she said. “We’ll make it work.”

  Immediately, everyone started talking at once.

  “I’m not taking the top bunk,” Yasmin declared.

  “I would prefer one near ze middle,” Poca said.

  “I don’t sleep,” Selene reminded them flatly.

  “That doesn’t mean you don’t get a bed,” Paola shot back.

  “I will not be wedged between explosives and a demon,” Evan added.

  Roric watched for a few seconds, arms folded, mouth twitching like he was fighting a smile.

  “Alright,” he said loudly enough to cut through it. “That’s enough. This section here”—he tapped the wall with his knuckles—“is yours. Guest side. My crew’s quarters are fore, opposite end. You don’t cross over unless invited, and they won’t bother you unless the ship’s on fire or fallin’ apart.”

  Yasmin perked up. “Which happens how often?”

  “More than I like,” Roric replied dryly.

  He stepped back toward the ladder. “Get yourselves settled. Stow your gear. When you’re ready, come find me topside. We’ll be casting off shortly.”

  He paused, glancing back at them. “And for what it’s worth—she flies smooth. Just don’t expect luxury.”

  Then he was gone, boots thudding back up the ladder, leaving them with the lantern light, the creak of the hull, and the reality of close quarters.

  Paola exhaled slowly and smiled despite herself.

  “Well,” she said, tail flicking as she eyed the bunks. “At least we’ll be very… bonded by the end of this trip.”

  “Yeah…” Yasmin said, dragging the word out, arms crossed and lips pushed into a dramatic pout. “How am I supposed to sleep without you now?”

  Paola blinked. “Without me?”

  Yasmin pointed. “You’re usually right there. Warm. Small. Easy to steal blankets from.”

  Yucca immediately turned, expression flat but very sincere. “I would like to formally request that you stop speaking.”

  “It’s important,” Yasmin insisted. “This is a major lifestyle change.”

  “It is not,” Yucca replied. “It is a sleeping arrangement.”

  Poca stepped closer, hands folded in front of her, voice gentle but completely unapologetic. “I would also like to sleep wiz Paola.”

  The room went quiet for half a second.

  Yasmin’s head snapped around. “Hey! I said it first!”

  “You said it loudly,” Poca corrected sweetly. “Not wisely.”

  Paola felt her ears twitch. “Guys, I’m right here.”

  “And very popular, apparently,” Evan muttered as he slid his pack under a lower bunk.

  Selene picked a top bunk near the corner, already claiming territory. “This is why solitary missions are preferable.”

  “Zat is because you are allergic to joy,” Poca replied calmly.

  Selene did not deny it.

  Yucca rubbed her temples. “You are discussing this as if Paola is a communal resource.”

  “She is a treasure,” Yasmin shot back. “And I found her first.”

  “False,” Poca said lightly. “Ze universe did.”

  Paola buried her face in her hands. “I hate all of you.”

  “You love us,” Yasmin corrected.

  “I tolerate you loudly,” Paola replied.

  Evan cleared his throat. “For the record, I do not care who sleeps where as long as no one uses my ribs as a pillow again.”

  “That was one time,” Yasmin said. “And you were very stable.”

  “I am a skeleton,” he replied. “Everything is stable.”

  They started moving then, claiming bunks by instinct rather than logic. Selene took the highest, darkest one. Yucca chose a lower bunk near the wall where she could stretch her wings carefully. Evan picked a corner bunk and folded his cloak neatly before sitting.

  Poca lingered beside Paola, smiling softly. “You can choose, mon chaton.”

  Yasmin pointed dramatically. “Unfair. Emotional manipulation.”

  Paola laughed despite herself. “We’re on a ship. We’ll rotate. No one’s being abandoned.”

  Yasmin brightened instantly. “Okay, I can live with that.”

  Yucca sighed in relief. “Thank you.”

  As they settled, packs stowed and boots tucked away, the small space filled with the quiet sounds of preparation. No one slept alone out of isolation. They just chose their corners and made them theirs.

  The ship creaked gently around them.

  Two weeks. Tight quarters. Shared air.

  Paola smiled.

  This was going to be chaos.