Roric had been the one to break the spell.

  “All docks are full,” he said from the helm, one hand steady on the wheel as the ship adjusted its angle. “Festival cycle or council session, I’d wager. Helios packs tight when it’s important.” He jerked his chin toward the city. “We can circle and request clearance. Might take hours. Or we can set down in the river port and walk it in.”

  Paola didn’t particularly mind either way. Floating above a city like this felt almost respectful, like waiting to be invited inside.

  Yasmin did not share that restraint.

  “Absolutely not,” she said, already moving toward the railing. “I did not cross half a continent, fight sky pirates, and sit through three Evan lectures about metaphysical digestion to hover.”

  “That was one lecture,” Evan protested faintly.

  “Too many,” Yasmin shot back. She leaned over the edge, wings twitching with barely contained energy. “Take us down. I want to feel it.”

  Paola smiled despite herself and stepped closer to the railing, peering over as the ship began its gradual descent.

  Helios unfolded beneath them.

  From above, the city looked less like something built and more like something grown with intention. Terraces stepped down the basin walls in wide, graceful arcs, each layer threaded with greenery that glowed softly where light touched it. Obsidian stone formed the bones of the structures, dark and smooth, but it was veined with jade and crystal that caught the sun and bent it into living color. Nothing shone directly. Light fractured, scattered, softened.

  The jungle didn’t stop at the city’s edge.

  It wove into it.

  Towering trees with crystal-threaded bark rose between buildings, their canopies trimmed just enough to let light filter through in luminous sheets. Translucent vines draped over balconies and bridges, glowing faintly blue and gold as if remembering sunlight long after it passed. Flowers bloomed in places that made no architectural sense—on ledges, along stair rails, in the cracks of old stone—petals opening as the ship’s shadow slid over them.

  Below, the river cut through the city like a slow, deliberate vein.

  Wide and deep, its surface mirrored the sky and the refracted glow of Helios above it, turning the water into something unreal. Not blue. Not green. A layered shimmer that shifted with every ripple. Stone embankments lined the river, carved with patterns that felt older than the city itself, moss glowing faintly where water kissed the edges.

  Paola felt her breath catch.

  “Oh,” she murmured, ears flicking as the air changed around them. Warmer. Thicker. Alive.

  The ship angled lower, sails adjusting with soft snaps and groans, and suddenly Helios wasn’t distant anymore. She could hear it. The muted sound of water against stone. Voices, faint but present. The hum of a city that didn’t roar, but breathed.

  People moved along the riverbanks below, small from this height but unmistakably real. Robes and practical clothes in deep greens, golds, and obsidian blacks. No panic at the sight of the descending airship. A few glances upward. Curiosity. Interest. Nothing more.

  Helios did not fear visitors.

  Paola rested her hands on the railing, feeling the subtle vibration of the ship as it prepared to land on the water. The river rose to meet them, mist curling where warm air met cool current. Light refracted through it all, wrapping the ship in a quiet, prismatic haze.

  For a moment, it felt like entering a dream someone else had already finished dreaming.

  “This place is unreal,” Yasmin breathed, all earlier impatience gone, wings spread slightly as if she might tip forward and dive.

  Paola nodded slowly, a strange, reverent calm settling in her chest.

  Helios didn’t shine.

  It welcomed.

  And as the ship lowered toward the river, slipping gently into the living heart of the city, Paola had the distinct, unsettling sense that Helios was aware of them now.

  Watching? No. Considering.

  The river port was already awake when the ship slid in.

  Wide stone platforms curved along the water’s edge, rising and falling with the basin’s natural shape instead of forcing it flat. Dock pylons of dark obsidian jutted from the river like steady teeth, each etched with thin lines of crystal that pulsed softly as ships passed between them. The water lapped gently against the stone, carrying reflections of sails, vines, and refracted light that never quite settled into one color.

  It was busy. Not frantic, but alive.

  Airships of every size crowded the docks, their hulls hovering just above the water or resting lightly against reinforced platforms. Crew shouted short commands. Cargo nets lowered crates wrapped in woven glitter like almost crystal-thread cloth. Porters moved with practiced ease, navigating around one another without collision. River barges slipped between the larger vessels, their pilots standing at the prow, poles dipping into the shimmering water.

  The city rose immediately behind it all.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Terraces stacked upward from the port, stairways and ramps flowing naturally into streets lined with greenery and stone. Vines curled around railings and archways, glowing faintly where hands brushed them. The air smelled damp and green, layered with spice, warm stone, and river mist. Voices echoed softly, never harsh, as if Helios absorbed sound instead of throwing it back.

  The Wandering Star eased into an open berth with barely a tremor. Roric guided her in like he’d done it a hundred times before, sails folding, rigging settling with a contented sigh.

  Planks extended. Lines were thrown and caught.

  Paola stepped down onto the dock with the others, bare feet meeting cool stone slick with river spray. The surface wasn’t rough. Smooth glass pebbles had been set into the stone, crunching faintly underfoot, grounding her in the moment.

  She stayed close, instinctively falling into place behind Ayla and Yucca. Yasmin matched her pace, shoulder to shoulder, eyes everywhere, wings tucked tight but twitching with interest. Evan and Poca followed a step behind, Evan trying very hard not to look overwhelmed, Poca quietly taking everything in with soft, attentive eyes.

  They hadn’t made it ten steps before someone approached.

  The man wore practical dock leathers, reinforced boots, and a sash marked with the port sigil. His hair was pulled back neatly, expression alert but unalarmed. He glanced over the group once, efficiently, then nodded toward Roric.

  “Captain,” he said. “Staying long?”

  Roric stepped down off the ship, boots thudding solidly against the dock. “Overnight only. Dropping them off. I’ll be gone by dawn.” He jerked his thumb toward the crew. “Be back in a couple weeks, assuming they don’t set the city on fire.”

  Yasmin opened her mouth.

  Yucca cleared her throat.

  Roric grinned and leaned closer to Paola as he passed. “No promises,” he muttered.

  The dockhand snorted softly and pulled out a slate, jotting quick notes. “Understood. Temporary berth logged.”

  He turned then to Yucca and Ayla, posture shifting just slightly. More formal.

  “Names?” he asked.

  Yucca answered smoothly, already prepared. “Yucca Ivetta. This is my sister, Yasmin.”

  The man’s brow lifted a fraction. “The Ivetta sisters?”

  Yucca inclined her head. “We’re here on assignment.”

  Recognition flickered across his face. He nodded once, sharp and respectful. “Right. We were told to expect you.” He glanced past them, briefly, taking in the rest of the group without comment. “Escort’s already been notified. They’ll bring you up to the capital district.”

  Paola’s ears flicked.

  She exhaled slowly through her nose.

  Of course they were expected.

  Royalty. Councils. Strings already pulled before her feet even touched the city.

  Her stomach tightened in a way she didn’t love. After Lady Marcelline, after seeing how invisible hands shaped outcomes long before anyone called it destiny, the idea of walking straight into another prepared reception made her skin itch.

  She hadn’t thought too hard about it until now, if she was honest.

  She was here for Yucca. For Yasmin. That had been enough.

  Still… Helios was something else.

  Paola drew her cloak closed more firmly around herself, fingers curling into the fabric. Nakedness had become normal on the road. Here, it felt premature. She wasn’t ready to offer herself up to this city just yet.

  She followed as the dockhand gestured them toward a nearby structure built into the port itself. An office, maybe. Open stone walls threaded with vines, crystal light spilling through angled panels overhead.

  Ayla and Yucca led the way, already shifting into purpose.

  Paola walked behind them, Yasmin at her side, the river murmuring softly at their backs as Helios closed in around them—not rushing, not pressing.

  Just making room.

  Augustus’s eye twitched.

  Just once. Sharp. Uncontrolled.

  The councilman noticed it, which was unfortunate, because it was the last warning his instincts would ever give him.

  They were tucked deep in one of the side alleys of Upper Helios, where obsidian stone met polished jade and the vines were trimmed into decorative spirals instead of left to grow wild. This part of the city didn’t expect violence. Wealth made people careless. It made patrols predictable. Sparse. A few coins in the right hands had ensured this stretch would remain empty for a couple of hours.

  Enough time.

  The councilman’s name was Theron Valcere.

  He was kneeling now, his back pressed against the smooth stone wall, palms raised in a placating gesture that felt insultingly small compared to the situation he’d found himself in. His robes were immaculate despite the alley grime, teal and gold threaded with the sigils of civic authority. His breath came too fast. His eyes kept flicking toward the alley mouth, calculating distance, timing, rescue.

  None was coming.

  “Augustus,” Theron said carefully, voice tight but controlled. “This is unnecessary.”

  Silence stretched.

  Augustus stood a few paces away, short sword loose in his hand, its edge catching fractured light as if the city itself refused to give him a clean reflection. His armor was dark, practical, unadorned. No insignia. No witnesses to impress.

  Theron swallowed and pressed on, because that was who he was. A man who believed words could still matter.

  “I never betrayed Helios,” he said. “You know that. My loyalty has always been to the city.”

  Augustus’s jaw tightened.

  Theron took that as encouragement. A mistake.

  “You are a weapon,” the councilman continued, forcing logic into the space like a shield. “A necessary one, perhaps. But leadership requires more than strength. More than fear. I said you were unfit to rule because Helios doesn’t need another tyrant with conviction. It needs balance.”

  He shifted, grimacing as his knee scraped stone. “I spoke in confidence. To prevent catastrophe. Not to undermine you.”

  Augustus stepped closer.

  “You don’t understand,” Theron said quickly now. “I agreed with your goals. Order. Stability. I simply believed—”

  The sword punched into his abdomen.

  The sound was wet. Intimate.

  Theron gasped, shock stealing the rest of his argument as blood bloomed across his robes, dark and spreading. Augustus didn’t pause. He didn’t savor it. He drove the blade in deeper, twisting, his expression distant in a way that was far worse than rage.

  “You believed,” Augustus said quietly, almost conversationally, “that I was unworthy.”

  He yanked the sword free and stabbed again.

  And again.

  Theron screamed then, hands scrabbling uselessly against Augustus’s armor, fingers slick with blood. Logic shattered. Pleas replaced it.

  “I was trying to protect Helios!” he sobbed. “You can’t lead without counsel—without dissent—”

  The blade went in his chest this time, just beneath the ribs.

  Augustus’s breathing grew ragged. His movements lost precision. Controlled strikes dissolved into something frantic, furious. He stabbed Theron’s shoulder. His side. His throat.

  The man slumped, body going slack long before Augustus stopped.

  Long before it was necessary.

  The sword rose and fell, over and over, metal biting into flesh that no longer resisted, no longer screamed. Blood splattered the alley walls, the stone, Augustus’s gauntlets. His arm trembled with the effort, not from fatigue, but from something closer to hunger.

  “Unfit,” Augustus muttered, voice breaking. “Unfit to rule.”

  He drove the blade down one last time, burying it to the ground beneath him.

  Silence rushed back in, heavy and absolute.

  Augustus stood there, chest heaving, staring down at what remained of Theron Valcere. For a long moment, he didn’t seem to recognize the body. Then his breathing slowed. His grip steadied.

  Order returned.

  He withdrew the sword carefully this time, wiping it clean on the councilman’s ruined robes with meticulous care. When he stepped back into the light, there was no madness on his face.

  Only resolve.

  Helios needed him.

  And anyone who failed to understand that—no matter how loyal they claimed to be—was simply in the way.