Chapter 1 “A Sea of Clouds”

  Sixteen years later

  Past the furthest city to the south of the contested lands, about ten days journey by horse or three days by airship lay the town of Humvalt. It was both a frontier town and a port of sorts. It sat on the edge of the known world, while some towns sat near seas of water, Humvalt sat at the edge of a clifface that descended below a solid sea of clouds.

  Airships sailed above, casting nets or hunting some of the local fauna of the air. But none dared go below. Some legends claimed, though rather dubiously that the Empire’s true final stand was not at the mythical fortress of Mevtagar but rather beneath the clouds. Some even more doubtful legends suggested all one had to do was brave the unknown below and they would be awarded with untold riches.

  Those following such legends would always end up the same way. Either they were never seen again, or their corpses were sometimes spat back out by whatever lay beneath.

  Cesar sat silently on the nearby mountain, watching the ships come and go from his hometown. He enjoyed watching them, sometime imagining himself commanding one and sailing from port to port all around the old Empire.

  His uncle often told him of the days the Empire’s many creations roamed the earth.

  “Cesar you could walk for days along some of the land striders, some entire ecosystems clung to the backs of those massive titans.” His Uncle would say with a strange awed look.

  Cesar shook his head, getting back to the task at hand.

  He crouched low to the snow-dusted ground, inspecting the wire snare he’d left the night before. Empty. Again.

  He let out a quiet breath, watching it curl in the cold air like smoke. That was the third trap in a row. Something had been moving through here—he’d seen the scat, the bent grass, the faint prints near the rocks—but it was smart. Or scared.

  He rose and pulled his cloak tighter, glancing down the mountain toward the town. Humvalt shimmered faintly in the mid-morning haze, steam from the airship docks rising like fingers toward the sky.

  He should’ve brought a pulse lure. Or asked Uncle for a fragment—just a small one—to juice the traps. But no. The old man had made him promise: “You want to catch something, do it with your wits, not a rune. That’s how I learned, and you’ll be better for it.”

  Still, he reset the snare and moved on. The wind was picking up. Perhaps a storm was brewing.

  Glancing back towards the Cloud Sea he spotted a far-off ship cast its nets, barely a speck against the white. Suddenly something caught his eye.

  Cesar saw a small white deer peek its head out, its antlers shining with long crystalline webs that hung low.

  A Crystal Horned Buck was a goldmine of a find for any hunter.

  For Cesar, this was a possible fortune.

  It ducked its head back into the brush, making a rustling sound as it easily disappeared.

  Cesar slowly followed, finding the small tunnel through a particularly thick set of bushes. He crept through, his rifle at the ready, before it suddenly opened up.

  The thickets here were a strange maze of small narrow paths from animal traffic and thick, nearly impassable overgrown brush.

  Cesar winced as his hand snagged on a thorn. He recoiled, silently looking down at the now small red cut.

  He spotted the deer again, raised his rifle and took aim, but a small trickle of blue light caught his eye.

  Beside him, hidden among the brush, was a small pinpoint of blue light.

  The snap of a twig made him turn back toward the deer and he uttered a silent curse to the Gods. The deer was gone, probably finally saw him.

  He sighed and looked back to the light that had distracted him. Pulling aside the long vines and overhanging brush, Cesar’s breath caught.

  Behind the curtain of leaves stood a large metallic form. It looked like a man, seated on the ground. Its torso was taller than he was. A small stone-shaped indent marked its head. Its chest was stamped with a seal, mostly hidden beneath mud.

  A single, faintly glowing blue rune shimmered on its upper chest.

  Was it Imperial?

  He reached out and touched the rune. He winced, his hand still stinging from the cut when suddenly, the thing lurched with a loud groan.

  Cesar yelped, leaping back and aiming his rifle at it.

  The rune briefly flared, then sputtered in a puff of smoke.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  The blue light died completely.

  “What the…” Cesar breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped closer.

  “Must have still had some power in it,” he muttered, poking the cold armor again.

  He had returned to his ship watching spot when something made him stop. He looked around, confused. Why was he suddenly on edge?

  A sharp crack echoed through the trees. Not wood snapping. Not snow falling.

  Movement.

  Cesar froze. Slowly, he turned toward the treeline.

  It stepped into view—low and lean, moving with a predatory grace. At first he thought it was just a ridge cat, maybe drawn to the scent of his snares or hunting a young deer. But this one was wrong.

  Too thin. Too fast. Its coat was patchy, the skin beneath veined with something that shimmered faintly blue. One eye had melted into a blackened pit, and from its mouth leaked a thick, tar-like drool that steamed where it hit the snow.

  It didn’t growl. It hissed—long and rattling—and crouched. Cesar calmly turned to face the creature and brought his rifle to bare. He tensed as a second cat crept into view.

  Cesar lifted his rifle—a clunky bolt-action relic with a cracked stock. He aimed, heart hammering. The beast pounced.

  He pulled the trigger. His rifle let off a loud crack as it fire a single shot, the first cat dropped dead. He aimed for the second which had not even reacted to its companions death.

  Click.

  Nothing.

  The cat landed just short of him, claws swiping air as he dove behind a jagged rock. The snow exploded around him. He hit the ground hard, barely managing to lift the rifle up and the cat jumped again, landing on top and trying to swipe past the rifle.

  A piece of drool dripped past and burnt Cesar’s cheek as it began to gnaw on the rifle, a soft sizzling sound accompanying it.

  A blast rang out—sharp, electric.

  The creature shrieked and spun, half its side blown open. A second shot followed, and it dropped in a heap, twitching.

  Steam hissed through the quiet.

  Cesar blinked. His uncle stood up on the ridge, lowering a battered Imperial mag-rifle, smoke curling from the barrel.

  “Damn thing must have the rot,” he muttered as he stepped down the slope. “You all right?”

  Cesar sat up, snow caked in his sleeves, fingers still on the bolt of his rifle. “I—yeah. I’m fine.”

  His uncle gave him a long look—checking, counting. Only when he saw no blood did he relax.

  “You’re lucky.” He simply said, his face a perfect mask of neutrality.

  Cesar looked away, he could feel the disappointment even if his Uncle never showed it.

  It took them an hour to reach the lowest trail and another hour to follow it to their cabin. It was an old but

  The wind howled outside, rattling the shutters. Inside, the fire snapped and hissed in the hearth, casting golden light over shelves packed with tools, maps, and old books with crumbling spines.

  Cesar sat on a bench near the fire, still picking at the burnt tear on his cheek. His uncle handed him a mug of spiced tea and sat across from him, the battered mag-rifle leaned against the wall between them.

  Neither of them spoke for a while.

  Cesar’s Uncle, a man no older than forty looked nearly twice that. His face had prominent crows feet from the scowl he usually had, and the other lines on his face were pronounced. Cesar wondered sometimes if each line was more akin to a scar than any actual aging. A manifestation of some unknown experience.

  The warmth slowly returned to Cesar’s limbs. His eyes drifted to the rifle. “That thing always fire that clean?”

  His uncle grunted. “When you take care of it.”

  Cesar gave a soft, sheepish laugh. “You gonna lecture me again?”

  “No.” The man leaned back with a sigh. “You know what I would say anyway.”

  Cesar didn’t answer. He just took a sip of the tea. It was strong. Bitter. Burned a little on the way down.

  The silence stretched a little longer.

  “Hey,” his uncle said, quieter now. “You did good. You kept your head. That’s what keeps you alive out here.”

  “Didn’t feel like I did good.”

  “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?” He said simply as he ran a hand across his rifle.

  His Uncle inspected it for a long time, his hands gently running over it. Cesar noticed he did the same with most of the old Imperial equipment he used.

  “She asked about you.”

  Cesar blinked before looking away, feigning disinterest. “Who?”

  His uncle smirked. “Come on. Girl with the ink on her hands. Works the tannery.”

  “Anya?” Cesar asked, failing to keep his eyes was quickly widening.

  “Yeah. She stopped by while you were up on the ridge. Wanted to know if you were gonna be at festival. Said she was saving a seat.”

  Cesar tried not to smile. Failed.

  “I told her you were probably too busy falling off cliffs.” His Uncle said an amused look.

  “Can I go tomorrow?” Cesar asked, trying and failing to keep the excitement out of his voice.

  “After you do the job you agreed to,” his Uncle reminded him with a genuine smile, “remember to get payment from the priest.”

  Nodding his head Cesar quickly finished his tea before walking into the kitchen. He grabbed a small piece of thin bread and ate the small meal before heading into his room. His room was simple, a bed, a small shelf with some old books, one chest for personal items and finally a workbench.

  He placed his rifle down on the workbench and quickly got to work. He lit the lantern above it and pulled out a small toolbox.

  The light glinted off the scuffed barrel and cracked stock as he carefully opened the chamber and slid out the bolt. The mechanism rasped faintly, the metal dry and faintly gritty. Cesar frowned.

  “You jam on me again,” he muttered, “and next time I might pay.”

  He laid out the pieces with a practiced rhythm, lining them up in order like he’d been taught. Each part got its own small cloth, each wiped down with oil he warmed between his fingers. The rifle was old, older than him by decades. He often wondered what action it had seen beyond the boundries of Humvalt.

  Once everything was clean, he reassembled the rifle piece by piece, checking the slide and weight with every part fitted back into place. Satisfied, he sat back and exhaled, stretching his arms overhead. His eyes wandered to the three empty rune slots on the stock.

  One day he would get one, maybe two if he was rich.

  It was late now. He should head to bed, but his routine was not done yet. He cleaned off his hands and grabbed a blue book from the shelf. He had promised the town priest he would at least do some reading before coming in tomorrow to assist them in their rodent issues.

  He felt his eyes begin to weigh more and more and he opened the book.

  He had the energy to read a single line before turning in to bed. It was a supposed ancient account, before the Empire, before the Dominion and even before Gods roamed and nations bowed to them directly.

  This account in particular was about a group, lost, hungry and scared. Who found one of the first Gods. The Flame.

  A great cry of joy sounded as the Flame lit in the hearts of all who listened. The Flame burns brighter in those led by courage and faith.

  Cesar closed his eye, feeling a strange feeling of peace as he drifted off to sleep.