At the breaking of dawn, the ceremony began before a gathered crew at the waist. Save for those on duty and the Priests in their ever-sequestered dwelling, all were present. Overnight, a great pyre had been built midship on a bed of cinder and sand. As though the sky itself mourned, the wind lay dead and the flame hardly flickered.

In death, we are equal, slaves or freewomen, sailors or alares, humans or wyverns. So long as you are not an azure, for they do not die proper death. Or so some moral tales teach. But from what my brief life in this world had observed, the manners of death oft tell tales as varied as they come. Even as there exist many ways of life, there are untold ways to die. And I had seen or heard a good many of them. On land you are buried, in a field or a sepulcher, with the blessing of a monk, or lambasted by a hangman. In the air, you are thrown overboard if your ship could not afford a pyre. On the battlefield you are forever lost, forgotten along with your comrades, even as you have lived. So it seems to me a bit irresponsible, even careless to say we are equal in death. And even after the matter of burial, there’s the Scale. So nay, we are not equal, not even then.

At any rate, the truth of the beyond is not one aught have the full privy. Even the Gods that ruled still among mortals may one day truly perish and set forth to a new adventure, a perfect unknown even to the wisest sages. What comes after, we could only assume. And yet mortals do what mortals can. We prayed for the dead’s safe passage.

Each of us who had a friend among those who now lay motionless took turns coming up, and as the flame took them we spoke of their goodness and virtues, so that the living may remember, and the Scale of Justice in Anubis’ hand may tip ever so slightly to the weight of our praises.

For those without any to speak for, chief mate Justitia made a long speech of their services for the Last Dragon. And for those who fell off the sky and lay now for eternity in the Underland, we burn cloths of white in place of their remains. Chiefly of those were of the Anemone - plucked off by the great leviathan; their Ala-sisters beat their arms and hands upon their chest, solemn words of the fallen’s valour and fairness uttered. Though I wondered of what use were praises for worldly appearances, when the Gods see true worth but in the soul and deeds.

Valerian and the rest of her Ala Estival stood long before the pyre as three great cloths burned. Bitter was her speech, still she made no slight against the Mistress, unless grief and long silence could be called slight. But many of the deckhands also wept alongside them, for not few owed their lives to Primula, Valerian’s late pledge-sister, who had been a kind and gifted healer. The forecastle had ever a fondness for the couple. For my part, I never knew them much in life, for my life had not been one to be preserved in the sickbay where they had worked healing art.

Come Litzia's turn, she paid her fallen Ala-sisters only formal and solemn words, and then, privately, one small and silent farewell to Begonia. Whispered words unheard by the living, so that only the Gods and the dead should ever know. Deadly words, I feared, and shuddered.

When I stood before the pyre at last, I was conscious of my difference from the rest of my ranks and now comrades. Unlike the learned and fair Anemone, I was crude. And what I lacked I could only compensate with earnest speech. But even that was not abundant. I don’t think aught expected an azure to speak for a foreign concept to our species. There were stares and whispers, to be sure.

All the same, the last battle had left a mark on me, a change that shall never reverse. And so I felt a keen connection with those who could not prevail. In a way, something in me had died that day. Though I wondered if it was a thing to be mourned, as the wind picked up, scattering the last of smoke and floating ash, and, once again, our endless voyage resumed.

The morning passed, and three rune cannon volleys marked the ceremony’s end.

Still in their mourning cloth, the Anemone poured into the Hall of Wreaths to break our fast. ‘Twas my first day in the hall privileged for the illustrious alares. The carpet was rosie and the wall damasked. Untold number of vases and pots sprouted in full blossoms; hall it is called, but a garden I felt more apt. A sweet scent of mint filled the space between some twenty “wreaths”, each the gathering place of an ala. No big tables were placed, but instead a fitting number of chaise lounges were arranged to form a circular wreath; small tables that bore wine and food sat beside each. Knight and Wyvernesses would half sit, half lie as they dine.

At the hall’s stern were the four seasonal alae: Vernal, Estival, Autumnal, and Hiemal. Near Ala Vernal – of all the esteemed most treasured – the Lady Dawn sat with her officers at a great wreath on a raised dais. There she watched over the supper, though seldom did she herself partake in the festive.

Once I had settled down awkwardly on my couch beside Litzia’s. A maid came to inquire about our needs. All about the hall, as though pillars to the indoor pavilion, at every pair stood a uniformed maid, quiet and solemn, personally assigned and attached.

“She once served our fallen comrades,” said Gladiola, “but might you like your maid from Subsolanus?”

The question was directed at Litzia. I had never been served before, so obviously there was no point taking my opinion on that matter.

“I had been thinking about that,” she said.

Curious, as it seemed a trivial matter compared to all the grave and ponderous things the wyverness ever told through her deep eyes. And she did not seem the type to pay much heed to inconsequential affairs. But what do I know, I had never been in the position to care in the first place.

“Would it be possible to request someone outside the quarter for our service,” Litzia asked.

“That is uncommon,” Gladiola said, “but I do not think the mate would object to it. Do you have an acquaintance in mind?”

“Rather, someone my pledge-sister and I both know well. I do think it would comfort her with this person around.”

“You didn’t mean…” I looked at her askance, though already I could see the reason behind the sudden request.

“A rare generosity to be found in a partner,” Hortensia laughed, “so you would go to such lengths to keep the little azure your pledge-sister! And here I thought it was but a temporary affair, a thing to try our dear captain’s patience! Well, I have grown fond of the girl, or do I say, her kitten likeness! and would have been saddened to see her go!”

I stole a glance at Litzia, wondering if the incident last night had been the cause for this proposal. It perhaps had weighed much on her mind, and contrary to her promise(?), she did mind and did judge me for that little breakdown on the gangway. I was now a frightened kitten to be looked after, lest she freaks out and run off, leaving her mistress lonely. Litzia regarded me with a little warm smile. Which started me very much. She seemed a changed person. Much less closed, at least in appearance. And relaxed. Was this how she always acted around her people? Or had her armour and mask simply returned to their flawlessness, that they could perfectly mislead me without a trace of falsehood betrayed?

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Like as not. Who can say? Not even I who had pledged and sounded the depths of her soul could.

“You frown. Do you object?” she asked, “Though there is much to do, the labour is not hard. She may like the life of a maid better than that of a slave.”

In the end, I had no reason to contradict her will. But I thought to tell her later I would commit to my promise regardless; she need not resort to coaxing and bribing. The wyverness seemed pleased for now.

After breakfast came the Symposium, when the maid replaced empty dishes with light drinks, water diluted wines, and it was time for idleness and chatter. A sleepy mood permeated the hall. Our bellies filled and our mood drowned in mint.

Quiet talks rumbled the hall as the Anemones lounged. My back slid down the propping plump pillows, my eyes tracing the faint symbols carved on the tall ceiling as my Ala-sister discussed the last battle. It was a kind of comfort beyond my imagination after all my years of service on the ship. The food was abundant, the rest long. But though so used as I was to the excitement and intense labours as a sailor, I did not take long to get over the initial awe. Ere long I had become habituated to this pleasant and laid-back air. Something I would never have expected from the warring alares. Here they seemed a host of aristocrats in polite society, as far as I knew about those things. To echo Gladiola’s words: these extravagances lent them an air of lordliness and nobility most unlike those of common fighters.

Next to Litzia’s couch and mine, Acis rested her head on Galanthus’s lap. Here and there in the Hall of Wreaths, I spied many pairs sharing one couch even as those two. As far as I could see, such intimate displays were a common occurrence, neither were they frowned upon nor regarded with curious gazes.

Just as my eyelids drooped heavily, something soft dropped on my stomach.

An orange ball of fur stared into me with its round and studying orbs. Then without a sound uttered, the thing curled itself into a ball and began to purr even soft breaths.

“If there was any doubt this girl is fit to be an alaris, it is now banished!” said Hortensia with humour, grinning and turning in the middle of her talk with Gladiola. “Maple comes not to those he deems unworthy, you know.”

“Maple?” I asked, fixing my eyes on the slumbering cat.

“He’s our darling,” Acis’ voice came from Galanthus’s lap, “he never wanders far from this hall, so the forecastle probably never gets a chance to see him, I suppose. Pet him, he won’t mind even in sleep.”

“There are some fat ones at the galley too,” said I, “and we love them dearly, but this one, I feel… different somehow.”

Mapple was doubtless fluffier than his fatter fellow-creatures who lurked the ship and feasted on our endless supply of rats. He also seemed to glow dimly, and when I nervously hovered my palm over his fur, a strange sensation pricked my skin.

“He’s old,” said Acis, “very old. Some say he has been here since the ship’s maiden voyage.”

A statement I could scarce comprehend. The Daybright was ancient; many generations had passed upon its decks. And more, perhaps, beyond living memory.

“So he’s like a very, very old grandpa,” I said.

“I wouldn’t pay him much respect if I were you,” interjected Valerian, who had been sharing a silent mood with her wyverness since the ceremony. Amusement now cracked her solemnity. “He’s already spoiled rotten by the young ones, generations of them at that.”

“That does remind me,” said Gladiola, referring back to Hortensia’s remark on my worthiness, “since Litzia and Star are to stay pledge-sisters, perchance we should get the initiation underway as well.”

“Oh that,” Hortensia exclaimed. I remembered the mention of this initiation by the wyverness before the second assault on the primal beast. It sounded to me a ritual of sorts. From my relaxed position, I tensed up.

I turned to Litzia and found her gaze resting on me, as though it had been so for a time now.

“It is nothing special,” my pledge-sister said, “I think you noticed the theme of our names, which are of flowers. In the Anemone’s tradition, alares are to take on a flower as their name and symbol once they’ve joined our ranks. It is ultimately your choice, though some let others pick. Do you have one you fancy?”

Having spent all my life on the Daybright, save for the few blossoms some of the crew brought aboard when we docked, I have never paid them much mind. In my distinct memory, the girl who used to possess my body once had an adoration for the white lily.

“Hmmm, since we are the Ala of summer,” Acis pondered, “how about a summer flora? An azure you are, so something blue… how about the Delphinium?

“No, no, that does not fit,” said Hortensia, “She’s the dark and moody type, don’t you see? Yet a deep bond she would form with our Litiza. So Lobelia – one of dark disposition, yet fierce and passionate in love.”

“Oh, anything but that,” I shot down the wyverness’ proposal. Was I ever so gloomy as she said? That was something new. Suddenly I was self-conscious of my facial expression. Not that anyone had ever remarked on my appearance, except for Thea’s vague teases.

A thought came to mind.

“I haven’t one to my fancy, but I liked that one in our room, what name has it?” I asked Litzia.

She frowned, answered flatly, “It’s a begonia. Pick something else.”

I erred, and should have known, for that flower seemed to hold only sad memories for her. Delphinium isn’t bad, I thought, though it is a mouthful.

Abruptly, Litzia sat up, as though something pricked her back. She wore not anger but a provoking thought. And she mused, shifting to the other end of the couch with the grace and suddenness of a lioness. A soft breath fell upon my brows, some sweet scent drowning away the fragrance of mint. Still half lying, I swallowed.

“But I like your name,” she said, and the softness of her lips pronounced the word. The enchanting sound of her voice when we formed our pledge came to mind. “Star. Star. Those heaven-adorning flowers, untold, wilt not, but scentless and without warmth. That makes my night not so unbearable. Aster you should be. I like the sound and meaning of it. Will you be Aster, pledge-sister of mine?”

I was for a moment speechless. The intensity by which she had proposed the name overwhelmed my capabilities of thought. I felt then, as unreasonable as it might sound, that by heeding her naming I would effectively place my fate in her hands. It would be hers to toy with, to exalt or disparage. Yet the only thing that came to mind, at once and then changed not, was to comply. Her dominating aura left me no chance for resistance. I would not refuse it—could not.

“Yes,” I said at last.

Hortensia erupted, “By the Under, the girl is scarlet!”

I retreated my gaze from Litzia, and from everyone else.

“Then Aster you are,” said our Ala’s leader, “I will have it registered in the book of names later.”

Aster. I muttered the word under my breath, it is not so different from my old name. I had no attachment to that old one. A simple sound to beckon and identify had been all it was. But Aster is different, it holds much meaning. And from then on, whenever the sound of which entered my ears, it would invoke without fail this complicated feeling first born in this hall.

Valerian and Acis followed suit, and with little variation, remarked on the choice. Only Galanthus gazed long at a content Litzia and me.

Litzia noticed this, “Do you not like it, sister Galanthus?”

She shook her head as she turned briefly to my pledge-sister, but quickly she shifted her gaze back to me. “It is a good name. I have been searching in my memories is all,” said the white wyverness of few words, “about Maple. And about cats. How strange you are, Star, or Aster as you are now—in all my life no animals had ever willingly approached an azure. Are you sure you are one?”

At once my Ala-sisters burst out a laugh in unison at Galanthus’s simplicity of thoughts.

Not I. For that question would go on to haunt me for years to come.