As life moves along its course and time works its wonders, even the strangest of things become commonplace, no matter how queer. The long length of a voyage assimilates even the most unwanted of stowaways into its crew. So by and by, life indeed began to settle for me into a perceptible routine – no winged beast hunt yet commenced, no storms or pirates did stray across our path, owing to the deserted nature of Underland. We would be granted a fortnight of peace as the crew harvested our prize. Though for all the turbulence the skies have to offer, peace is oft regarded as boredom, day in day out staring at the languid clouds and working the mindless chores. And yet for me, it was a peace much needed, as I scrambled to fit my ungainly habits into that of a refined alaris. ‘Twas hard work for someone so lacking, but it helped that people I trust stood by my side. And in that regard, Litzia was right, a familiar face did help in a place of so many alien faces.

The morning after our venture into the leviathan’s belly and the Coward’s wreckage, the ceiling hung strangely, as though the early light filtered in by way of the porthole had warped its evenness. And round me, the mattress I lay upon and the thin curtain arrested me strangely even as that time I had barely a memory of, when I was first found upon a drifting craft by humans. This time memories flooded back, patiently sinking in me the knowledge of the change, its reason, and finally gladness.

So recalled, I rolled on my stomach under the counterpane, and reached for a small object on the nightstand. Now that was a gigglish sight, as I stared in wonder at the sapphire. A dash of contrasting hue lurked within, like a drop of crystallized blood. All the more brilliant it was under the first morning light, though ghastly it did cast a redness in the centerfold of my vision. Beautiful, yet scary. Is that Litzia’s perception of me? The wyverness’ even breaths soothe me as I think of her. She was there, a few paces across the room, sleeping more soundly than ever she had since we first met. Yesternight we exchanged our first presents, and yet it had been scarce a month since I fell to my death and gave her a fright. Much had changed since then for us, for worse, mostly, but goodness also, few as were, had been born from our union.

I chanced to turn sideways, fixing still on the sparkling treasure in my stretched palm. But as I admired it, my focal shot back towards the door, which had slipped a crack. A lone eye stared back.

I rose, but Thea put a finger to her lips. Sneaky like a cat, she slipped in.

We both as slaves were used to getting up as early as the first light. It was an ill-comfort then, to lay still in bed past the adequate hours for slumber. To avoid disturbing Litzia’s sleep she made as light footfalls as could to my berth. And for like care she sank into the soft bed, forming but the minimal creases on her elaborate attire. She beheld the treasure within my palm with interest.

“Pretty, is it not?” whispered I.

In the same volume, she nodded, “Where did you get it?”

“Litzia gifted it to me. She said it resembles her idea of me.”

The girl plucked the stone from my hand and raised it to eye level, squinted. “How so? It is purple, and there’s some brown within. Were it my choice, I would have picked something golden like the sun, or cool green like soft moss.”

“Oh, I do like those colors.”

“I know you well, Star.”

That was how she insisted on referring to me, in private of course. She rejected the new name for some reason, though that one I like better. In the end I knew her not as well as she knew I. As far as I could judge, however, she was content with her new role, or so at least I never heard from her a word of complaints. Though even back in the days of grueling labors on deck, she never but once bemoaned the hard work.

Not that I’d ever been much of a whiner in comparison, given my nature, but still, Thea could be a bit too uptight.

“What’s so funny?”

Apparently, I had been smiling.

“I like this.”

“Like what?”

I gestured vaguely around.

Everything, I suppose. Not long before I was adamant that life as a slave sufficed, and there could be naught else worthy of desire. Nay, Rather like there was no point. How many slaves ever in service of a master had been so fortunate as to be lifted straight from the bottom of all social hierarchies to a place so privileged? For me it was to be here, living with the people I was fond of. Though I couldn’t understand Litzia, she was a good person. And to see Thea in nice clothes, and to be able to spend such carefree time around her, it was indeed for the better. Not much for the lighter workloads and luxury though. My commonly overexerted body had not been sitting well with so many leisure hours a day.

“Thea.”

“Yes?”

“What do you want?”

No one used to ask me that question before. So I never thought of an answer if for some reason asked. And as much as I knew not my desire, I was clueless of Thea’s. She used to be a noble, but for a time until very recently, she had been working as a contracted slave. But what are her true needs and desires?

“Feeling charitable, aren’t we?”

“No,” I protested, “I really want to know, I just never asked before, I wonder why.”

“Because you have never been in the position to, or so you thought. But what does it matter, I don’t mind how we are now.”

“Hm,” I shrugged, “you’re right. I don’t want much more than this. But I have never been wanting much for material things. What about you though? When the harvest is done, we will head to a port. And I will be allowed on land.”

For the first time ever I would. Only free people are allowed for brief days off on land in port. Someone who is both a slave and an alaris is a unique case. But apparently, as far as the clerk’s books are concerned, I was to be treated like a free woman, with a salary and all. But Thea was not.

“Are you thinking of getting me something? Then get me something nice, I guess, but no clothes. I must wear this uniform in all my waking hours.”

She didn’t seem to want to give it much thought.

“I think the frills are cute.”

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She shrugged. “Mayhap.”

A rustling sound came from the other side of the room. Litzia’s silhouette stirred.

“Oh, my mistress is awake.”

I winced at the title.

“What? Do you wish for me to call you a mistress too? You dirty girl you!”

I frowned. “Litzia is a friend, I’m sure she dislikes it as much as I do. Just say her name.”

But Thea was already upon Litzia’s bed. With one sure and violent movement, she flung the curtain aside.

“Swell morning, Mistress Strelitzia!”

The wyverness jolted, then groaned loudly. I couldn’t help but think of it as a form of hazing. Thea went on to harass her mistress, raising her by the back and spun her around.

“There, neatly. Now sit still, if you please.” She said with a brush in hand. Litzia did not look pleasing.

“Leave the polish,” the wyverness groaned, “I could not get much sleep last night.”

A glint of malice flashed in the corner of Thea’s eyes. Though surely it was my own eyes playing tricks, for the next half-hour, Litzia’s silver horns were subjected to a polishing with exceeding care. So I left them to their routine and went about changing my clothes before my turn under Thea’s hands. It ever amazed me that someone like Litzia would suffer such rough treatment.

Washing my face with the basin under the porthole, I noticed that the day’s sky was gray. Which was nothing short of a dumb realization, since everything in Underland is ever gray. The Begonia on the table looked pale in that bleak light. I gave it some dashes of water.

We broke our fast in the Hall of Wreaths, as were all meals the Anemone had. When it was done, we awaited Pax, the second mate, who is in charge of arranging patrols. Her hair was cut to her nape and an aura of intelligence radiated from the deep gray wells of her eyes. All things in the quarterdeck were her concern, and whose stewards managed the everyday affair of the guards and maids abaft.

Unlike the captain who she would later report to, Pax was not a tyrant. She allowed protests and pleas for changes in the schedule if first gone through the Primas Alae and Rosa Alba. Rosa Alba, Prima to Ala Vernal and our commandant, answered to her, if only, as I observed, by tradition only. For even the mates seemed to regard the illustrious alaris with keen respect. As for our Ala in particular, should Gladiola judge that we were unfit for flight, she would bring it directly to her. Which would not be a usual thing, for our Prima was strict and proud. Hardly she ever allowed a weakness in herself, and by consequence, she tolerated little from her Ala-sisters.

A day was divided into six shifts, where for four hours each two Alae would scout the airspace in the Daybright proximity and at times fly errands between the ship and the crew harvesting Sheol’s corpse. This without taking into account Ala Hiemal who accompanied the captain at all times, and Ala Vernal on standby at the ship, each Ala would have a day off once in a while when the shifts rotate. That was by and large a much lighter workload than that of a deckhand, though in turn the alares were always the first to bear and launch assaults on an enemy.

As obvious at first glance, the alares are a special class upon an airship, generally excluded from the common sailor’s duty. And often they were treated with as much respect as an officer, being in charge and responsible wholly for the safety of a vessel from winged beasts and pirates. Most privateers would be in luck to employ a pair for their voyages, rare yet valuable as they are in navigation, scouting, and other tasks that free movement in the sky is necessary. For hunting ships especially, they are the vital hunters and herders of prey, thus the command during violent clashes in the open sky is also theirs. To set them apart from the men and women before the mast then, they enjoy great privileges oft reserved to the captain and no one else, namely private cabins and served hot meals, but also many others distinct to each craft. On the Daybright, such privileges are the right to dine in the Hall of Wreaths, participation in the symposium, free access to the armory, a personal cabin in the quarterdeck, and an assigned maidservant.

Such had been the custom for a very, very long time. And the Daybright adheres to many traditions of its own, distinct from the more conventional airships. Rosa Alba was ancient, and she had been in command of the Alae this way since ancient times, so I had heard. And it would stay this way forever more, as surely and constant as the rising and setting of the sun. Of the captain and her mates, there were at once too many and too few things that could be said. For they are immortals, legends of them were numerous as stars, and even the oral tales of our own who toiled under her ruling were nothing to generations of theologians’ studies. It does not help that we sailors are never fond of putting our stories in writing, when a good mellow voice could spin a yarn far more spirited late into the night under the lamplight.

So ages thus had passed unchanged for one of the mightiest vessels ever to sail the open sky. And within a small time frame in the Anemone’s history, I had been given a small place in their chapters, ranked among the greatest of the alares, though by chance rather than talents. I tried to offer what I could, yet oftentimes, during the lulling mood of the symposiums, I would wonder at the legitimacy of my place among them. Each person who dined and lounged about me was fair and powerful, handpicked by the captain herself. Elites among elites. The one who chose me was Litiza, and thus far the captain had not revoked our pledge, though she could if she so wished. She never seemed to give much care to Litzia’s and my situation. And her chief mate, Justitia, a stern and harsh woman, spared me little more than the occasional reprimands for unwitting misconducts.

As for the forecastle and midships where I once dwelled, third mate Lex held its reign. But aside from the third mate, whose berating fits I often found myself a victim of as a slave, the rest of the officers forward were not as often seen in the vicinity of the captain.

To talk about the captain’s presence is talking about an entourage consisting of an entire army of servants and a stewardess. She is seldom seen on deck without an officer attending to her inquiries, with the army of maids to serve her every immediate need.

Large indeed is the host of maids employed under the quarter deck, yet save for the kitchen staff, they do not serve the rest of the crew. It seems not so strange if one takes into account the capabilities for physical labor of the women who seek the ship in escaping violent husbands, difficult societies, ever-present poverty, and sometimes even insufferable fiance, but are otherwise unfit for demanding work. The deckhands who worked the sails and maintained the decks then are often convicts, tamable only by a tyrant such as ours; peasants used to taxing hard work; and aught who are willing to work for a larger wage, or deemed inadequate for service roles. The rest are slaves, under contract or permanently bound, and azures, bought off the market or conquered during the raids on the captain’s foes, to work only for food and lodging, while given no freedom whatsoever beyond the boundaries of the bulwark.

Last and share a similar rank to the alares are the Priests, mysterious people of few words who hailed from Temples of the Art. On all open-air-worthy vessels they are an indispensable part. For they steer the vessel and make reliable long voyages with their Art wind.

Among those people, even more so than the Anemones, I regarded not just the captain but also her officers as divine-like beings. All the more, I had a slave’s natural distaste and apprehension for authority. I did not like them much, to be bland. Not that a chance to relate to them seemed ever likely to transpire. And now that I had made my home aft, their frightening presence was even closer than before.

Keeping all this information and the hierarchy of the Daybright in mind, the event of a certain night towards the end of our time in Underland occurred all the more surreal.

As our patrol ended after sunset, my Ala was returning to the ship. And there basked in fullest moonlight, lonesome and removed from all guards and vassals, was the Lady Aurora at the bow. So silently and rigidly she seemed one with the draconic figurehead, parting the winds as they came. Her bearing was regal as always, but without her usual entourage, the awe she often carried in human form had diminished.

Without knowing, my body stiffened. And in turn I felt Litzia’s heart grow tense. There was a marked and affecting spirit that the captain radiated now. One that was aught but powerful, dominating or awe-inspiring. She was less like Fire and Thunder but rather a cold wind. How lonely she looked. How grim. How inconsolable. Like a lord on the throne of his empty palace. As if my vision was projected into many ages from now, when the Daybright has been reduced to a spectral of her current glory, and her Lady but an old, spent, and reminiscing woman, laboring still her duty even as her home and people have long lain in ruin.

She stood there, brows unbending like the topgallant’s long yards as she rested her gaze on the barren Underland. Only when we were upon the deck did she lift her gaze. Presently, we halted midair expecting a command. But weary like an old mother ere sending her children to war, she said “Go in haste to your rest now, warriors of mine. Tonight we depart for the new world.”