Axis Mundi was noted as the largest city in the Silver Republic. Consequently, this also made it the biggest on the entire continent. It dwarfed Bloomfield by orders of magnitude, not only in raw square mileage, but even height. Multitudes of the new marvels of architecture called skyscrapers were making their homes here, with an even larger amount of ‘smaller’ buildings surrounding them. Smaller being only relative, as he couldn’t spot any under the height of ten stories save for in the outskirts, those of which they were currently circling around aboard the train.

When in school, his teacher Mrs. Holliger frequently talked about the importance of this city. Not only did it contain around fifteen percent of the population, but according to her, it was the central nerve cluster for the entire Silver Republic. Many of the larger buildings contained the innumerable offices and living quarters for the vast bureaucracy that allowed the nation to flourish so soon after the Great War.

Terry didn't much care about that at the moment, however. The awe of the shimmering sight was enough to overwhelm his senses even without getting into its function. And this was disregarding what hovered about the city: countless zeppelins and skyships of all shapes and sizes moving to and from, using the tops of the skyscrapers as docking platforms.

The former were impressive, almost imposing, but the latter was something else entirely. The pictures Terry had seen of skyships did not do them justice. Pictures could lie and mislead, after all, or even be completely forged, but it was hard to doubt his own eyes.

‘The purest truth is found in person.’

Unfortunately, Terry’s wonder was being tempered by something. It was by a nagging little voice in the back of his head; one which said, ‘Haven’t you seen this before?’

Indeed he had. This city looked identical to the one in his potent dream months ago. It was even bathed in the same light of the afternoon, Western Sun.

“Something horrible is gonna happen!”

Terry gasped, his eyes wide and frantic as he looked towards Bedrock. “Huh? What do you mean?! What’s gonna happen!”

“Something horrible is gonna happen if I forgot me favorite boots!” the dwarf cried.

Terry sighed in relief. As it turned out, Bedrock was looking through his travel sack, a pained look on his face.

“Bedrock, calm down,” Gnessia said, patting his shoulder with one of her floating rocks. “I’m sure we can buy you new boots in the city.”

“B-But those boots were made by the best cobbler in Sleepystone!” Bedrock whined. “Perfectly fitted to form around me fat feet.”

“Woah,” Spot said. “That sounded weird.”

“Alliteration is fun,” Terry agreed.

“Just… let it go for a second,” Gnessia said. “You’re missing the sights! Look at all the skyships!”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure they’re great,” Bedrock said dismissively.

“My step-dad said we wouldn’t have them without the dwarves,” Terry said, trying to distract Bedrock himself now. “Is that true?”

"Huh?” Bedrock said, before looking up from his bag and smiling slightly. "Oh yeah. Sort of. They’re held aloft with cosignius crystals. My people discovered them ages ago. In fact, they make up part of the cores of levikin. But that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Ya see, we didn’t know they could generate a large, anti-gravity field til recently. Can thank Tekla and Steine for that: they got the notion to run a current through em'. That’s the catalyst for generating it. Since Tekla is human, I’d say the thanks goes… eh, maybe thirty percent human, seventy percent dwarf?”

“If you believe in Great Man Theory,” Gnessia chided.

“I’m just simplifyin’ here,” Bedrock grunted. “No need to go all sociology on me.”

“Wait… I’ve heard of them, I think,” Terry stated. “Tekla and Steine. The famous inventors, right? But Tekla… yesterday it sounded like you knew him.”

“Tekla’s the partner of Steine, my grandmother,” Bedrock said proudly. “And yes, they’re both bloody brilliant.”

Terry’s eyes widened. This would certainly help explain Bedrock’s almost fanatical admiration for the sciences.

“They’ve put two and two together in ways no one else had thought of before, and have the skill to test their theories,” Bedrock said proudly. “Running current through a crystal might not sound like much, but there were a thousand calculations behind it to make sure they were applying the right amount of amps.”

“I remember grandma saying there was still a decent chance at detonation,” Gnessia noted. “When we talked to her before the experiment, it sounded like she was saying ‘goodbye’.”

“True,” Bedrock continued. “A lot of people thought the two of em’ were nuts for even trying it. That they were gonna blow their lab sky high. But they just didn’t understand how scientists operate.”

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“Through trial and error?” Spot said innocently.

“No, ya bloomin’ hairball cannon,” Bedrock grunted. “Didn’t ya’ hear what I said before? Through calculated risk. We dwarves learned that a long time ago.”

“Calculated, huh?” Gnessia chuckled for some reason. “Was it calculated when Grumplepeak dug too deep and awoke that—”

“Hey, that experiment was a success!” Bedrock argued.

“Oh yeah?” Spot said, wagging his tail excitedly. “What’d you learn?”

“That, uh, there’s a good reason why the dwarves came to the surface,” Bedrock cough. “If the Hollow Sphere theory is true and there is an Undershell, we weren’t meant to see it again.”

Spot nodded sagely. “Making the best of messing up. Wise.”

“Oh, shut up,” Bedrock groaned.

Spot blinked, confused. “What?”

“You kinda sounded like you were being sarcastic,” Terry pointed out.

“Ohhh,” Spot said. “Nope, not what I meant. Monks don’t use sarcasm. ‘Either say what you mean or stay your voice. Imprecision always leads to unnecessary conflict.’”

“An order dealing in assassinations not wanting conflict,” Bedrock said. “Who woulda thought.”

“It’s true!” Spot said. “And like I said, there’s a lotta ways to keep the peace, even with disappearing people. Do you know how many wars we’ve kept from—” He suddenly shut his mouth. “Nevermind. I can’t talk about that.”

“Can’t talk about what?” Gnessia asked.

“Nothing,” Spot said. “Can’t talk about nothing.”

“Fine, then,” Bedrock shrugged. “Keep yer’ secrets.”

Terry raised an eyebrow. What wars were Spot talking about? He certainly couldn’t have meant the war. After all, an assassination was what caused it, or was at least the straw that broke the camel’s back. Mrs. Holliger would probably have chastised him if he had simply thought the former. She was not a proponent of what was known as ‘Great Man Theory’, of which Gnessia reminded him of earlier.

“The actions of single individuals are not the driving force of history, as many in the past have assumed. They’re a small part of a collective pressure.”

Terry both liked and hated the notion personally. Sure, some people were given a little too much credit. But was there really no room for heroes and villains in the real world? For larger than life individuals who could mold the fabric of history?

He felt his neurons groan at this continual thought. Once again, he was reminded why he didn’t like thinking too deeply about philosophical topics. There often wasn’t a ‘right’ answer, and if there was, it was burried too deeply to be worth digging up.

Terry continued to try to clear his mind as the train crossed a long bridge across a large river that split the academy from the city. From there, it reached its final destination: a simple wooden platform outside of what he would call home for the next year or so.

And what a home it was.

Skyfleet Academy almost seemed like some sort of high-end university more than a quasi-military school. Around five, rectangular, brick and stone buildings formed an outer perimeter. All were highly decorated: from entrances lined with marble columns to gargoyles poised atop their roofs. In addition, each was surrounded by beautiful flower gardens and lucious, green deciduous trees. Their colorful scents washed over Terry’s nose even inside the train.

However, the real point of interest was what was in the center of the square these buildings formed: a single, tall building of around twenty stories. Atop of it was an even taller, metal-lattice tower extending even further into the heavens. This supported a series of catwalks which served as docks to three, different-sized skyships casting shadows over the campus below.

“Woah!” Spot said, his eyes practically glistening at the metal tower. “Can you imagine trying to climb that? I mean, not that I would or anything. But, you know, it would be cool.”

“Come on!” Gnessia said excitedly, hovering to the door of their car. “Let’s check it out up close!”

Bedrock leaned closer to Terry on that, whispering: “Gnessia hasn’t really seen much of the world outside Sleepystone.”

Terry nodded in affirmation, though to be truthful, he hadn’t really seen much of the world either. The farthest he had ever traveled was to a few neighboring towns and Bloomfield. Naturally, he was as amazed at all this as Gnessia.

“For real!” Spot said, responding to Gnessia. “First up: the cafeteria. I wanna see if they have that human delicacy I heard about… fried chicken.”

Terry withheld a smirk. It seemed Spot knew even less about the world than Gnessia and him. Who knows if he had even been out of the monastery before? If he had, rumors of a tabaxi being seen in Bloomfield would have surely spread to Garthwood.

“You’ve never had fried chicken at the monastery before?” Terry asked.

“Na, most of the others are vegetarians,” Spot mentioned. “I’m one of the few allowed to eat meat cus of dietary needs, but it’s usually just jerky.” His eyes sparkled once more. “But now… I’m gonna try all the meats.” He sprung towards Bedrock, whispering loudly and fanatically into the dwarf’s ear: “All the meats.”

“Stop that,” Bedrock grunted, stepping away from the cat.

"Nom nom nom," Spot said, snapping his jaw a few times.

“You are so weird,” Gnessia laughed. “And I love it.”

“Huh?” he blinked, confused. “Why’s that weird?”

“No reason,” Gnessia beamed innocently.

Terry chuckled to himself, wondering if this was how the monks normally messed around. Though to be honest, he was surprised one was messing around at all. He always had the image of a monk as being a stoic, no-nonsense individual. One who sat upon high mountain rocks, meditating in silence all day. Then again, he never pictured any of them as assassins, either.

He couldn’t help but feel a hint of pride. Already, he was learning a lot about how the real world worked.

“Cadets!” a cold, authoritative, voice suddenly called from outside. “Disembark as soon as possible and meet me on the platform. The train has a schedule to keep, and so do I. Though if you want to stay onboard, by golly, that’d be just fine with me. Less nubbies I have to mother duck around this dump, savvy?”

Terry swallowed hard. The real world, as it turned out, might suck a little.