From over the horizon, across the bay bordering the great city, a single black speck gained form. Its wings stretched forth from a central structure like a great, terrible eagle’s, silhouetted against the Western Sun overhead. It was small and fast. Faster than any aircraft Terry had seen. And the more he looked upon it, the more he realized that its wings weren’t fixed, but flapping ever so lightly.

The nightmarish thing flew over the city; high above the busy streets where horseless carriages zipped about in efficient traffic arteries. High above the towering skyscrapers that dared to challenge the heavens. Higher than even the numerous skyships and zeppelins that rose above all.

Terry’s heart froze at the sight, though surprisingly, it wasn't what he feared most about the situation. For as he watched, a creeping horror slowly dawned upon him: the eyes Terry was seeing it with were not his own.

He had more than his usual two, and could see on spectra far beyond what a human could. Not only could he see color, but red and yellow glows of heat. There were also plumes of some unknown, beautiful mist that seemed to swirl around traffic and individuals walking the streets.

But most importantly, out of the corner of his mind, he saw the event from other angles.

Apparently, he was tapping into more minds than just one.

It was like looking at fifty ghostly images at once, each intersecting at certain points to create more opaque scenes, and all coming together to create a three-dimensional whole. It was disorientating, but far from indecipherable.

These eyes were scattered all across the city. Some high in the sky clinging to the balloons of zeppelins. Others were hanging off of great scaffolds. Others still were on the streets below.

All were focused on the event unfolding.

A few heartbeats later, the flying monstrosity reached the center of the city. And as it did, a cancerous, black tumor was expunged from the beast. It was about the size of a large oil tank, roundish but fluctuating in shape. It seemed eager to complete its work.

And from the moment he saw it, Terry knew he was doomed.

The object fell uncontested towards the center of the city, and time practically froze as it struck the tallest skyscraper. The end came in an instant: a flash of searing light and immense heat, cutting the cords of the many minds he was looking through until there were none left.

Then, an eternal null came upon him. Forever blackness.

Or at least that’s what he assumed it would be.

Suddenly, Terry’s eyes fluttered open. He panted heavily, before finally taking a deep breath of cool morning air. Relief washed over him. He wasn’t in any city, and he certainly wasn't dead. He was in the warm embrace of his blankets, laying in his pajamas on a familiar bed. Out the window weren’t any towering skyscrapers, but the simple, rustic framed structures of his small town of Garthwood.

In other words, he was in his childhood home.

The dream was still fresh in his mind, however, and fresh in his body as well. He felt a moist spot on the sheets beneath him. Sweat had done a number on them. Obviously, the nightmare had rocked his sleeping body. It was certainly a weird one, to be sure, and definitely more potent than usual.

Still, like most, it quickly began to fade from his mind as he got up, the smell of coffee, eggs and bacon luring him away from his room and thoughts. He didn’t put too much stock into the meaning of dreams, though he did recognize what stronger ones meant: he was under stress.

And why wouldn’t he be? He was on the edge of adulthood, and soon he would need to make a decision that would define his entire life.

He made his way down from his room perched atop his family’s bungalow. After pouring a cup of coffee and grabbing a handful of bacon and eggs, he joined his mother and step-father at the kitchen table. After that sort of weird fever dream, he needed a chance to unwind a little. Luckily, the radio drama coming from the half-cylindrical device perched atop a kitchen counter was quick to relax his nerves.

"All these years… I've finally tracked you down,” a firm, deep voice announced. “Circus Master Tibbles!"

"You!?” another, nasally voice replied. “You… you gained your freedom! Why couldn't you just… forget!?"

"Shame your memory isn't as good as mine, otherwise you'd realize… elephant men never forget. And never forgive."

His step-father lifted a finger, smirking slightly. "Hey, that’s the name of the show."

"Harry!" Terry's mother hushed.

"What?" his step-father replied in a mock-confused tone. “It is!”

"If you kill me, Trunkie, you'll be closing a door that can never be open again!"

"Gladly."

"A door that leads… to your brother."

"... My-my brother!? But I thought…"

"No, Trunkie, your brother is alive! I know that… because I'm his father. And that means…"

"... What!? No… No!"

A powerful, bombastic, horn-driven orchestral cue flowed from the radio, highlighting the intensity of the last line.

"Awwww yeah!" Terry cheered. "This just got good!"

"That concludes this season of Elephant Men. Stay tuned for Final Frontier after these state-sponsored messages."

Terry felt like he had been punched in the gut. “You bastards…”

"Language!" his mother chastised.

Terry frowned. "Sorry. Just hate cliffhangers.”

He also didn't much like Final Frontier. At least not most of it. The parts where the protagonists were off exploring the star systems orbiting Sphere were pretty great. However, there always seemed to be some ethical dilemma that would come up when they did it. Personally, Terry did much like mulling over philosophy. He got stressed out enough just thinking about day to day problems. So much so that when he was a preteen he was given access to special anxiety-reducing potions apparently ‘created’ by Zilgling Queens.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what the giant insects had to do with the process, but he was happy not thinking about it. Years ago, he had encountered a zilgling in the wild, and while it wasn't the worst experience he'd ever had, it was… less than pleasant.

But wait, state-sponsored messages? He knew what that meant. Five times out of six, this would include a specific advertisement. Looking at his mom and step-father, then back at the radio, he felt a sudden surge of anticipation well in his chest. Perhaps this would be the right moment to tell them.

The broadcast began with an inspiring piece of music. One which climbed upon itself like a bird rising to the heavens. Then, a voice chimed in - male, with a quality of silk chocolate mixed with honey straight from the hive.

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"Unity,” it began. “Long have the wise of our lands dreamed of it. And now reality has evolved beyond even that. Humans, zilgling, dwarves, and levikin stand as one, ready to face the future together!

What part will you play in it? Skyfleet knows where it stands. With our modernized fleet of airships, we will provide aid to where no truck can drive. Explore where no ship can sail. Defend the furthest edges of our republic, from the highest mountain to the lowest valley.

But we can't do it without people like you."

It was ridiculous, but Terry couldn't help but imagine a fatherly, bald captain pointing his finger towards him, parodying one of the old ‘I Want You’ Great War recruitment posters.

"For every interest, there's a role in Skyfleet, and the training to make it so. Not only do we need capable crewmen for day to day ship operations, but we need scientists, engineers, artists, and everything in-between!

Start your career today by visiting your local Skyfleet recruiter. Or wait for a zeppelin to visit your town during this year's census!

Skyfleet: from knowledge flees fear.

The advertisement ended with the familiar Skyfleet fanfare Terry knew so well, and the next State-sponsored commercial began to play; some kind of public-service announcement about the weather. As the speaker droned on about the many dangers of supercell storms, Terry's step-father leaned back in his chair, folding his arms.

"Well, would you look at that," he said. “They finally came up with a motto. Or stole it from a university.”

"Here we go," his mother said, chuckling lightly.

While his step-dad wasn't one to go on unhinged rants, he still viewed his opinion the same way he viewed his monthly barbeques: something to be shared with anyone nearby.

"Sorry," he said, taking a deep breath. "It's just… I don't like the way they're getting the word out. Trying to dress themselves up like they aren't what they are."

"Which is?" Terry asked warily. He wasn't expecting his step-dad to have this reaction to them. Then again, maybe he should have.

"Eh, you know…," his step-dad said, taking a sip of water. He never drank anything harder.

Terry furrowed his brow. It had taken him a moment, but knowing his step-father’s past, he was starting to have an idea of what was bothering him.

"They aren't really military,” Terry said. “A peace-keeping force more than anything. Like… like the town watch combined with a charity org. What I mean is they seem more interested in helping folks than fighting anyone.”

"That's what they all try to seem like," his step-father noted. "There were ads like this all the time early into the Great War. ‘Grab your shield and make the Jorgan hordes yield!’ Less subtle, but they still made it sound like they were just gonna play defense." He exhaled sharply, glancing briefly at the missing fingers on his left hand. "Was a bunch of tabaxi. Just a grift to take advantage of naive kids like me...”

"B-But things have changed since then," Terry argued. “Haven’t they?"

His step-father sighed deeply. "I hope so, kiddo. I really do." He glanced away. “Though even if they have, the question is: how much?”

“Well, Benny doesn’t seem to hate it,” Terry pointed out. “His folks say he’s never been happier since he joined up.”

His step-dad cocked a half-smile. “Surprised you care what Benny has to say.”

Terry shrugged. “If Skyfleet somehow made him less of an ass, then yeah, I’m curious.”

“Never got how you two went through such a falling out,” his mother said, shaking her head. “You used to be so close growing up.”

“Problem is he never grew up with me,” Terry grumbled. “Though maybe that’s changed. Maybe Skyfleet finished what Rosa started.”

"Wow," Terry's mom said, quickly changing the subject upon hearing ‘Rosa’. "All this praise for Skyfleet. Almost sounds like you wanna join them yourself."

There was a pause as Terry tried to figure out the best way to tell them.

“I uh…” he finally coughed. “I was actually planning on talking with their recruiter guy.”

It was at that point when Terry’s mom turned off the radio.

“Dramatic much?” Terry snapped.

“Final Frontier can wait for a bit,” his mother said diplomatically. “We need to talk about this.”

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about,” his step-father said, gazing Terry directly in the eye. “You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?”

Terry nodded curtly.

“I don’t understand, though,” his mother said, her bemusement over Terry’s initial hint of interest having left her. “Your music! The stuff you’ve written…”

“Is good for this town, mom,” Terry said. “But anywhere else? Big fish, small pond talking. Either way, I can’t start a career here. And I can’t just pack up to try to start roots in the big city. I’m just not built for that kinda life.”

“Sweetheart…” His mother said. “Even if that were true, it’s not about competing or becoming famous. May sound corny, but all that matters is if it makes you happy. If it’s money you’re worried about, you'll blow away the state standards! The cultural grant is more than enough to–”

“Shirley,” His step-father interrupted in a calm tone.

She opened her mouth once more as if she were about to say something, but quickly shut it. Like all good mothers, she cared deeply for Terry’s mental well-being. Terry seemed wounded at the moment, and his mother was ready to put on any band-aid she had.

Sadly, a search through her medical toolkit must have come up short, as she said next to nothing for most of that First Day’s morning. The family simply turned back on the radio to listen to Final Frontier, leaving Terry to ponder how he could have handled this better.

This was the first time he and his family would have an awkward conversation about Skyfleet, but it wouldn't be the last. They would pop up on a fairly regular basis during the summer months leading to the census. Terry was persistent, however. And after a time, he became sure his mother had no real problems with the organization itself. She just didn't want Terry to leave town.

His step-father, on the other hand, seemed to have more complex reasons for his resistance. He was a good man, but he was terribly jaded. He rarely ever talked about what he had to do during the Great War. Whenever asked about it, he would usually say only one thing:

"War is organized murder. Nothing more."

Terry remembered the last time he heard this: the two were spending time together on a grassy hill overlooking Garthwood. It was near the end of summer. Terry was playing his guitar and his step-father was painting the landscale on an easel. His step-father always was far more interested in 'happy little trees' and honing his other artistic talents than reminiscing.

Terry didn’t hold it against him, as he had never been off to war himself. He hadn't been born in time to be shuffled into the trenches. Instead, he tried to sympathize, even (to a certain extent) with his step-father's more radical notions: that maybe there shouldn't even be a standing military at all in the newly formed Silver Republic, just a loose coalition of militias. It was an almost Xarmist notion, though his step-father didn’t seem to support that philosophy otherwise.

Either way, for the here and now, that sort of thing seemed ill-equipped to tackle all the problems the nation was facing, some of which were even creeping into Terry’s small town. He was sheltered from them pretty well as a kid, but the more he grew, the more the world shared its dirty secrets.

There were the lights constantly flickering during the winter due to the overloaded, outdated power grid. Then there was the bridge south of town that had almost collapsed under Terry himself; the intervention of a friend being the only thing that saved him. And of course, the fact his school didn’t even have a proper gymnasium yet. There were even organized bandits in the mountains to the north, something unheard of since the days of bows and arrows. While so far they had stuck to simply robbing the Liberty Rail Company’s trains, there was no telling when they might start growing bolder.

And this wasn’t even getting into all the problems caused by the Great War, even fifteen years after the guns fell silent. A large battle was fought just south of town, with land mines and barbed wire still in need of clearing. There was also the occasional acid rain that came down due to all the chemicals spilled during the conflict.

The bottom line was that Skyfleet seemed to be the best organization to help with these sorts of problems. A mobile force that could drop out of the sky and help folks out at the drop of a hat.

Terry liked that idea. He liked the idea of seeing people’s spirits lift before his eyes. It was part of the reason he liked playing his music for people, and that alone was more than enough reason to sign up.

But there was also the most important thing of all: Terry wanted to see the nation he had been hearing so much about in his civics classes. From the island of Oz, to the great twister-swept plains to the south, to what lay beyond the great dwarven mountain holds to the north.

Perhaps he would go even further than the continent itself.

And when he was done with his tour, his options and creativity expanded, he could get back to music. Maybe even take it to whatever distant lands he discovered. It not only would satisfy him on a deeper level, but it would thread the tapestry of his life together.

For all these reasons, when summer began to fade and a zeppelin came knocking for the census, Terry seized the moment. Whatever Skyfleet was: whether a benevolent force for the good of all or just another military force designed to serve the state without question, he would find out for himself.

‘The purest truth is found in person.’

Terry’s old friend, Rosa, had once told him this, and now, he intended to take it to heart.

Even if it meant leaving home and hearth.