As a boy, James Ironwood had had a fascination with airships.

Those great, gleaning vessels that claimed the skies themselves as their own. Traveling boldly across the world and connecting people like nothing else before (save perhaps the CCTS). Commanded by anyone capable enough to do so, not just the children of old military dynasties and rich business leaders wealthy enough to just buy their brats commissions. The idea for the Military to be rid of the practice back 4AW with the Cardwell Military Reforms had even originated from the fleet!

For someone that grew up in the complete mess that was the Atlesian foster care system, airships of all stripes represented the ultimate level of freedom. And it had been that dream of freedom that had driven him to join the Military and the Airfleet shortly after he turned sixteen. He'd been living in a car that was older than he was at the time, and held together by rust and industrial strength tape.

He could have the freedom he craved, whilst serving the nation he called home. He'd traveled across Remnant, proudly wearing the Green of the Fleet whilst carrying out missions.

The day he'd been granted command of a ship had been one of the happiest days of his life. His Dauntless might well be the same as the rest of her class, but the Creed of an Airship Commander rang true:

"This is my airship. There are many like it but this one is mine."

He knew it was a common attitude amongst commanders. Even Hawthorn was pretty clear that he only led from the Pride of Solitas when he absolutely had to. The elder man much preferred his Sentinel. And he was the one in charge of the whole blasted Military.

And now, thanks to a small group of traitorous officers, his mentor's career was almost certainly over. Never again would Albus Hawthorn command the airship that had been his for his entire time in a command role. Never again would his crew be commanded by the man that they had all come to respect and trust implicitly.

So it was that he forced a mask of emotionlessness onto his face as he led a strike team into what could only be described as the wreck of the Audumla. The sails were still ablaze, the decorative wooden outer hull was charred and falling away, and the lights within the vessel itself feebly flickered as the internal systems desperately tried to stay online.

The Menagerian part of the strike team would search for survivors of their own contingent whilst his group would detain any traitors that remained alive. Although their priority was of course the man that had led the entire mess.

In ordinary circumstances, he would not have been part of the team entering the wreck. An Airfleet Captain would usually have no place in a field combat mission aside from providing air support. Normally this operation would be the duty of the Blues. However, these were not ordinary circumstances. One of the Board of Captains had turned traitor, and it would not do for Atlas to respond with anything less than a very clear statement of their displeasure.

A loyal Captain would bring in a traitorous one.

He'd even insisted on taking an Archivist along with them to ensure a proper record. Thankfully, Captain Glover had inadvertently brought an Archivist James himself actually trusted with him.

Casper Schwartz had kept up with the rest of their team, even if his eyes were on his datapad as he recorded everything that surrounded them.

It was as they reached the hangar-bay, or whatever was left of it, that their ears were filled with the sweetest possible words they could have wished to hear.

"Sir!" The voice of one of his team, Specialist Viktors, caught the attention of the rest of them. "We've got him."

As the other members of the team approached their loyal colleague. None of them failed to notice the fact that there were a pair of bodies nearby, although their cause of death was hard to discern from just a look.

Stirling himself was a mess. One side of his face was burned, and his clothes weren't much better. His left arm was quite obviously broken and held at a wholly unnatural angle. By some cruel miracle, despite obvious aura exhaustion, the man was still conscious.

"Ironwood!" He let out a wheezing bark. "Don't just stand there man! We need to go after-"

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"We?" Ironwood questioned as he approached the downed man. "There is no 'we' Draco. You and your fellow traitors stand alone. Atlas has disowned you. Vytal has been alerted to your treason. By now, the whole world knows what you are. It's over. Surrender whilst you still have some semblance of dignity left."

"How dare you!" The man seethed. "Everything we're doing is for the betterment and benefit of Atlas! Of our Kingdom! To stand against us is to stand against Atlas' destiny!"

"..and Atlas proudly disagrees with your twisted idea of our 'destiny'!" Ironwood barked, pointedly ignoring his colleague's protests. "And as such, it gives me immense pleasure to inform you that you, Draco Stirling, are under arrest for high treason, the hijacking of the MV Audumla, kidnapping and subsequent murder of many of the crew, warmongering without the blessing of the Board of Captains, conduct unbecoming of an officer…" He looked the older man up and down, with his charred and torn clothing and smiled a razor thin smile. "...And for keeping an untidy uniform."

The disgraced Captain hauled himself up to his feet, and stumbled towards the group. His broken left arm swung at his side even as he was spitting out threats. It was, however, beyond clear that he was aware of the reality of his position. In all likelihood, this defiance was an attempt at dying as a soldier and not a traitor. He raised his hand to grasp at one of the team..

…Only to be slammed into the bulkhead by a wall of shimmering gray light.

Everyone in the loading bay turned to see Schwartz, unassuming and bookish Archivist Schwartz, his arms still thrust forwards and his face contorted with a mix of utter contempt and total concentration."Someone might want to get the traitorous git into cuffs. Not sure how long PRIDWEN can keep him pinned."

The medic attached to the team nudged Draco with his foot, before turning back to address them all. "Doesn't look like pinning him down is necessary anymore Archivist. He's out cold."

"Get him in cuffs first anyway." Ironwood ordered. "We're taking no chances."

It was Viktors that cuffed him, taking more care with the man's broken arm than many in his situation would. It was only when the man gave the affirmative that Schwartz flexed his fingers and withdrew his arms, causing the Light-Shield pinning his foe down to vanish.. "Thank you kindly."

Viktors gave a nod, and hefted Stirling onto one shoulder.

"That was some quick thinking of you, Archivist." James commented as the pair watched Viktors hauled the traitor off. "Not many Archivists would be willing to assault an enemy like that."

"Well, the bastard did keep saying that he wanted my semblance." Schwartz grinned, almost too cheerfully for the situation. "Figured I ought to give the soon-to-be former Captain what he's wanted for the last few years."

Ironwood glanced after the former Captain of Civilian Security, and he did the only suitable thing given the situation.

He just started to laugh.

______________

In hindsight, calling their walk from school to the Military Archives their 'first adventure' might be stretching things a tad, but for a pair of ten year olds such as them, it was a fine enough place to start in Mercury's opinion.

His new friend, it turned out, also had a father currently serving within the Military. Not with the Airfleet, but the Archives. An important job, albeit one that did not seem as grand or fun as the Airfleet.

The similarities continued, for Cinder Schwartz's father had adopted her. But that was where the pair differed. Whilst her father had adopted her and she had taken to that fact with gusto, James Ironwood was not his father. Not yet. And it made him a tad envious that a fellow adoptee had come to love her new father so quickly. But as soon as those thoughts entered his mind, they were soon quashed by the reminder that Cinder had been with her father for what amounted to half of her life.

In time, he hoped his opinion would change. Being Mercury Ironwood was considerably less painful than being Mercury Black ever was.

"Come on Merc!" Cinder called out to him, still smiling her cheerful smile that hardly ever left her face. "We're nearly there!"

Mercury smiled to himself.

One adventure down, the Brothers only knew how many to go.