The snaking road guided them south, following the parallel rows of jubilant corkscrew conifers that shaded a hoard of sailors returning ardently to their ships. Kraesten trailed behind, hunched with his hands in his pockets.

A cart overfull with equipment fumbled as it rolled, etching deep tracks in the earth as it bounced along. Lander slipped off the road to overtake it and nearly jumped out of his armour as an orange-furred catfolk woman pounced into his path and regarded him with an impish curl of her tail.

She tilted her head. “You lot aren’t sailors.” Her grin bared white fangs. “You’ll need to buy a charm for luck if you’re going out to sea.” She brandished a basket of wooden talismans under Lander’s chin. Athen predictably perked up, but Ove hopped forward to counter the cat’s offer.

“No!” She squawked. “You will not swindle us with carved wood.” She tried to shoo the other woman with her wings.

“Very well. Bastet’s blessings upon you.” The catfolk said to Ove as she brushed past her.

Ove squawked loudly at her back, flapping her wings. She hopped forward with her feathers puffing up as she pointed a wing at the feline woman. “I believe you meant to say Dyveke!” Ove bounced closer. ‘Dyveke!”

The catfolk stopped, turning just her head to look at Ove over her shoulder. A sly grin crept along her face. “No, I don’t believe I did. Why ever would I refer to our beloved goddess by the wrong name?” Ove’s black eyes widened. Lander had to seal his mouth to keep from laughing out loud as her feathers fluffed up so much she resembled a hatchling. The cat snickered.

“I don’t blame you for being daft,” scathed Ove. “you’re only a cat. So let me teach you some thing. Our Goddess’s name is Dyveke. Try not to let your tiny cat brain replace that memory with the flavour of your own bum next time.” Ove folded her wings confidently, standing straight as if in challenge. Lander was beginning to hope he would see them fight. Just a bit. Ove would obliterate her.

The catfolk turned herself around fully, no longer looking amused. The fluff on her head was beginning to stand as well, and she looked as ridiculous as Ove. Lander failed to stop himself from chuckling at the pair, but neither seemed to notice.

“I bet that wit would not be so quick with my teeth around your neck, little bird,” the catfolk hissed.

“You are both being silly, you know,” Athen said. The two women looked at him, and Ove’s feathers settled a little. “Why would you not just say ‘Dyveke’s blessings’ when speaking to birdfolk and ‘Bastet’s blessings’ when speaking to catfolk? I think if She minded, She would tell you what She preferred.”

The catfolk growled at him, and Ove tugged him behind her. “Because then you would be wrong half the time,” the cat said. “Not that I would expect a human to understand faunafolk matters.”

“Stay out of this, my Lord. I will handle this stray,” said Ove.

“No.” Athen put his fists on his hips. “Do you not say, ‘Bastet’s blessings’ to wish someone a good day? If you are saying it to upset someone on purpose, then you are wrong anyway. That is using the Goddess’s name to be hurtful, which is the same as cursing.”

The catfolk snarled. Ove looked ready to peck her eyes out, but the cat turned and stalked off to dupe someone else, swishing her puffed-up tail in irritation. Lander watched over his shoulder as the feline found Kraesten and easily hustled him out of his coin.

Kraesten jogged forward, clutching the carved wood. He aptly stepped wide around Lyrua, Athen, and Ove and held the trinket out to Lander on his palm. The pine-wood talisman was round and flat with a cord run through it for wearing. It was engraved with the symbol of Archangel Quareel on one side: a blade with four arms for a hilt gripping the sides of a Gear that represented Machina.

“For the lad,” Kraesten smirked. “You’re a melancholy lot, and I’m beginning to feel bad for the boy. Let him have something fun.”

Lander picked the talisman from his hand with two fingers and turned it over. The crest of the Krakensea was carved on the other side; a circle of ocean torn with waves along the brim, carved with such detail he almost thought it could move. The symbol was often shown with the moon to symbolise the tides, and was confused for a sun by those who did not know better. The talisman was not worth whatever the spellbreaker paid for it, but it was harmless. And he had to admit, those catfolk were unrivalled at detailed work.

He glared down at Kraesten. “This is a pointless trinket. Good for nothing more than distracting the mind with flights of fancy.”

“Yes, that’s what fun is,” he winked.

“Fine.” He waved Athen forward and the spellbreaker shuffled away as the boy approached. “This is a gift from Kraesten,” Lander said, placing the cord around his neck and patting his head. “A gift from a man like that means you should trust him less, not more.” He explained the meaning of the carvings, and Athen listened happily until he was done before returning to his mother. The boy proudly exhibited the talisman to her, and she feigned ignorance of everything he explained.

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“It is lovely,” Lyrua admitted. She glared at Kraesten. “Trustworthy or not, you should thank the man for his gift.”

“Thank you Kraesten,” Athen beamed. The silken gave a gentle nod.

The creaking of pulleys and cables came with the wind as the road began to twist back down the side of the cliff. Some of the crowd turned away to load their gear onto clamorous elevators, alternating with the docks below. Lyrua turned her nose at the breeze. Doubtless she detected the scent of whirlwhale grease in the machines, but Lander could smell only the cool temperature and a tickle of salt in the air. Her nostrils flared as she peered down the descending road into a fresh breeze. It was much wider than the path they took up, and there was room enough for everyone to walk comfortably.

Lander watched her look over the cliff to the sprawling harbour below, congested with ships rolling on waves that splashed high over the docks they were moored to. Nearly half of the tiered docks were already submerged. A schooner to the west had been rolled onto the pier and sailors were working to push it off without slipping into the brine. The earliest of the Captains already had their crews hauling spellbolt cannons carefully through water that splashed at their knees.

The grandest ship of all, was the nickel-steel colossus, Legendarisk. The shining hull boldly dominated the easten docks, with three wide sails furled amongst a full rigging. On the bow was a bulbous protrusion to break the waves; an invention of his grandpa Castillarn. It dwarfed the others like one of Athen’s toys bumping uselessly against a caravel.

“That’s my Pa’s,” Lander said proudly. He was excited to meet his Pa’s challenge this time, after his previous victory. Even if part of him was afraid that he would fail. “One of the greatest Irons of our age. If the Archangels don’t notice that, they won’t notice anything.”

Awe-stricken, Athen’s mouth hung open. “Is that the biggest Iron ever?” he asked after a moment.

“Probably,” Lander replied, “but it isn’t just that his expansion is big. He has mastered Archunity. That means he can control his expansion without having to see it, and it’s much more efficient with his mana. That’s why folk stopped calling him Nickellegering when he chose the name Legendarisk.”

“Archu… nity? Can you do that?” Athen asked.

“A bit,” Lander said, abashed. “You’ll see.” Determination to surpass his fathers raged within him like an inferno. Once he did, by the grace of the Archangels he would ascend beyond mortality itself. Exalted he would finally meet his destiny among the Host. Eventually.

His father’s crew of hummingfolk flit about the ship, checking the rigging. They darted through the air with precision, halting fast and changing directions like ricochets. They each wore an odd piece of cloth around their neck almost like a bib, and had long bottles strapped tightly against their lower bodies. Lander looked to Ove, whose beak clacked with jealousy at their mobility. Unlike larger birdfolk who normally could not fly well for their weight, the hummingbirds were light and tore the air with the agility of their wings. The crew buzzed overhead as Lander led his group across the pier.

His pa stood bold and strong with arms crossed behind him, commanding his first mate with a firm tone. Lander signalled to Ove to hold Lyrua and Athen back while he approached alone. First mate Anastatius noticed him and backed away.

Wolfram turned only slightly to see what had caught Anastatius’s attention. “Lander!” he shouted, yanking his sword free and swinging it down. Lander flashed his blade from its scabbard, pivoting to block the larger man’s downward stroke. Their blades met with a reverberating clash, and Lander nearly lost his footing on the flooded pier, but he spaced his legs to balance before he was knocked down.

An orange glow came over his pa’s eyes, pressing the weight of his will against his superior blade. Lander braced himself, urging his sword to match. They struggled, their weapons straining against each other’s power. Lander would not win unless he could free his mind and focus on his armour without seeing it.

His armour was tight around his body. When he wore it, it was his body. He should not have to see his body to move it; that was a limitation that baulked only lesser Irons. He willed his armour to change, to move from his chest into his arms to give him strength, but it did not. Now he faced his father head on, while his own shame flanked him from within.

His grandpa was Exalted; his tricorn rested on Lander’s polished head because he had proven himself worthy of it, but every moment he struggled, that worth was proven false. He willed his armour to change again, and it did not.

Even worse than embarrassing himself before his pa and his grandpa, was Lyrua and Athen. And Ove. He could not turn to see them watching, but he could feel their judgement. He growled. If he lost now, he may as well abandon his ambitions and become an innkeeper or a labourer. He yearned to prove himself to the ones he was sworn to protect, that they would know his might stood as a wall between them and their foes.

He felt the heat in his eyes, and the metal surged from the plates across his chest, obeying his will to bolster his arms. His burning resolve repelled his pa’s blade, pushing it back until the opening was clear. Sliding forward, he ducked past the sword under the shadow of his pa’s broad-brimmed hat and wrapped his arms around him. Their chests pounded together with a clang, and he squeezed with all the new strength in his arms until his pa creaked from the force.

Wolfram let his blade drop with a splash to the pier and embraced Lander in return. “That’s my boy! I knew it was no fluke the last time. The hat remains yours. You look strong in it, just like your grandpa.” He patted Lander on the head. “But don’t you go and get sea water on it.”

Lander laughed. His shoulders ached, and pain snaked through his arms. With a shudder the joints in his shoulders gave, and his arms tore away and slammed into the flood. “Might be two flukes,” he said.

His pa roared a laugh. “Maybe.” He slammed Lander’s back with a wide palm, nearly knocking him to the pier. “Get those back on, you can help Anastatius haul some cannons for me.”