It took the remainder of the day for Shane to find the point where the three rivers joined. There was a small town along one bank, named Talon Junction, lorded over by a wealthy merchant who lived in a manor house. Shane used his storm sorcery to float up to the second floor of the manor, searched for an empty room, and invited himself inside. He secured the door with a chair, stripped down and slipped under the comfortable bedding. He woke the next morning to the sound of a rather violent attempt to open the door.

It took another six hours of flight before he reached the city of Dragon's Landing, nestled against a great harbor by the sea. There were many blocky buildings that were two or three stories high, and a square clock tower rested between the five blue crystal spires that dominated the skyline. Factories with smokestacks were packed onto a hill overlooking the harbor. The air was filled with the sound of hammers, ship's bells, and barking dogs. Relative to the city of Black River it looked like a small town, a city on the threshold of destiny.

Many of the homes in the suburbs were constructed from adobe. The pale material was dirty, stained with soot from the local smokestacks. The sunbathers on the river banks all wore bathing suits, and the people on the streets wore overalls or dull jumpsuits. The dirt paths were stained with offal and spotted with small piles of rubbish. Shane could see lots of men, but very few women. They have abandoned their village culture, Shane thought. Nobody is walking around naked, no body paint, and the city is filthy.

Shane levitated over the adobe hovels toward the cluster of blue spires in the downtown area. Some people looked up and saw him, but they went about their business without dwelling on the sight. He passed over a small tavern on the edge of a town square. It was two stories tall, with a pointed, thatched roof, and the yard in front was filled with small tables. The patrons were all men that looked like workers, nursing mugs of beer.

He landed in the beer garden and strode into the tavern. It was dark, hot, and loud within, and it reeked of alcohol and body odor. Seems a lot like the foreign quarters in Needlewood, Shane reflected. He walked up to the bar and shoved his way through. A plump man with a long blue beard regarded him.

"Welcome home, outlander," the innkeeper growled, in a voice that cut through the roar.

"Fair enough," Shane said. "I have traveled a long way, and I am famished. Do you accept the currency of the northern lands?" He offered a small roll of Quarian marks.

"Absolutely." The innkeeper plucked the roll of marks. "Hey, Killian! Get over here!"

A burly man stood up from the end of the bar and approached. His eyes were slashed with blue body paint, and he was missing two fingers on one hand, but otherwise he looked like a normal worker.

"What's this about?" the man named Killian rumbled.

"How much is this worth?" the innkeeper asked.

"The northern currency is strong right now. Ionathan exchanges the currencies three to one."

"Sounds good to me." The innkeeper handed back a few of the bills and stuffed the rest under the counter. He trotted off, then returned with a bowl of stew and a mug of cellared ale. Killian said nothing as he nursed his own mug of ale. Shane ate in silence, listening to conversations in the tavern.

"When do you think the war will be over?" one man asked.

"The manager sent me away today," a worker in overalls said. "I woke up a few minutes late and I missed the line to get into the factory. That crap doesn't happen in the north."

"I can't wait until they open the border again," a bright young man said. "I want to try to get a job in the north."

"The northern embassy is closed, you see. I didn't choose to be born south of the border. I hope the Clans wipe the floor with those selfish bastards."

They are all talking about leaving their homeland, Shane realized.

"Hey Killian, what's so bad about living here?" he asked. He took a sip of his ale as he glanced up at the man.

"Outlander, we only have two options. The first option is to live in the villages. In the old ways, people are forbidden from wearing clothes until they have their first child. Lots of people are forced to walk around naked all day, as their flesh is devoured by insects in the jungle." He pointed to the body paint that slashed his eyes. "This paint is made from a type of poisonous plant. It helps keep the bugs away, but it also hurts like hell for months as you build up tolerance."

"So people flee to the cities," Shane said.

"Jokes on them, too. The factory owners have an overabundance of possible workers. The hours are long, the conditions are terrible, and it is very dangerous. People lose their fingers." He held up one hand, which was missing the two smallest fingers. "And worst of all, there are no women. Generation after generation, city dwellers drown their infant daughters in the harbor."

Shane froze. "Is that true?"

"Take a look outside. Count the number of women on the street. The people who live in the villages have lots and lots of children. If their last living child dies, then they have to go back to walking around naked, even if they are elderly. The sons are sent away to the cities to work, and the Knights and the village Chiefs collect dozens, sometimes hundreds of wives for themselves."

Damn, Shane thought, suddenly feeling guilty. That must be why the Knights were so desperate to get their powers back. They need their powers to prevent an insurrection.

"Are you alright?" Killian asked. "Your face just went pale for a second."

"I'm fine," Shane said with a sigh.

I am guessing that they cannot see it themselves, he thought. They sit around in taverns drinking ale and crafting theories about how to escape their homeland. They only see the competition, the limited supply of jobs, the limited supply of women, the closed border in the north. They are lost in the abstractions designed by men of power. They no longer see reality. The laws of physics don't exist.

Felix suffered from no such mental limitations. He was very aware of the laws of physics and he was likely, at that moment, on his way south with his airplanes. The optimal strategy would be to push deep into the south and destroy the factories, cripple industry before it can be repurposed. A worse possibility existed, Shane realized. If the Heritage Militia got their hands on one of those airplanes, they would be perfectly willing to exterminate anything that was still squirming on the ground. Even innocent civilians.

Shane felt a sudden sense of urgency. He devoured the last of his stew and stood up, still chewing.

"Friend Killian, thank you for the conversation. Now I must be on my way."

After leaving the tavern, Shane turned in the direction of the smoke stacks in the south. He passed through an alley behind the tavern. Piles of viscera, bloody intestines and chunks of animal fat, sat rotting on the dirt paths below, swarming with flies. Shane connected to his Realms and began to levitate. He blasted a wave of electrified air away from his body, incinerating the flies before they could bite him. Then he floated up over the rooftops, all the way up to the level of a small balcony on the side of the clock tower. He floated over the railing and then settled down onto that balcony, looking down at the city.

Those abstractions designed by men of power, they could be wrong, dying, dead ideas, yet the civilization continues for decades or centuries because the wrongness has no natural predator. Felix does not have that luxury. A pilot cannot tolerate wrongness for more than a few minutes. Gravity is the natural predator, and the fragility of mortal bodies. Bad ideas exit the pool of ideas almost immediately, one dead pilot at a time.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Shane shivered as a gust of cold desert wind struck the clock tower.

"What can be done for my people?" Shane asked.

The wind did not answer.

Instead, the voice of girl-child spoke in his mind.

Inspire them, Shane.

He had never heard that voice before. It was not the overtly feminine voice of Astrid, nor was it the imperative voice of Brigid. It was soft, crystalline, delicate like wind chimes.

"Who are you?"

I am Titania, High Daughter of the Elemental Queen of Light. Heed my command mortal. Inspire them! You cannot carry the burdens of an entire civilization on your shoulders. You must become their guiding star. Do this for me, and with my blessing.

"I don't know how."

Titania did not respond. There was only the gentle hiss of the wind passing through the balcony guardrail posts. He suspected there was meaning behind her silence. Maybe he had been wrong, maybe he did know how to inspire them. But it was not lost on Shane how strange it was for a girl-child to be issuing such specific and grandiose commands.

"What would Felix do?"

That much was obvious. He would march into the factories and demand that they start building airplanes. He would reward resistance with the edge of his greatsword, making examples of disgruntled managers by hacking their bodies to pieces. He would bully his way onto a military base, chain soldiers into empty airplanes and threaten to kill them if they don't start flying. Shane tried to imagine himself doing these things, but the image in his mind was completely ridiculous. They would have storm sorcerers detect his location at a distance. They would find him sleeping in some empty home and murder him before he had a chance to wake up and defend himself.

Felix had already been famous. Almost everyone on the northern half of the continent knew his name and his face. He was one of the most skilled and feared fliers in history, serving directly under the Lord Paladin, outside the normal military hierarchy. The sight of his shapeshifted form inspired awe and fear. For Shane, it also inspired envy.

Fear, awe, and envy. That is what Shane needed to inspire in the people. Shane loved flying, and he loved storm sorcery, but nobody ever looked up at him with fear, awe, or envy. Storm sorcery lacked the speed, the power, the risk of winged flight.

"That's it," Shane said. "I see. I finally see."

Every time Felix took to the sky, he was risking his life. This overwhelming risk afforded a certain measure of respect, and Felix was aware of this affordance. He commanded respect and fear, to the degree that he could punish his enemies, even going so far as to brutally murder them in public, without any consequence. Storm sorcery did not command respect. It was too slow and too safe. Even if floating just over the forest floor was very enjoyable, and it gave the flier the illusion of risk, nobody else would be fooled. Nobody would be inspired.

Shane needed to find another way to fly. But he would need an airplane first, and in that there was a contradiction. How would he get started in the first place? There absolutely would not be enough time to travel north and beg Felix to borrow one of his airplanes. Even if that managed to work, he would still need to fly it back to the south, and in that same time, the enemy airplanes could fly the same distance in the same amount of time.

He just needed to invent a new way to fly, without access to an airplane, and without any existing forms of leverage. It needed to be an impressive way of flying, a type of flying that inspired awe, fear, and envy. Also, the enemy airplanes were likely already flying south to destroy his civilization. To Shane, this all seemed impossible.

And yet Titania had remained silent.

There must be a clue hidden in that silence. Brigid's Dream Elemental refused to construct a flying machine. There was a prohibition on Elementals helping humans learn to fly. Obviously, Titania would not be able to give him concrete advice. However, if it really was impossible, why bother to speak to him at all?

"Storm sorcery is not very inspiring," Shane said. "Building an airplane might take too long. That just leaves shapeshifting, which is not possible now that the Blue Dragon is dead."

Wait.

An image formed in his mind, that of a perfect blue drake, made entirely out of draconic flames. He could use storm sorcery to float around, while at the same time he could create the illusion of wings flapping. It would require an enormous amount of control to pull it off. Few sorcerers on the continent, if any, possessed such skill.

Suddenly, he remembered the words of the Purple Dragon. It is unlikely that I will find a better servant on this continent, Astrid had said, when Shane reached the limit of how high he could fly with his storm sorcery. She then used some unrecognizable form of magic to yank the connections away from him. She had been complimenting me!

"Astrid!" Shane shouted. "You chose well! I will prove it!"

He floated up to the very pinnacle of the clocktower. From that vantage, he could see all five blue spires arrayed around him, piercing the sky. He could feel the wind then, as he balanced himself upon that dizzying structure. It was a cold wind. It buffeted his clothes, causing them to flap like flags. It smelled of chaparral shrubs, bitter and vegetal. It felt good. It felt right.

He opened connections to the Realm of Fire, the Realm of Wind, and the Realm of Lightning. He combined them, as he had done in the village once before, but this time he did not focus that combined power out as a plume of flame. He imagined wings at his shoulders, a long tail with smaller wings, spine sails, sharp claws, a long neck, horns, scales. Thousands, tens of thousands of tiny details. He needed the illusion to be perfect in every way. But it was not too difficult, in fact it seemed that the shapes were pulling on him, guiding him along toward the ideal versions of themselves.

Azure draconic flames burst out around Shane, but he felt no heat. The magic had taken control. At the very edge of his awareness Shane could feel the flames form into ligaments and tendons, a beating heart of pure fire, lungs, a second spine connecting to his own. He was in the center, near the nape of the neck of the drake, floating, being pulled up and forward. His awareness began to shift, forward and up. Light struck his eyes, which could see every detail, like an eagle hunting for a mouse. Sound struck his ears, and he could hear every footstep on the walkway. He could hear every crack as the pinnacle of the clocktower began to crumple.

Shane looked at his hands, or rather, his claws. Blue scales gleamed like the surface of the ocean. He could feel his massive wings, and he could feel the wind beating against them. He could feel a slight upward force, like storm sorcery but much weaker, but also much stronger, causing his heavy body to be just light enough to fly. He beat his wing, and the clocktower dropped away.

He began gyrating, violently tossing about like a ship in a storm. He did not have the vast experience that Felix enjoyed. Shane desperately tried to remember the way that the Paladins had described shapeshifted flight. Whenever Shane tried to beat forward, he could feel himself being caught by a nose dive, as more and more of the upper surface of each wing was exposed and therefore contributed to an ever faster nose dive.

It was that smaller wing on the tail, Shane remembered, that allowed drakes to remain stable in the air. He focused on his tail, still beating his wings, and twisted the tail wings slightly down. This helped a lot, bringing the main wings up out of their nose dive. However, this did not help with the gyrations. He focused then on his spine sails, and flipping them all side to side, measuring the impact of each motion.

Shane managed to not smash his face into the ground, remarkably. He could feel the wind on his scales, and it felt so right. He floated above the city, flapping his wings and then gliding, learning to balance his body on the edge of a blade of grass. In the meantime, the shadows in the streets below shifted around as if the sun itself was moving through the sky. The five blue spires cast shadows away from Shane as he flew.

However, one shadow dominated the others. Near the harbor, overlooking the pier and the shore, there was an official building that was seething with living shadows. Shane twisted his wings to orient himself toward those shadows. He gently descended, and pointed his long neck straight at the building. He sucked in air, felt a familiar flame in his chest, and breathed, bathing the building in azure flames. His descent had increased the speed of the wind across his wings, and he traded this increased airspeed for altitude, flying up into the sky to shed speed.

He looped around to get another look at that building. Shadows writhed around on the ground, burning alive. Shane pulled up sharply on his wings, dumping all airspeed, and then smashed onto the ground, crushing the writhing bodies with his massive limbs. He raked the ground with his claws, ripping the shadows to shreds, and breathed more draconic flames on the survivors. The shadows faded and then vanished. The remains of the building were shining, reflecting a golden rainbow-crystal light.

With a massive roar, Shane began to speak: "I am Shane, Chief of Chiefs! Hear these truths and despair! The Blue Dragon is dead! The Knights have lost their powers! Felix of Quaria flies to the south with an army of flying machines, and your doom is certain!"

He breathed a massive plume of blue fire straight up into the sky, much higher than the tips of the blue crystal spires.

Now how do I change back? Shane wondered. He tried to focus his awareness on his true body, still clothed and trapped in the nape of the drake's neck, surrounded by muscles and blue blood vessels. He opened his eyes then, in his main body, and saw the dark interior of his draconic body. The drake's spine was connected to his own, his fingers and toes were joined into the drake's flesh. He began to slowly release the connections to the Realms, allowing the power to dissolve into clouds. The body of the drake began to turn into mist, and when the mist cleared, Shane was standing alone, on a field of burning corpses.

Slowly, people began to crawl out of the nearby buildings. Shane recognized the man named Killian, who bravely approached from the direction of the tavern. He was visibly trembling, taking one careful step at a time.

"Outlander," Killian said. "What have you done?"

Shane looked over the devastation on all sides. "I'm not sure. I saw shadows and I attacked them."

Killian's eyes were wide with shock. "The Mayor's office, the Quarian Embassy, the Emigration Licensing Office, the City Hall... ashes. Completely destroyed. Outlander, you have slaughtered the entire city government."

Shane shrugged. "I guess that makes me the new city government."