So Immanuel persisted, ceasing his paddling only when darkness rendered the way ahead invisible, and resuming with the morning light. His emotions cycled between fury in his moments of energized focus and profound sorrow as exhaustion took over. He attempted to center his thoughts on the rhythm of his breath, achieving fleeting moments of tranquility before memories intruded—his past life, the simplicity of a shower in his home with its green tiles, Naia's deft hands preparing their meal.

As he maneuvered beneath an entanglement of roots, the narrow confines of the river gave way to a vast expanse of water. Across this new breadth of river, he saw what appeared to be the endless patchwork of farmlands. Standing in the boat, now rocking gently from the current and the wind, he absorbed the sight of civilization's edge—a broad road delineating the cultivated fields from the riverbank.

Overcome, Immanuel slumped onto a bench within the boat, fixating on the distant normalcy. Summoning a piece of fruit, he ate mechanically, his throat constricting, parched as an arid creek bed. The sight before him was a stark contrast to the wilderness he had endured.

Having finished his fruit, Immanuel turned his attention to navigating the boat towards civilization. He aligned the vessel with the road running parallel to the river, his intentions set on following it. Moving to the center, he unfurled the sail they had stowed in a corner of the boat. A few bugs that had taken refuge in the folds scattered as the fabric expanded.

As soon as the sail caught the wind, the boat began to move swiftly along the water. The breeze was consistent and strong, propelling him forward. Immanuel took his place on the rear bench, grasping the rudder firmly. The river's current and the wind worked in tandem, guiding the boat and Immanuel towards the hints of civilization..

When night descended, the dense forest that had been Immanuel's path was now replaced by rolling farmlands on both sides of the river. Rows of brown crops danced lightly in the breeze. Seeking rest after his frantic escape, he anchored his boat by the roadside and for the first time since his mad rush, he spread out his hide and allowed sleep to claim him.

---

"Hi lad!," a voice cut through his slumber. Immanuel's eyes snapped open to see a man standing there, an older gentleman with a cart drawn by two massive green-haired buffaloes. It was morning already. The man was clad in a simple black robe and open sandals, radiating a kindly grandfatherly air. "Nice boat," he commented, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

"What?" Immanuel muttered, still disoriented from sleep.

"The boat, it's well-crafted. Don’t recognize the style, though. Once had a boat myself, now I’ve got this cart," the man explained, gesturing to his wagon.

Immanuel felt torn between leaping from the boat to embrace the man, or maintaining his composure. "Yeah, it was a gift," he replied instead.

"Good friends," the man nodded. Immanuel realized they were conversing in a different language than he had been using until now.

"Where's the city?" Immanuel inquired with a shaky voice.

"Just a two-hour walk that way," the man said, nodding down the river in the direction Immanuel was already traveling.

"Which city is it?"

The man chuckled. "Why, you're headed toward Aerolith Spirehaven.” He offered, lending an air of mystery to the destination.

"Where do you come from, young lad?" the man inquired further.

"From the great plains," Immanuel responded, a touch of sorrow in his voice.

"The green plains? That's quite a distance. You must be strong," the man observed with a warm smile. Immanuel just nodded, then added quietly, "My companion died."

At that, his composure cracked, and tears began to flow. The encounter, the first with another human since his ordeal, brought forth a torrent of loneliness and grief.

The man looked upon Immanuel with sympathy. "Must have been a harrowing journey," he said softly.

Immanuel could only nod in agreement.

"Listen, lad," he continued, "You'll reach the harbor if you follow the river. The guards will want to inspect you. Ask for Harbormaster Carto, and tell him Dastur sent you. I'll find you later and give you a proper welcome to these parts."

"Thank you," Immanuel murmured, grateful yet anxious at the thought of leaving this brief connection behind.

"Remember, Harbormaster Carto," Dastur reiterated as Immanuel raised the sail once more.

"Yes," Immanuel replied, focusing on the task as the wind began to pull the boat forward. With a final push away from the shore, he was once again adrift, this time with a name and a place to anchor his hope.

As Immanuel guided his boat, the outlines of the city crystallized into grandiose detail. The cityscape was a magnificent tapestry of architectural prowess: white towers glistening under the embrace of the suns, standing tall with blue domed rooftops. As Immanuel's gaze wandered upward, he was captivated by the sight of enormous balconies protruding from the city's lofty structures, each one a riot of color. These suspended gardens were draped with flowering vines that cascaded over their edges, spilling colors in a waterfall of reds, purples, and golds, visible from even this distance, and the air seemed to shimmer with the flitting of wings—birds drawn to the flowers.

And then he saw Skyships gilding gracefully above. With big round buoyant hulls, akin to the pontoons of water planes.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

As the river broadened, the harbor came into view—a vibrant and chaotic concourse of commerce. The piers, made of broad stone, jutted into the water like fingers of a welcoming hand. Small fishing boats bobbed beside massive cargo ships with dark red wooden hulls. Sailors and merchants alike thronged the docks.

He expertly steered his boat towards a welcoming dock. Anchoring with deliberate care, Immanuel paused to absorb the harbor's bustling tableau. Fishermen, their fingers dancing nimbly, mended nets, while dockworkers, muscles taut and glistening, heaved crates in a rhythmic ballet of load and unload.

Stepping onto the pier, Immanuel felt the solidity of the land beneath him. His eyes went up to see a Skyship docking at one of the terraces high in the air. He smiled and closed his eyes, breathing in deep.

Immanuel, still basking in the serenity of his newfound safety, opened his eyes as a bald man approached, flanked by two guards. The man's gait was authoritative, his eyes sharp and perceptive as they quickly took in the sight of the unfamiliar vessel and its lone occupant. The guards appeared vigilant yet composed, their hands resting casually near the hilts of their swords.

The bald man stopped a few paces away, his gaze fixed on Immanuel. His black eyebrows furrowed slightly.

"Good day," the man greeted, his voice carrying the weight of command softened by a hint of curiosity. "I see you've brought in quite the unusual craft. Not from these parts, I gather?"

Immanuel nodded, steadying himself for the interaction. "Good day," he replied, his voice betraying a trace of his recent ordeals. "No. Yes, the boat is made by the people of the planes.”

He was silent for a moment. The guards looked at each other but their faces betrayed nothing.

"And what brings you to our harbor? The man continued.

"I was told to ask for harbormaster Carto by Dastur," Immanuel said.

“Dastur, you said? Well, that makes things easier. Just wait here.”

As the bald man turned to dispatch one of his guards he looked at Immanuel’s boat one more time and walked away with his remaining guard.

Immanuel took another deep breath, filling his lungs with the fresh air. He watched the guard stride off. The harbor continued its dance around him—sailors shouting commands, the creak of ropes and wood, the slap of waves against hulls.

A sense of reality settled over Immanuel. He was here, in a grand city, a place of life and civilization so starkly different from the wilds he had traversed.

He turned his gaze back to the harbor, to the skyships with their pontoon-like structures that enabled them to kiss the clouds. ‘I need to know how to get me one of those beautiful skyships!’ He thought with a smile on his lips. ‘Oh, the freedom!’

They made him wait for some time and Immanuel was feeling rather hungry but decided against summoning some fruit. It was better to check the lay of the land before revealing any of his abilities.

While stretching and taking in the sights of the bustling harbor, he eventually caught sight of Dastur approaching, accompanied by a man adorned with a colorful feathered necklace and a robe to match. The man was shorter than Dastur, with a handsome face on which Immanuel could see colorful makeup.

As they approached, Dastur greeted Immanuel by briefly touching cheek to cheek. “Now this is the young lad I was telling you about, Carto,” he said, introducing Immanuel to the harbormaster.

"Would you tell me your name?" Carto asked with a friendly tone.

"Yes, of course, Immanuel," he responded.

"I am Carto, Harbormaster Carto. Welcome to Stone Harbour," Carto announced. "My friend here told me you've had a difficult journey. Would you join me in my house? Can you take your boat? We'll place it inside my personal boathouse."

Grateful for the offer, Immanuel nodded, untying his boat and following the two men. Maneuvering through the docks required him to board his boat several times to navigate around the other vessels moored there, but eventually, they reached Carto's stone house with an open-water garage, where two sleek ships were already housed. "Just put her there," Carto directed.

Once his boat was securely placed, Immanuel rejoined the men on the pier. Dastur examined him for a moment.

"Come, let us have some tea," Carto said, leading the way through an open gate into a lush garden that fronted a white stone house. The interior of the home was as serene as its exterior, with white and blue hues that lent the space an air of tranquility. The floor boasted a beautiful mosaic that caught Immanuel’s eye as they moved through the house.

They settled on a balcony that offered a sweeping view of the harbor. The disparity between his recent existence in the wilds and the current setting of cultured refinement made Immanuel feel conspicuous and out of place. He wondered if his appearance or smell betrayed his time away from civilization. He carefully tried to sniff his armor.

"Naai," Carto called, and an older lady in a white robe arrived. "Tea and refreshments for our guests," he instructed. She nodded silently and departed.

"Now," Carto began, his gaze settling intently on Immanuel. "Dastur here says you came from the green plains on the other side of the Katurna forest. That makes you either extremely lucky or a cultivator." Immanuel gave a confirming nod, aware that his next words would be critical in setting the tone for his future interactions in this city. He looked between the two men, assessing their reactions.

"I'm a cultivator," Immanuel said plainly. "Our ship crashed in the plains and I hit my head. I lost some memories. A local tribe took me in, and with their help, I fixed a boat to reach this city."

"A cultivator," Dastur repeated with a nod, stressing the word as if it carried a deeper meaning. Immanuel looked from Dastur to Carto, not fully grasping the significance.

"That's quite the ordeal," Carto replied with a frown.

"Are there many cultivators here?" Immanuel asked, seeking some familiarity.

"Indeed, there are other cultivators," Carto replied. "They reside in the elevated sectors of our city." He paused, signaling a hiatus in the conversation as Naai returned, bearing tea and refreshments on vibrant china. The tea exuded a floral scent subtly permeating the air.

Once Naai had retreated, Carto resumed, "As you are new to our city, allow me to elucidate. Registration is mandatory for all cultivators here. The city’s laws forbid the presence of any unregistered cultivator—such is the danger they could pose." His gaze lingered on Immanuel.

"It is a matter of safety and protocol," Carto continued after a moment. "I am bound by duty to report your arrival. In due course, you will be assessed, and from there, I don’t really know.”

Immanuel, his mouth full of sweet fruit, asked, "And skyships? How does one get one?"

Both men laughed at that.

"A skyship? One must be inducted into the esteemed family of Prima Danued of the Blue Dome, for they alone possess the secrets of crafting such marvels and the art of their navigation," Carto explained with an amused smile.

As Immanuel mulled over his handful of nuts, his thoughts meandered. 'Registration it is, then,' he thought. 'Let’s tread that path and see where it leads. To own a skyship is not as simple as buying one; that's disheartening. Could I steal one? In this vast city they would not miss one ship?.'