Polished dark oak swings open upon well-lubricated hinges. Amidst perfumes of alstroemeria wistful of the sunglow of summers past, he enters, tired but focused eyes peering through crow's feet and once-luscious hair. He is a man without need for introductions.

"Prince Altair," he bows, "second prince of Alveria."

His uniform is a royal red, decorated in those clean yellow chevrons which glitter and shine in chandelier lights which dangle so effortlessly from the ceilings of rooms of princesses—or, at least, their cramped waiting rooms. Across from me, Nathaniel kneels, swiftly averting his gaze away from the prince.

"Charlotte has written highly of you," I breathe, imitating Nathaniel's kneeling to the best of my ability.

"And so too does she speak of you, Aria," the prince humors, "so much so, in fact, that I might suspect she were in love with you if she and I were not already engaged! Now, please, enough with the formalities." Nathaniel shifts to the door and Altair sits, gesturing toward me to do the same. "What did you think of the play?"

We are still a day away from capital city Erlija, but its lights are already visible on the horizon against the waning sunlight. The Halcyon, while not particularly speedy, is the largest airship of Alveria's fleet, often the choice of the royal family for commutes to and from the furthest southern cities. The slow but rhythmic rumbling of its propellers draws the prince's question into a daydream. I dive into the play, becoming the lead scientist upon the Arx, the final bastion of society for a humanity long past their expiration. We had killed Mother Nature, and from its dying hands built a monumental airship, a complete ecosystem within a genetically modified winged snake. In pursuit of a new settlement, humanity had travelled millions of miles and hundreds of generations in this repurposed organism. Gazing out the window, I create, from the wheat fields of outer Erlija, glittering gold with the glint of autumn, an ocean—vast, open, and endless—exactly how it was for the people upon the Arx looking down. Having discovered the accelerated aging of the ship's reactor core, I propose to the high officials a rationing schedule to limit the ship's energy consumption, only to be accused of instigating societal tensions. I am given two choices: to revoke my claims, or to self-exile along with my lab members, forever cast into the infinite waters below.

"It was frustrating," I complain, "how the Arx officials refused to listen to science."

Altair breaks into a subdued chuckle. "I suppose the writers of such historical folktales could have been a bit more optimistic about the high officials. But, if anything, I'd say they were no more pessimistic than the Alverian people today."

"The king—your father—he's not doing very well, is he?"

The prince sighs, months of lost sleep catching up to him in an instant. "Not only that, he's incompetent. The Arx officials were incompetent. I suppose that's what thousands of years and a stagnant society do to you. Hell, it's only been fifty years for us, and it already feels like we're on the brink of a revolution."

"Do you think democracy will help Alveria?"

"Democracy only gives the people a false sense of power, delaying the inevitable until they take the real thing for themselves. The people are tired, Aria. Have you witnessed any of the recent protests?"

"Yes," I reply. Agricultural technology in Alveria was quickly lagging behind its counterpart developed by the darker-skinned Felysians across the eastern ocean. One particularly deficient harvest two years ago had prompted a slew of trade restrictions from Felys. This, along with the rising influence of nationalistic Alverian guilds and racist rhetoric, had accomplished nothing but crash the economy and skyrocket unemployment. Perhaps the only guild that had profited from the chaos was the Traders Guild, which, having long prepared for such a possibly, had monopolized holdings on agricultural equipment and were now charging for them at exorbitant prices, benefitting only themselves and their wealthy investors. Even in small-town Fonte, it was difficult to ignore daily the unionized marches outside the library where I worked. "Of course, it's hard to miss."

Altair continues. "Not only are racial and class tensions at an all-time high, but now we have to deal with the 'orphan problem'! Every month, thousands of these orphans show up in Erlija out of nowhere and make the famine even worse that what it is already. And it's up to us to arrest the orphan-loving extremists who call for rights we can't promise. The Alverian people need a strong leader who can take sides on these issues, whether he be voted in or not. I…" His voice trails off. "The high officials of the Arx are very lucky to have had so few problems over so many years. A strong ruler cannot listen to everyone, every voice—only the most reasonable, the least likely to result in revolt. Who knows what might have happened if they had suddenly begun rationing food aboard the Arx after thousands of years of unrestricted access?"

Altair is interrupted with a knock upon dark oak, followed by two more. Cautiously, Nathaniel draws open the door, peering into the hallway. When his camouflaged uniform turns back around, he wears a smile, subdued, like all the other guards, but still so genuine, that it could have only been one person behind that door. "Your Highness, Miss Charlotte has arrived."

Still in costume as the lead scientist from The Fall of the Arx, Charlotte beams into the room, smile before body. Facing Altair, she curtseys, the restrictive confines of her lab coat failing to shield her elegance. Turning toward Nathaniel, she reaches up and flicks him playfully on his forehead. "So this is where you were, hanging out with Aria without me! Well, it's my turn now! Ian said he heard something odd down near the engines, and asked you to go help him investigate."

"Sis, you know I can't leave Prince Altair's side. Tell Ian—"

Altair interjects. "It's alright, Nathaniel. Return to me when you've finished what you need to do. We can take care of ourselves."

Hesitantly, Nathaniel nods to Altair and Charlotte, and steps out of the waiting room. Hidden under a wig during the performance, Charlotte's flowing, layered, pink-dyed hair now fell naturally around her, a gradient toward purple down past her shoulders. As she embraces me, I witness again her glossy blue eyes, unchanged from seven years ago when we had said our goodbyes in Fonte as she had left for acting school.

"Aria! I've missed you so, so much!" I try to hug her back, but she nearly chokes the breath out of me. "Those jade nails match your eyes perfectly! And I love your pendant earrings! Who taught you to look so pretty?" She chuckles, a sweet physalis perfume engulfing my senses. "My ugly duckling grew into a beautiful swan," she exclaims, kissing my left and right cheeks before holding me out at arm's length again. "What did you think of the play? How did I do?"

Charlotte is energetic as ever. The day she left, I had brought her homegrown hydrangeas dyed blue from Fonte's acidic soil. She had done the same for me—though hers were grown red. She had cried so much that day that the acid from her tears could have dyed her flowers blue. "You were amazing on stage! Even though she self-exiles in the end, I couldn't stop daydreaming as the scientist. Say, Charlotte, since you played the character herself—why did she choose exile?"

Charlotte blinks, drawing her arms away from me to think. Dreamy eyes still wandering around the ceiling, she responds.

"Maybe she had fallen in love with a mermaid in the ocean?"

"What?"

"Just kidding," she grins widely, "the scientist must have felt some responsibility for her lab members' safety. It turned out well, didn't it? She probably wouldn't have survived the fall, and without her choice, neither Alveria nor Felys would exist."

Originally Felysian folklore, The Fall of the Arx had been elevated by a recent contentious theory from the Alverian archaeologists. Formed fully from organic materials, the land beneath both Alveria and Felys turned out to be far richer in life than even the endless primitive oceans surrounding it. According to the play, when the winged snake Arx had finally collapsed from exhaustion of its reactor core, it had coiled up in the ocean and died, its body's landmass paving the way for what few remnants of humanity remained after the fall. The play positions the Arx reactor core in the horned head of the snake, north of Alveria and Felys—which, if discovered, would no doubt provide great insights into humanity's past scientific achievements, in addition to valuable access to any remaining stored energy. However, any real exploration had been gutted by the violent winds and waves on the northern high seas.

Altair, visibly distressed by his internal political deliberations and Charlotte's abundance of energy, pushes off from his chair with an interjection. "Congratulations on a successful show, Charlotte. It is my first time witnessing the play in person, and I could not have asked for a more talented cast." Offering a kiss on the back of Charlotte's left hand, he continues. "However, if the protests in Erlija continue, the Halcyon may be not able to land safely come tomorrow. You are the champion of the people; you know what they want. Help me draft a response. I will ask the messenger to deliver it to the protests by morning."

Charlotte's childlike grin has now faded into a refined half-smile. She waves goodbye to me, and I wave back. As they retreat into Charlotte's bedroom from the door behind me, I hear Altair promise Charlotte more time to herself once they finish. Perhaps Nathaniel can request a few shifts off too.

Dusk never seems to end as the Halcyon chases the sun. Charlotte's gerbera tea is awfully calming…

Sirens blare all around us. I try to clean the water and dirt from my shoes. Nathaniel is still catching his breath. Charlotte is crying as quietly as she can. The four of us huddle behind an overgrown bush just large enough for a few pre-pubescent teens, shirking at any signs of lights or people. He faces away from the three of us, dripping in the moonlight like a black cat out of a shower; even the jacket which Nathaniel had given him is soaked. I ask him for his name. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Frustrated, he looks around, then at his left hand which is wearing a worn-out wristwatch, and finally back to me. "November," he hesitates, then says, twisting the syllables under a Felysian accent. The sirens are so loud…

"God, these sirens are so loud! Go wake up Aria! I will find Nathaniel!"

Charlotte's crying again. She shakes me. I am awake, barely. The fire alarm rings in a corner. The waiting room is deafening. My vision is blurry. The prince rushes back into the room. The flowery scents are gone. My eyes dilate immediately. My muscles are slower. Altair drags Charlotte and she drags me. Nathaniel is waiting outside the room. My legs can't support my body. The narrow hall wobbles. Something clear and round rolls by. I trip on it. I let go of Charlotte's hand. Altair pulls her forward. She doesn't realize I've let go. Now she does. But it's too late.

The ceiling collapses between us and twists my right foot under it. The carpet underneath is burning and sears my skin raw. I tug and tug but can't get out. Charlotte screams my name over and over again, but Nathaniel and Altair drag her away. Looking over his shoulder, Nathaniel promises that he will get help. But the pain on my skin hurts so much. Tears well up in my eyes, and my vision blurs into hues of an immortal blaze.

All around me is silent save for the crackling of the flame. Tears welling up in my eyes, I grasp the burning metal piece pinning my leg and attempt to lift it. It sears my fingers, but I have no other choice. As I struggle, I hear a crack. The ground beneath me collapses not a moment later. Amidst suffocating smoke and an eigengrau haze, I hear someone call out.

"Put this on," I make out amidst the alarms, from what little Felysian I know, "and hit the button!" He tosses me a rope and I hastily work it around my waist. On my left is a small glass-covered device. I carve away the cover with my bloody, charred fingers and slam the button beneath with the last of my strength.

The air around me compresses, then slams me against the prison bars, dragging me through a human-sized opening. The space around us breaks open into a golden ocean.