3:00 AM. The Lower Districts.
Ash landed on the cobblestones with a heavy thud, his designer boots hand-stitched from the finest leathers immediately sinking into a puddle of something grey and oily. He recoiled, his nose wrinkling instinctively.
The air here didn't smell like the lavender and beeswax of the Sterling Palace. It smelled of sulfur, recycled steam, and the sharp, metallic tang of the nearby foundries. It was, quite frankly, disgusting.
"Ugh," Ash muttered, lifting his foot and watching a string of grime cling to his heel. "This place is… filthy."
He looked around the dimly lit street. A rusted pipe overhead hissed, spitting a jet of hot vapor that dampened his silk shirt. Shadows moved in the corners of the alleyways rats, or perhaps people who didn't want to be found. He felt a sudden, sharp pang of uncertainty. Back at the palace, the temperature was always perfect. Here, the damp cold seemed to seep into his bones.
But then, he looked back up. Far, far above him, the golden spires of the Upper District glowed like unreachable stars behind the smog. For the first time in seventeen years, there was no guard at his door. No tutor telling him how to sit. No father looking at him like a disappointing investment.
Ash took a deep breath of the soot-heavy air. It burned his throat slightly, but he didn't care.
"Still better," he whispered, a defiant spark returning to his watery eyes. "I'd rather rot in this gutter than spend another night in that cage."
He began to walk, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He didn't know where he was going, and he certainly didn't know about the 8:00 AM meeting. He was just a boy with a sword and a very expensive coat, lost in a world that didn't care about his last name.
Ash continued down the street, his expensive boots clicking unevenly on the grime. Suddenly, the silence was shattered. A cluster of people came sprinting around a corner, their faces pale with terror, nearly trampling him in their rush to escape.
Ash looked toward the source of the panic and froze. In the center of the street, a man was contorting, his limbs stretching at impossible angles as a jagged, purple-black energy pulsed from a cracked Remnant embedded in his palm. The Lucid Remnant was overloading, turning the human into a snarling, deranged monster.
"At this time? Really?" Ash grumbled. He didn't have his palace guard or his royal entourage, but his instincts hadn't left him.
He drew his sword in one fluid motion. As the monster lunged, shrieking with a voice that sounded like tearing metal, Ash met it head-on. He swung his blade, channeling a burst of light that exploded upon impact. The radiant energy slammed into the creature, destabilizing the dark pulse of the Remnant and knocking the monster onto its back, dazed and twitching.
"GUARDS! TAKE HIM AWA—" Ash started to roar, his voice carrying that natural authority of a prince. He stopped abruptly, the word hanging in the damp air.
He looked around. There were no guards. No one was coming to follow his orders.
"Nevermind," he sighed, the weight of his new reality hitting him.
He looked down at the creature. Most nobles would have finished the job, viewing a deranged Remnant-user as nothing more than a broken tool to be discarded. But Ash looked at the man's face, still visible beneath the monstrous transformation. He felt a sharp tug of empathy in his heart; they were both trapped by things they couldn't control.
"I'm not killing you," Ash muttered.
He sheathed his sword and, despite the grime ruining his fine silk sleeves, he hoisted the heavy, unconscious monster onto his shoulders. Grunting under the weight, he began the long trek toward the district's prison block.
When he reached the iron-barred gates of the local jail, he carefully set the destabilized man down right in front of the main entrance where the torchlight was brightest.
"Fix him," Ash whispered toward the sleepy-looking guards inside the gatehouse.
Before they could spot him and ask questions about the boy in the royal fabrics, Ash ducked back into the shadows, disappearing into the fog.
8:00 AM. The Lower Districts.
The morning sun tried its best to pierce through the thick layer of industrial smog, turning the sky a hazy, bruised orange. Aero was power-walking down the main thoroughfare of the fringe, his goggles resting on his forehead and a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth.
He was checking his pocket watch every three seconds. "Okay, okay, I'm on time. Gramps said I'm never on time, but look at me! I'm a professional. I'm a leader. I'm—"
Aero froze mid-stride. His eyes went wide, and the toast fell from his mouth, landing face-down in the soot.
"SHIT!" Aero yelled, clutching his head. "I didn't tell them the place we're meeting up!"
He spun in a circle, looking at the dozens of different alleyways and scrap heaps. "I just said 8:00 AM! Do I go back to the Bolt Cafe? Definitely not. Maybe the park? No. Maybe a nearby market? Think, think, Aero... where would a group of misfit friends go to?"
He started running blindly, his boots clattering against the pavement as he panicked. "Where would they—"
OOF.
He slammed directly into someone draped in a dark, heavy cloak. The impact sent him stumbling back, while the other person stood their ground. A few sheets of loose parchment fluttered from the person's satchel, drifting toward the soot-stained ground.
Aero rubbed his sore nose, ready to apologize, but then he saw the familiar pale hair and the quiet, intense gaze.
"Lucidia!" he gasped, his panic instantly turning into a grin. "Oh man, am I glad to see you. I realized halfway here that I'm an idiot and never actually gave anyone an address."
Lucidia looked down at him, her pale hair catching the dull morning light. She sighed softly. "I figured," she said, her voice calm. "That's why I started walking toward your ship."
Aero blinked, his grin faltering into a look of pure confusion. "Wait... how did you even know where I live?"
Lucidia glanced toward the industrial skyline where the silhouette of the rusty airship sat perched on a docking spire. "Looks like a place you'd live at," she said simply.
Aero paused, looking up at his messy, gear-covered home in the distance. He scratched the back of his neck. "Oh... it does, doesn't it? Fair point." He shook off the confusion and pumped a fist. "Anyways, let's go find the others! And also, have you contacted Ash?"
"Of course!" Lucidia said.
Aero beamed, a huge smile breaking across his face. "OK—"
"Not..." Lucidia cut him off immediately, her expression deadpan. "He's a noble. How would I have his contact?"
Aero's smile froze, his hand still mid-air. "Oh. Right. The whole... royal thing. I keep forgetting he probably uses gold-plated carrier pigeons or something."
Aero and Lucidia started weaving through the early morning crowd, heading toward the central market square. As they rounded a corner near a row of closed stalls, they spotted two familiar figures leaning against a stone pillar.
Quinna had her arms crossed, looking remarkably awake for someone who had been staring at the stars a few hours ago. Acheron stood beside her, his dark eyes scanning the crowd with a predator's focus.
"You really should say the location next time, peanut head," Quinna said as soon as they were in earshot, her tone sharp but playful.
Aero's face went red. "Hey! Don't call me that!"
Acheron tilted his head, observing the shape of Aero's goggles and messy hair. "He's more of an almond head," he said tonelessly.
Quinna paused, then burst into a giggle. "An almond head? What type of insult is that even supposed to be, Acheron?"
Before Aero could defend the shape of his skull, a heavy footstep echoed behind them, followed by the sound of light taps. Mugen appeared from behind a stack of crates, looking like he hadn't slept at all, with Eevee trailing behind him and rubbing her eyes.
"Finally found you all," Mugen grunted, crossing his massive arms. "You didn't even say the location."
"Yeah!" Eevee chimed in, still looking half-asleep but managed a small glare. "I wandered into three different bakeries before I saw Mugen's big head!"
Aero rubbed the back of his neck, smiling nervously. "Sorry, guys. My bad. I got a little ahead of myself."
The group stood there for a moment, a strange collection of misfits in the middle of a waking city. But Lucidia wasn't smiling. She looked around the circle, her pale hair shifting as she turned her head.
"We're missing one," she said, her voice dropping the playful tone of the others. "We should really go find Ash."