The Docks of the Lowlands were a chaotic symphony of hissing steam and clanking metal. Massive cranes, powered by leaking mana-crystals, swung heavy crates of "refined history"—scavenged tech from the surface—into the bellies of rusted airships.
Elara sprinted along the catwalks, her heart hammering in sync with the Silicon Heart in her satchel. Behind her, the crimson searchlights of the Iron Sentinels cut through the smog, getting closer with every mechanical stride.
"We need a ship, Valerius," Elara gasped, ducking behind a stack of fuel barrels. "And we need it now. Any suggestions that don't involve me getting shot?"
"Scanning... Analyzing structural integrity of local vessels," the Archmage's voice hummed in her mind. A series of green overlays appeared over her vision, highlighting various ships in the harbor. Most were marked with a red.
Finally, a small, battered skiff at the far end of Pier 9 flashed a bright . It was the Zephyr's Wake, a wind-sail skiff that looked like it was held together by prayer and duct tape. Its solar-sails were frayed, but its mana-thrusters were glowing with a steady, overclocked blue.
"That? It looks like it'll fall apart if I sneeze on it," Elara whispered.
"It possesses a Class-5 Warp-Drive hidden beneath its rusted hull," Valerius countered. "And more importantly, its pilot is currently distracted by a very intense game of cards."
Elara didn't wait. She vaulted over the railing, sliding down a grease-slicked cable onto the deck of the Zephyr's Wake. She scrambled to the helm, her fingers dancing over the familiar, grime-covered controls.
"Hey! That's my ship!" a voice yelled from the pier. A grizzled man with a mechanical eye stood up from a nearby table, kicking over his chair.
"Borrowing it!" Elara shouted back, slamming the ignition.
The ship groaned. The mana-thrusters coughed a cloud of black smoke before roaring to life with a high-pitched scream. But as the moorings snapped, a heavy clunk shook the deck.
An Iron Sentinel had jumped from the catwalk, its metal claws digging into the wooden railing of the stern. It began to pull itself up, its red eye fixing on Elara.
"Valerius! Do something!"
"Initiating Overdrive. Hold on, Scavenger."
The Silicon Heart pulsed with a blinding white light. Suddenly, the frayed solar-sails of the Zephyr's Wake didn't just catch the wind—they caught the Stream. The gold veins in the sky arched down, tethering to the ship like glowing ropes.
With a sound like a thunderclap, the skiff jerked forward. The Sentinel was ripped from the railing by the sheer force of the acceleration, falling into the dark abyss of the Lowlands below.
Elara was slammed back into the pilot's seat as the world blurred into a streak of neon gold and deep violet. The Lowlands vanished, replaced by the thinning air of the upper atmosphere. Below them, the clouds parted to reveal the Floating Isles—massive, crystalline continents suspended in the sky, glowing with a beauty that felt both ancient and artificial.
"We made it," Elara breathed, staring at the glittering spires of the capital city.
"We have entered the lion's den," Valerius corrected. "The High Council's scanners will find us in minutes. We must disappear into the 'Glitch' before they lock onto our signature."