The airship Brasswing cut through the clouds like a blade. TARITOTO Her brass-plated hull gleamed in the sunlight, gears humming in perfect rhythm. Above the deck, great propellers churned the air with a steady whir, sending us sailing toward the Eastern Sky-Lanes.
I’d been aboard for three weeks, ever since Captain Elias Vane offered me a position as navigator. He said I had a knack for maps—and a sharper eye for trouble.
We were headed for the city of Gearford, a sprawling metropolis of smoke stacks and clock towers, where the sky itself seemed to tick with the rhythm of machines. But the real prize wasn’t the city. It was what lay above it—the floating citadel of Aetherhold.
Aetherhold was a legend. They said its towers were spun from silver, its streets paved with crystal, and its vaults filled with treasures the Old Empires had hidden away when the sky was still wild.
Captain Vane intended to rob it.
We weren’t the only ones.
Sky piracy was a dangerous business, but the pay was good if you lived through it. Dozens of other ships had set out for the citadel after word spread of a breach in its defenses.
We had one advantage—a mechanical raven named Cog, built by our engineer, Miss Liora Flint. Cog could fly higher and faster than any manned vessel, carrying messages and scouting ahead without fear of falling.
On the fifth day, Cog returned with news: two pirate crews were already closing in. One was the Black Zephyr, captained by the infamous Darius Locke. The other was worse—The Gilded Fang, a warship bristling with cannons, crewed by mercenaries who didn’t take prisoners.
By dawn, we could see the shimmer of Aetherhold on the horizon. Floating just above the cloudline, it was more beautiful than I imagined—its spires turning slowly in the wind, tethered to the earth below by massive chains.
Captain Vane ordered full speed. The Brasswing surged forward, her engines straining, gears clattering like a heartbeat.
Then the cannons started.
The Black Zephyr appeared from the clouds on our port side, her black sails blotting out the sun. Cannon fire tore through the air, sending splinters across our deck.
We fired back. Steam hissed from our deck guns, the recoil rattling the brass fittings. Liora worked the engines like a woman possessed, coaxing every ounce of speed from the ship.
That’s when The Gilded Fang came out of the sun, her golden figurehead grinning as she opened fire.
We were caught in the crossfire.
“Take us above the chains!” Captain Vane shouted.
I plotted a course that threaded us between the enemy ships and the massive chains that anchored Aetherhold. The Brasswing roared upward, dodging fire, her shadow sliding over the polished metal links.
We reached the outer ring of the citadel. The only way in was through the Clock Gate—a massive circular doorway turning like the face of a clock, each “hour” a different opening that aligned only once every few minutes.
We had one chance.
“Now!” I shouted.
The Brasswing dove through the gap just as it swung open, the teeth of the gate passing inches from our hull. Behind us, the Black Zephyr tried the same—and scraped her starboard side clean off. She spun away, trailing smoke.
The Gilded Fang didn’t even try. She turned her guns on the gate, hoping to blast her way through.
We didn’t wait to see if she succeeded.
Inside Aetherhold, the streets gleamed like they were lit from within. The air was warm, the wind soft, and everything hummed with the sound of turning gears. But the city was empty—no people, no guards, just the echo of our boots on crystal streets.
“Feels wrong,” Liora muttered.
It was.
In the center of the citadel stood the Grand Vault, a domed building covered in golden clockwork. We approached cautiously. The door was ajar. Inside were stacks of treasures—gold, jewels, mechanical wonders beyond imagination.
Captain Vane grinned. “Load what you can carry.”
That’s when the floor shifted.
The vault wasn’t empty—it was a trap.
Hidden panels slid open, and clockwork sentinels stepped out, their brass limbs hissing with steam. Their eyes glowed red as they raised weapons built into their arms.
We fought our way out, grabbing only what we could carry. I took something small—a silver compass etched with strange symbols. Liora grabbed Cog, who had been scanning the vault’s mechanisms.
Captain Vane… grabbed too much. He fell behind.
By the time we reached the Brasswing, the Gilded Fang had made it through the gate. She was waiting for us, her cannons aimed.
But Cog had seen something—the compass I’d taken wasn’t just a trinket. It controlled the Clock Gate.
I turned the dial, and the gate snapped shut, cutting The Gilded Fang clean in half.
We sailed away, the citadel shrinking behind us, the compass warm in my pocket.
Back aboard, Liora studied it. “This doesn’t just open the gate,” she said. “It controls all the citadel’s defenses.”
I looked at the clouds ahead, already thinking of where we could go next.
In the sky, power wasn’t about gold or jewels.
It was about who held the gears.