“Gods above and below!” gasped Sir Barrihald, breaking the silence. The older man had leapt to his feet. “Did you see that, Rivingtol?”

“I did,” Rivingtol said, his voice stunned.

“You… you cheated!” Junner shouted, face darkening. He still had his deck out, and so did Tristan. Tristan didn’t say anything, only stood still and watched the other man for any sign of movement.

“What?” Sir Barrihald exclaimed, stepping down off the bleachers. He marched up to the square and planted himself firmly between Tristan and Junner eyeing each other down.

He gave Junner a disapproving frown. “While I do not necessarily approve of this young man’s unsophisticated Duel style, you have lost, my good man. Fair and square. Rivingtol and I will attest there was no cheating done.” Rivingtol joined Sir Barrihald, and the portly man crossed his arms.

Junner looked like he wanted to strangle them both, but Renald stepped up smoothly and laid a firm hand on his shoulder.

“No harm, no foul,” Renald said easily. His lips smiled, but his eyes didn’t. “You win, Tristan. That was some trick you had there. Well played.”

Tristan didn’t respond; he hadn’t moved since the Duelcircle faded. Even though those Zeppelin Zips were roiling in his stomach and his mind was all awhirl, his body remained steady. His hands, even more.

After a tense moment, Junner finally dismissed his deck. Only then did Tristan do so too, letting loose a tightly-coiled breath.

“Come on, Ren,” Junner spat. “Let’s go.”

They turned to leave.

“Hold a moment,” Rivingtol said, stepping in their path. With his large arms crossed above his portly gut, the man resembled more of a squat gorilla than a man. He looked at Tristan. “Did you two set a wager before this Duel?”

“Yes,” Tristan said coldly. “The winner gets to pick a card of their choosing from the loser’s [Binder].”

Rivingtol turned back to Junner, who had a tight, icy smile on his face.

“I know men like you,” Rivingtol said. “Older men who use their age and experience to trick and exploit their youngers, instead of uplifting and guiding them.” He shook his head, seeming more sad than angry, then nodded to Tristan. “Give your opponent his due prize.”

Junner’s smile grew. “Sure thing.”

He walked over to Tristan and summoned his [Binder], handing it over. “Go ahead. Take whatever you want.”

Tristan figured it’d be something like this. He took the [Binder]—which appeared as a jagged bolt of violet splitting a dark sky—and opened it.

All the slots were empty. He riffled through the different sections and saw nothing.

“Well, lad?” Sir Barrihald said, coming up behind him. He sounded very eager. “What are you going to pick?” He peered over Tristan’s shoulder at the [Binder] then gasped.

“The [Binder’s] empty?” Rivingtol called.

“This is… this is a betrayal most foul!” Sir Barrihald growled, glaring at Junner who had a smug expression on his face. “A perversion of the sanctity of Dueling!”

Tristan closed the [Binder] and handed it back. Junner grabbed it and dismissed it.

“See you around, Tristan Ford,” Junner said. He nodded to Renald and the two men stalked away, stomping up the stairs and out the arena.

“I do not understand,” Sir Barrihald said. He pulled the pocket square from his suit jacket and dabbed his forehead with it.

Tristan winced as his head pulsed from the alcohol. “The whole thing was a scam, even beyond the empty [Binder]. A petty trick he was trying to pull on a younger, clearly drunk cardbearer. He even wore a blue cape and sleeves to make me think he was a Water user, but his Binder’s primary color was violet. He’s likely a Chaos user.”

Eila was with the other women right now, but he wasn’t too worried. Their motive didn’t seem like violence, definitely not on a heavily-guarded, locked down airship like the Serenity. Instead, Tristan had the sense they were rich socialites who got off at playing dirty, plying gullible cardbearers with drinks and then winning cards off them in a ‘legal’ way. She could handle herself; she had picked up on their drift much quicker than he had.

“This is exactly the point I have been trying to make in our debates, Rivingtol,” Sir Barrihald exclaimed, thumping his fist in his palm. “There needs to be stricter regulations surrounding cardbearers.”

“Agreed, Sir.” Rivingtol turned to Tristan with a curious look. “But what was the scam beyond him emptying the [Binder] before the Duel?”

“I’m not too familiar with Dueling,” Tristan said, “but the way he’d worded the wager implied any card could be taken. Including my [Item Cards].”

Sir Barrihald gasped again—the man seemed very fond of doing that—while Rivingtol nodded in understanding.

“He could’ve taken your chips if he won,” Rivingtol said.

Tristan nodded. “And he’d already transferred his whole [Binder] to his friend, Renald, before the Duel. If he lost, he wouldn’t lose anything.”

Sir Barrihald shook his head in disgust. “The state of cardbearers these days. Present company excluded of course.”

“Thank you two for your help,” Tristan said. “I really appreciate it.” He stuck his hand out, shook both men’s hands and made a proper introduction.

“Speak nothing of it, my boy,” Sir Barrihald said, smiling. “You gave Rivingtol and I a damn fine show. Damn fine. I am most curious to hear about your particular style of Dueling. So fast, so aggressive! But where is the finesse, the elegance?” He shook his head, his jowls sloshing. “No, this is a conversation that must be had over wine. Rivingtol! Tristan! Let us make way to the lounge.”

Tristan had been thinking of just using [Healing Concoction] and going to bed. But these two men seemed quite into Dueling; though he was drunk, he had enough presence of mind to recognize this was as good an opportunity as any to learn more about the Elemental Cup.

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He might as well drink and converse with the men while he’s already nice and loose, then use the heal to sober up after.

He shrugged and smiled at the two older men. “Why not?”

—🃁—

Eila watched, bemused, as Tristan sang songs with two old men. He was squished in-between them; at his height, he had to get on his tip-toes to wrap his arms around their shoulders. The two older men—apparently they were Sir Barrihald and Rivingtol, which were quite old-fashioned names—were laughing uproariously and guiding Tristan through the lyrics.

She sighed and leaned back in her chair in the lounge, sipping on water. Tristan and the men were up on the stage. It was a sort of karaoke night, where people could go up and sing if they wished.

After Eila had left Tristan with the men, she’d gone up to the lounge with the other women. They were clearly distracting her, recognizing that she was a hindrance to whatever scam they were trying to pull. She allowed them to do so and used that opportunity to try to get some information about the Divine Expedition, the Elemental Cup, and some updates on the state of the Continent, but they didn’t know much more than Eila already knew.

At some point, Junner and Renald had stomped their way into the lounge. Junner had scowled at Eila’s innocent smile and bluntly told the women they needed to go. Clearly, Tristan had foiled their plans.

She got the whole story from him a short while after he came up with those two men. They made hasty introductions, and while Sir Barrihald and Rivingtol were grabbing drinks, he’d sat down and explained what had happened and how he planned on getting more information from the two. Apparently they were part of a gentlemen’s Dueling club called The Stout and Cane based in Advance, though they had multiple chapters across the Continent.

“Look,” Tristan had said to her, “I’m going to drink with these guys and talk to them. Honestly, they’re pretty cool. I like them. But that’s not the point. I’m going to talk to them. Did I already say that?”

“Fine. Just make sure to go down to the arena to use [Healing Concoction] before it’s too late.”

He had nodded seriously. “I will.”

“Acccrosssss theeeee wayyyyyy,” Tristan belted into the air, Sir Barrihald and Rivingtol roaring along with him. They bowed to raucous cheers and claps from the audience, who was also well and drunk. She snorted.

“Forget cardbearing,” Tristan said to her as he stumbled her way. “I should be a singer. Server!” he yelled, raising his hand in the air.

“No, he’s done,” she said to the approaching woman, who nodded and went away.

“Aww, Eila, I’m on vacation.”

“You’ve had enough,” she said, standing up. “Come on. Let’s get you sobered up.”

“One second. Let me say goodbye to my new best friends.” He stumbled over to Sir Barrihald and Rivingtol at the bar. She watched with amusement as he hugged them both and made plans to meet tomorrow.

He stumbled back to her and gave a thumbs-up.

She led him back to the [Teleport Stone] carefully. It took Tristan a minute to summon his key, and another minute of fumbling with the switch before she grew exasperated and did it for him.

They appeared on the sixth floor. Tristan was mumbling something about how the real world was so much better than the game, whatever that meant. She carefully guided him to the arena then groaned when she saw it was closed.

“Sorry, buddy,” she said to Tristan, who had his eyes closed and was swaying on his feet. “You’re going to have to suffer through this.”

She brought him down to the second floor and carefully guided him to their room. She unlocked it, ferrying him in.

He immediately stumbled to the bed and collapsed on it. “Why’s the room spinning,” he grumbled. “Where’s my deck. It’s broken. I sat on it wrong.” He giggled.

She sat beside him and converted a glass of water from the complimentary assortment on the desk. “Come,” she said, helping him sit up. “Drink this all, then another.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Too bad.” She made him drink one glass, then another, then a third for good measure. He slumped back down on the bed afterwards and promptly passed out. He was still fully-clothed, but she wasn’t going to deal with that.

She stood there in the room for a bit. The sudden silence after being surrounded by people was deafening.

How can you leave us? her mother had cried, angry tears streaming down her face. Right now?

She left the room. She couldn’t be alone with her thoughts right now. She made her way up to the fifth floor; the Aerial was now open, and she went outside onto the balcony.

A large, open deck dotted with chairs and a meditation garden greeted her. A railing had been set up along the edge. Beyond it was the air-shield surrounding the Serenity, pressurizing it and keeping the outside warm. She couldn’t even feel a hint of the wind or notice a difference in her breathing despite being so high-up.

There were a dozen or so people about, some lounging, some walking through the garden. Guards patrolled the deck and the walkway that looped around the length of the ship on this floor.

She made her way to the railing and peered down. She couldn’t see the ground below, just more endlessness and the faintly visible curve of the airshield. It was night, and the moon shone directly in front of her, basking her in cold, ethereal light. Stars dotted the sky like tiny glass lights, twinkling.

A part of her was still in shock, she knew. Shock that she’d actually done it, actually left her friends, family, and Guild. She still felt sick in her stomach. But she had to do it. It was for Aidas that she left.

She had not told the whole truth to Tristan. Her dream wasn’t to be a Divine forger. Her dream was simply to be Aidas’s forger. It was her brother who had the grand ambition, not her. The moment that Divine message came, the Apotheosis, it was like a switch had flipped in him. Transcendent was no longer enough.

But now, he was dead. She had actually planned on quitting forging after they finished with [Withering Roots].

Then, she met Tristan. There was something about him that reminded her of Aidas. The same intense stare, the stubborn desire to bend the world to their whim. When he told her he was also a Water and Dark user, it felt like Aquos herself had sent him to her.

She had decided then, on the fields outside Sol, to inherit Aidas’s will and continue forward; when she died and her elements were returned to the gods, she could then hug him and say she did it for them both.

Eila wiped away her tears. She didn’t feel sad, though. Or at least, not more sad than usual. She was just… crying.

She sighed. It was time for bed. She took one last look at the sky stretched out before her.

Then, she frowned. Around her, other people looking out at the view were also muttering and peering out.

Something in the distance was growing closer.

It was another ship, a smaller vessel, maybe a fifth of the size of the Serenity. A sky wyrm’s snarling visage had been painted on the front of its sharp-nosed hull, but its face had been stripped into a skull. Two edged fins stuck out from its sides, the moonlight glinting off them. Were they bladed?

“Oh gods,” breathed a tall guard who’d come up beside her. She turned to him, fear starting to chill her, as he hastily pulled out his communicator from his [Binder].

“Everyone!” the guard roared. “Inside the ship, now!”

Chaos ensued as people started running inside. Eila joined the throng, looking over her shoulder at the ship directly flying towards them.

“This is Hagin on Aerial,” she heard the guard shout into his communicator as she ran inside. “Pirate vessel incoming. I repeat, pirate vessel incoming!”

—🃁—

Tristan was jostled awake from his dizzy sleep by a loud rumble. He jerked up, looking about with bleary eyes. Though the room was dark, he could see that Eila’s bed was still empty.

He yawned and went back to bed.