300 Feet Above

One: Abnormal Awakening

"All aboard who's going abroad!"

I jolted awake with a gasp. The sky above me was bright, blindingly so, and a cheerful shade of blue. The sun beat relentlessly on my face, only made bearable by the breeze that wafted through my hair.

I sat up groggily, rubbing the crusty residue of sleep out of my eyes. What had once been a comfortable bed was now hard and uncomfortable, and I glanced down to find a pile of ropes beneath me.

Crates of various sizes and shapes were piled haphazardly all around me, forming an enclosed space about half my height. As I was only sitting, I still couldn't quite see beyond their rough wooden perimeter, but the soothing crash of waves and the smell of salt water jogged my memory. I was on a dock, that much was obvious. I'd fallen asleep on a tangled pile of mooring rope.

My grey trench coat sloughed off my shoulders as I pushed myself from sitting into a low crouch. One of its buttons had been caught on a frayed strand of the thick brown rope beneath me and refused to let go of its own accord.

I tugged it free and adjusted it slightly—it didn't fit well, as it had been tailored for my brother.

A voice called out once again, raspy shouts drowning out the soothing sound of the waves.

"The airship Firmament, last call! The port of Símera to the port of Ávrio!"

Panic coursed through my brain as I struggled to remember where I was and why. How long had I been asleep? I'd had the strangest dream, but now it slipped away from me, the memory growing fainter by the second.

Slowly but surely a foggy recollection returned to me. Símera. The maiden voyage.

I was late!

As I struggled to my feet I began mentally scolding myself.

Of all the places to accidentally fall asleep, this had to have been the least comfortable place I could've chosen. The two-day bus ride from Hudson had been long and slow, but there were more comfortable places to sleep aboard the Firmament.

If it didn't leave without me, that was.

I stood, pushing one of the boxes aside, and stepped out onto the dock. The sun beat against my skin, filling me with energy. The wooden pier was hot beneath my feet, even through my shoes, planks warmed by constant exposure.

A heavy weight around my shoulder alerted me to the presence of my bag—a small but well-made leather satchel that contained all the amenities I needed for my voyage abroad. I adjusted the worn brown strap and continued walking.

The pier jutted far out into the blue sea, sandwiched between the Símeran peninsula and a massive sandbar meant to break the waves before they reached the dock. Traversing its uneven surface were people of all cultures and ethnicities, arriving from one place, bound for another.

Only a single boat could be found at this pier—an old wooden dinghy bobbed on the tide, lashed to a nearby post. It had clearly fallen into disrepair; travel by boat was ill-advised, as the rising seas tended to swallow up even the most industrious watercraft.

Instead, hundreds of colourful airships floated above my head, gangways extended down towards me like ramps into a whole new world. Each ship was impressive in its own right—several were hundreds of meters long and several more were equipped with all the best salvaged technology money could buy—but only one was my destination.

"Hey!" a voice barked. "You! Were you sleeping in my supplies?"

I took off down the dock, ignoring the shouts from whoever was behind me.