Heir of Cinders [FADING EMBERS #1] - ON HOLD

12.1 - Falling Star

Sagan had once read a wild theory of the orkhus originally having green skin instead of the dull gray that now enveloped their musculature. There was a time he might have once entertained that theory, bouncing it around his mind like a rubber ball to test its possibility. Now, however, he was more inclined to think that the original theorist had merely caught sight of an airsick orkhus.

For the third time in that minute alone, Sagan felt a violent stirring of his bowels. Clutching his stomach with one hand, his other one flew out to latch onto a wooden railing. The entire airship gave a shudder as it hit a nasty patch of turbulence, causing the sludge inside Sagan's innards to rise alarmingly. He forcefully gulped it back down, leaving a sickening aftertaste to linger around his mouth and throat.

Airships. Why'd it have to be airships?

If his father had been the petty type, Sagan could have sworn this was his punishment for the useless son who failed to meet his sky-high expectations. Sky-high, he thought, his lips quivering into a small smirk of irony despite himself. Yes, it was all a satirical comedy alright- his father putting him in the place that was out of his reach using a big metal contraption attached to a giant balloon.

Of course, all of that were just ramblings from the highly sardonic mind of Nicolaus Sagan. His father was neither petty nor ironically humorous. Only cold, rational efficiency ran through the insides of that big skull of his. Father had made him take the airship because it was the fastest and most efficient method of travel. There was no other reason to it, no personal feelings of bitter disappointment underlying his decision. It was pure, unsentimental logic.

Sagan would be hoping too much if he'd thought the unpleasant mode of transport had been influenced by emotions from his father, even if they were negative.

Another violent jolt rocked the airship, and Sagan found himself draped listlessly against the railings like a depressing sack of potatoes. He felt like one, too, as a storm broke out within his innards, threatening to spill from his mouth into the dark, endless skies below. A part of his airsick mind wondered what would actually happen if he happened to hurl his tasteless dinner outside the open window. Would the frigid temperature be cold enough to freeze his vomit into solid? At this altitude, how much impact would be created from the force of his undigested food slamming into some poor bystander on the ground?

"You look green, Nick," a deep voice behind him suddenly piped up, dissuading Sagan from attempting to test his theory.

Clapping a large hand in front of his mouth, he struggled for a moment to swallow back his nausea. The orkhus turned around to find another of his kind standing there, a scarf wrapped around his tree trunk of a neck. His left tusk was raised slightly above the other in an amused smirk. Sagan could barely make out a small spark of sympathy within his molten eyes... though he could very much be imagining it. The nausea was starting to impair his cognitive functions, or so he thought.

"I... ugh... I don't feel so good," Sagan managed to groan, suppressing the urge to create a huge icky mess in the middle of the shaking corridor. He doubled over and slid to the floor, clutching his stomach.

"You, uh, look like you're absolutely falling apart," the other orkhus said, the concern becoming notable in his tone. He walked towards Sagan and extended a gray hand of his own. "C'mon, Nick, let's get you to the restroom. The mess would be easier to clean over there."

"How... many times I have to tell you, Kevin?" Sagan mumbled through gritted teeth. "Make... make an effort to, ugh, at least make it to the end of my name."

"Well, 'Nicolaus' is kinda a mouthful," Kevin pointed out. He linked his hand into Sagan's and hoisted him up to his feet. Sagan stumbled slightly at the sudden elevation of his head, feeling a sharp pain crash into it like a hammer being driven into the skull. His left hand flew up to his scalp as he jammed his eyes shut. Little spots of light dotted the back of his eyelids.