It was the day I was to die. . .
The sensation was unforgettable; the smell of fire upon the hull, the pungent odor of ash as it wrenched my nostrils. As the tattered ship buckled, then teetered to one side in its final moments, I gazed through the glass canopy as the opposing airships let loose the fire of their cannons and rockets.
This would be the final time the spirits would share the heavens with me. The crew had long since thrown themselves overboard and floated upon chutes like cherry blossoms to the waiting ocean below, and just a moment before, the monks had joined them after sounding the ship's gong some decks above as one last plea of mercy to the gods of the sun and moon. Being a young boy with nothing left to offer the world, I knew they had little reason to spare me.
Both wood and metal creaked and snapped, and the weight of my feet began to grow light, a fearful sign that, like a bird torn of its wings, the airship had begun its sudden descent. The entire compartment tipped ever steeper as the roaring volley lashed like the swiping claws of a dragon upon the ship's flank.
I quickly lost my footing and my face slammed against the deck.
This was it.
My life had reached its end. The war, which had violently torn everything from me, would mercifully allow me a few more breaths before taking me from this world.
I thought I was prepared. I thought I was brave enough to face it. But as I lifted my eyes, I saw the girl that had refused to leave me be to my fate.
She was on her knees with her hands crossed atop her lap, and her face remained as calm and dignified as the legendary emperors of our country's past. Her robes were dirty and plain, but the way she wore them inspired a beauty that rivaled that of any kimono I had ever seen.
Her lips moved, but her voice was quickly drowned by the sharp howls and moans of the collapsing bulkheads.
I must have heard something that my fading memory can no longer recall -perhaps a word or phrase-, because what she said at that moment reminded me of home. My eyes filled with tears and all at once, my want of death disappeared and I found myself yearning to live again.
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SKY OF PAPER: AN ASIAN STEAMPUNK FANTASY
FantasyAn intimate fantasy tale, told in the stylings of an epic Asian drama, inspired by sweeping Chinese tragic story-telling, and dressed in a fictional fusion of Far Eastern mysticism and elements of steam culture. Turn the silk veil on a world...