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On a small, dusty farm in Tsukishima, the first rooster of the morning began to crow in announcement of daybreak. On the Western half of the skyline, cold night still hung onto the sky in shades of blue, dark rain clouds creeping to the edge of the skyline as if to flee from the impending morning. The sun was still glimmering splinters above the ocean horizon, though it slowly rose to pierce the sky in soft pink hues. Tsukishima was known for its sunrises, especially over Mount Kaji. It was the day of the mid-Autumn festival. In the north, shipments of fireworks were being carefully arranged for festivities, silk dresses were being smoothed out and displayed in the windows of storefronts, and streets were being swept clean for the Imperial Parade. In the south, vendors woke earlier than usual to begin frying a surplus of chicken, baking racks of mooncakes, and brewing entire barrels of tea. Crates of traditional offerings -- [i]rice dumplings, white chestnuts, and sweet potato[/i] -- were being pulled by oxcarts into marketplaces, where carts and tents began to set up. All around Tsukishima, russet maple trees began to shed their leaves in the crisp morning winds.

At Obokuri Harbor, no such maple leaves spun lazily through the breeze, and no vendors prepped for the lunar equinox. Most would be unable to see the moon through the smog. Even without the smog, in the furthest northeastern harbors of Tsukishima, some know little else of the day's significance than the effect the parade would have on foot-traffic. Miles from the harbor, closer to the blossoming red sunrise behind Mount Kaji, a steamboat made its way towards the port city of Obokuri. It was a great grey ship, with no sails, windows, or [i]wood[/i] of any kind. In lieu of a flag, its starboard side was painted with the seal of Goristan; A crowned, golden pegasus on a red and silver shield. If it had not been encrusted in barnacles and half-washed away by the wind and brine, the crest would have been a more pleasing sight, though making the great ship pleasing to the eye would be a harder fix than painting a winged horse on the side. It was smelted of dark metal, with great rivets holding it together like sutures. Where the mast should have been, chimneys and their billowing plumes of black smoke were in their place. On the deck, no men were visible, though this was typical for Goristi ships. Goristan had more interest in getting their [i]things[/i] to Tsukishima than their people for the past few years.