A name? If it needs a name, it is [i]Redana's[/i]. That's the one that sticks to it. Oh, that plover? It's [i]Redana's[/i]. She's been in its guts; she's played with its muscles and traced her fingers along its spine. It's the one she keeps mounted on the side of the bay she always uses, the one with the seat just how she likes it, the one that hums its name back into her spine. It's weathered and not ornamented, not decorated, not personalized outside of how familiar its grips are beneath her gloved hands. [i]Redana's[/i] roars like a lion as it leaves its cables behind and falls into the sky.

It's always been this. The placid blue is [i]unnatural[/i], but [i]Redana's[/i] will adjust eventually. What's one more unearthly color when it's been kissed by every one that [i]Polychromatikí[/i] had to offer? It's always been falling, over and over, tumbling out every time into the tumult and the tempest. There's no storm that its pilot hasn't seen and then, grinning, dived into. It taps its deeper energy stores, the ones designed to let it keep a d-scythe burning as Redana makes her way up and down the [i]Plousios[/i].

Everything's packed, right? Bags stuffed into the floorboard, the nagging feeling that something must have been left behind, but beneath her the world opens up and the thought of turning back seems [i]wasteful.[/i] Her seat hums in agreement. The only way is forward, to see what hasn't been seen, to discover what comes next. The wild rush beneath her (like water, like a river) is just encouragement to clench the grips tighter, to brace her feet harder against the pedals, to squeeze more speed out of [i]Redana's[/i] until it's like she's looping the Olympic sprint over and over again, and everyone else is straggling behind, except--

Except for Bella. For a moment, she catches a glimpse of black and cyan in her periphery, and her first instinct is to bring the D-Scythe to bear, but she checks herself, and Bella crests like a dolphin breaking free from a nebula-spur, and then she tumbles back down to earth, to claw at the ground, to try to keep [i]up[/i]. And Redana doesn't doubt her for a second, even as she rockets forward, and the entire world unfolds underneath her mountain by mountain, river by river, flag by flag, and she can go searching for quests and lost treasures later, because right now she just needs to accelerate until she's left everything

[s][i]everything[/i][/s]

everything behind her, in the trail of her thrusters, in the echo of her engine, in the wake of the prow with which she cuts into the unknown. And nobody's here to hear her laughter, nobody except for [i]Redana's[/i]. But that's fine. Bella's keeping up. That's all she wanted in the first place, isn't it?