[b] Itzi Ku [/b]
[hr]

Itzi kept her hands firmly on the controls trying to tune out the muffled voices and scrambling boots echoing behind her. But it was impossible not to hear the cries for help, the ragged breathing, the barked instructions, Aden had been hit. She hadn’t seen it happen, but she’d felt it. That kind of thing cpuldnt be tuned out.

For a fleeting second, she pictured herself in his place: slumped over the rails, blood pouring from her arm, helpless. It caught her off guard how vivid the image came, how real the fear felt, she swallowed it down hard and forced her eyes forward. She had a job to do but the thought lingered; how many times had she flown without really considering the risks? How close had she brushed death already and never even realized?

She was no soldier, no gunslinger. She flew, that was supposed to be her shield, her distance from all this madness. But that distance had vanished the moment they lifted off with that cursed gold.

Then it happened, light, faint at first, like someone striking a match in a fog. Itzi turned her head just enough to catch a glimpse of Mitunbaal, kneeling beside Aden, her hands glowing with something warm and golden.

Itzi blinked, for a second, she thought her eyes were playing tricks, but no, it was real. She’d heard stories, old ones, whispers passed around back in the hills of her homeland of people touched by something divine, who could mend wounds with their bare hands. Stories. Fairytales.

And now, she was seeing it.

“By gods...” she whispered under her breath, more to herself than anyone else.

She watched in silence, the awe plain on her face, until the moment passed and she remembered the ship still needed flying. She turned back, but the wonder didn’t leave her, something had changed aboard this ship, something beyond war, gold, and gunfire.

Maybe, just maybe, there was still room for miracles.