[h3][b]Someplace.[/b][/h3]

The sky had no sun, it hung overhead in a dull, lifeless gray, as if something vast had swallowed the light and left only its shadow behind. The air felt dry and unnatural and there was no wind despite it all being so high up above the skies. There wasn’t even a sound beyond the dull drone of engines.

Carter stood on the deck of the [i]Screaming Eagle[/i], he was younger and in his old service uniform, he looked around dazed and unsure of where he was for a moment before realizing that scores of bombs were dropping from their holders all around the ship, whistling down and landing onto the ground into a cascade of explosions that rang into his ears. Then he glanced at the movement below.

At first it looked like nothing more than shapes, but then the shapes became people. Then they became bodies. Dozens, then hundreds, too many to count as the landscape became a sea of bodies.

And the bombs kept falling.

One after another, slipping from the belly of the airship in an endless wave with no pause. Carter leaned over the railing, eyes wide as the bodies kept piling up.

“They’re off target,” he muttered, “They’re not-”

Another wave dropped.

The ground below churned. Buildings collapsed into themselves. The sea of bodies climbed up.

“Stop it,” he said, louder now.

No one answered around him. He turned, moving quickly along the deck.

“Stop the drop!” he shouted, “We’re missing the rail yard!”

No one reacted, there was no one around. Not a single soul aboard the rails, the bombs kept falling.

Another wave fell.

“No, no, no...”

He broke into a run, speeding through the rails and into the gondolas. The corridors stretched longer than they were, narrowing and darkening as the hum of the engines grew louder. The bombs didn’t stop, the explosions below rang louder.

Carter reached the cockpit and slammed the door open.

“Stop!”

The word died in his throat, his eyes widened as he looked at the helm, there was someone sitting at the helm, perfectly still.

Carter’s eyes dried out, the air escape his lungs. The pilot turned his head slowly.

His eyes were empty. Empty dark voids that sucked any light around them. Then he smiled, a wrong wide smile that extended all the way to his ears.

Carter took a step back.

“Wha-” he couldn’t find the words, “We’re hitting civilians, we’re…”

The pilot’s skin began to sag, it slid from his face in slow, unnatural sheets as if melting until revealing the bone beneath. The teeth still stretched into a permanent grin across the face and the voice that came from him was no longer human.

“Are you a hero yet?”

More explosions rang into the cockpit, Carter tried to move but couldn’t.

The cockpit filled with light and then fire swallowed everything.

The controls, the sheet metal walls, the skeleton’s grin and Carter himself was engulfed into a fiery cloud.

[hr]

[h3][b]Ambassador Crane’s Residency[/b][/h3]

He woke with a violent gasp, air rushing into his lungs as if he had been drowning.

For a moment he didn’t know where he was. A fireplace in front of him crackled softly, warmth pressed against his face and a blanket laid draped over him.

His arm throbbed, he uncovered it from the blanked, his wound was properly bandaged and clean.

He was dressed in a white one-piece undergarment, his regular clothes nowhere in sight and the room was quiet.

There were no engines or falling bombs nor screaming.

Just the fireplace.

Carter swallowed, his breath was still uneven and a thin sheen of sweat clinged to his face.

His eyes lingered on the flames a moment longer then he leaned back slightly in the armchair, not quite trusting that he was fully awake.

A door ahead opened with a quiet click.

Carter’s head turned toward the sound, his body tensing. For a brief second the dream still clung to him and something in him expected fire or that hollow-eyed pilot to be standing there.

Instead, a young woman stepped in.

She wore a simple maid’s uniform, dark fabric with a clean white apron, the kind that looked typical for staff of noble homes. Her blond hair was tied neatly behind her head, though a few loose strands hung at her ears, faint freckles dotted her cheeks. She carried a plated tray with both hands.

She paused when she saw him awake. There was a flicker of surprise in her expression, she strained up before she composed herself and stepped fully into the room.

“My apologies,” she said, voice calm, Mitten accent soft in her pronunciation, “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Carter watched her for a moment, completely motionless, he was still shaking off the last remnants of the nightmare.

“Where am I?” he asked.

She moved toward a small table beside his chair, setting the tray down with care.

“You’re at Ambassador Crane’s residence,” she replied, lifting a metal lid from the plate.

Steam rose immediately, curling into the air, a bowl of soup sat beneath, thick with chunks of meat and vegetables, the warm scent invaded the surroundings.

Carter looked at it, then back at her.

“How’d I get here?”

She adjusted the tray slightly, making sure it was within easy reach of him.

“Your friend brought you in,” she said, “You looked half dead when you arrived.” A brief pause, her eyes flicking over him, “Still do, a little.”

He let out a faint breath that might have been a laugh.

“Yeah… sorry about that.”

He shifted in the chair, pushing himself upright. The movement pulled at his body as a dull ache spread through his limbs and settled deep into his bones but he managed to sit properly.

The maid didn’t rush him. She simply waited until he settled before sliding the tray closer.

“I cleaned your wound,” she continued, “Applied balm and changed the bandaging, if you could call it that. You’ll want to avoid tearing it open again.”

Carter gave a small nod, glancing down at his arm.

“Thank you,” he said. Then, with a faint hint of dry humor, “Hope I wasn’t a trouble patient.”

Her expression didn’t quite soften but there was something less rigid in it.

“I’ve had worse,” she said, "From my time in the service.”

Before Carter could say anything else, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small bottle. From it, she produced a pipette, drawing a measured amount of liquid.

“Open your mouth.”

Carter blinked.

“What is—”

“Open.”

Her tone carried enough weight that he didn’t argue again, he opened his mouth and she stepped closer, tilting the pipette just enough to let a few drops fall onto his tongue.

The bitter taste hit immediately and lingered as he swallowed.

He grimaced slightly.

“Morning as well,” she said, already setting the bottle away, “You’ll take another dose then.”

“What is it?”

She met his eyes briefly, “Something to keep you from rotting from the inside out,” she said plainly, “Best not to skip it.”

Carter let out a quiet exhale, accepting that answer for what it was.

She gestured lightly toward the tray.

“Eat. It’s chicken.”

He picked up the spoon, still eyeing the soup for a second before dipping it in.

“My clothes?” he asked.

“Being washed,” she replied. “You’ll have them back soon.”

He nodded, then hesitated.

“Where did my friend go?”

“She left a few hours ago,” she replied. “With the ambassador.”

He raised his eyebrows for a moment but didn’t say anything else.

“In any case,” she added, “you should eat.”

She moved toward the door again, Carter watched her go but then spoke before she could leave.

“Hey…”

She glanced back.

“What’s your name?”

There was a moment of pause, then she spoke.

“Alina,” she stepped out, the door closing softly behind her.

The room fell quiet again.

Just the fire.

Carter sat there for a moment longer, spoon in hand, staring at the rising steam before finally taking a bite.

[hr]

[h3]Ardellian Embassy - Outer Streets[/h3]

The car slowed well before it ever reached the embassy proper but even from the corner, it was obvious.

Police, loads of them. The entire street had been swallowed a line of bicycles and wooden barricades, officers stood in pairs at every approach and more clustered closer to the embassy itself. The alleyway to the rear was blocked, a truck sitting idle like a deliberate inconvenience rather than an accident.

Ambassador Crane sat in the rear seat and straightened his posture, one hand resting lightly against his knee. His face remained visibly nervous and his eyes moved constantly, measuring.

This was too much heat, far too much.

“…Well,” he murmured under his breath.

Corporal Kentz said nothing from the driver’s seat. His hands remained steady on the wheel. Itzi leaned slightly forward, her gaze sharp. She took it in quickly and was able to put it all together.

“Not subtle,” she muttered.

Crane exhaled quietly, then leaned forward just enough.

“Corporal,” he said, tone even, “you will return to the residency.”

Kentz’s eyes flicked to the mirror.

“Sir?”

“Ensure Mr. Carter’s safety has not been compromised.”

There was a faint pause, “Yes, sir.”

Itzi shifted beside the door.

“I’ll head back to the docks,” she said, already reaching for the handle, “I need to check what’s happening at the ship.” She opened the door and exited, as she stood at the street she looked back at the cordon, “And I’d rather not linger around this many uniforms.”

Crane gave a small nod.

“Very well.”

He opened his door as well and stepped out, Itzi didn’t linger and walked off immediately as the Crane stepped out of the car, her pace was quick and her figure disappeared down the adjoining street toward the docks without so much as a backward glance.

Crane watched her go for a moment longer than necessary.

“…Damn,” he muttered under his breath more to himself than anyone else as he then bit his knuckles. He straightened once more, composure sliding back into him as he leaned slightly toward the front passenger’s window, lowering his voice.

“Once at the residence, remain near the telephone,” he instructed Kentz. “If anything requires… handling, you are to be available.”

Kentz met his gaze for a brief second.

There was something in his expression but he gave a faint nod.

“…Understood.”

Crane gave a nod back and stepped back. A second later the car pulled away from the corner, and disappeared down the street ahead.

Crane remained still then he adjusted his cuffs, smoothed his coat, and began walking.

By the time he reached the police cordon, he looked like his usual diplomatic self, “I am Ambassador Crane of the Commonwealth of Ardell,” he announced.

There was a brief exchange of glances among the officers, then a path opened without resistance.

He passed through. Crane walked forward and soon into the building, once inside it all felt different. There was a clear tension.

He had barely crossed the entrance threshold before the figure of Captain Anders stopped before him.

“Captain,” Crane said.

Anders inclined his head slightly.

“Ambassador,” he replied. “A situation has developed.”

“That much is apparent…” Crane said casually as he let out a breath, allowing Anders to continue.

“A violent criminal is believed to be en route to this location,” Anders explained, “Local authorities have established a perimeter. We have already transmitted a telegram to the Mainland.”

Crane’s jaw tightened, just slightly.

“I see.” He pursed his lips and then nodded.

“You’ve handled it well, Captain. Order has been maintained.”

He turned slightly, gesturing to one of the nearby staff.

“Get me a line to the Mittenland Foreign Office,” he said, “I want the Minister of Foreign Affairs.” He paused for a moment, clicking his fingers before another thought came to him, “And connect me to the Inburian ambassador as well.”

The staffer nodded quickly and moved off, Anders spoke again.

“Corporal Kentz is not present,” he noted, “Was he not with you?”

Crane’s gaze shifted back to him, for a second he said nothing.

Then, almost dismissively, he explained “I’ve sent him on an errand.”

Anders’ expression did not change though he eyes kept squarely at the Ambassador.

“The nature of which,” Crane added, tone sharpening just enough, “does not concern this command.”

There was a tense pause between the pair as footsteps approached. The staffer returned, slightly out of breath.

“Sir,” he said, “the Minister is on the line. The Inburian ambassador as well.”

Crane nodded once.

“Good.”

He adjusted his coat one final time, turning away from Anders.

“Let’s see what they have to say.”