The airship’s control rod groaned in protest as Sarka pushed it forward with all her might, sending the small ship plummeting through the clouds to avoid a massive harpoon. “Come on, come on!” she shouted, willing the ship to respond faster. With a deft touch, Sarka banked the ship, narrowly avoiding the deadly weapon, but not without taking a hard hit to the head as she slammed into the cramped cabin. She rubbed her throbbing temples and muttered, “The designers clearly never thought a Niraxi woman would be at the helm.” The airship was designed for a much smaller pilot, and Sarka’s tall frame was contorted in the pilot’s seat as she struggled to navigate through the treacherous skies.
She glanced upward and saw the harpoon’s rope snap tight then go slack. She quickly focused back forward to see the harpoon swinging back towards the ship, its gleaming metal hook inches away from the main cabin. Sarka’s foot shot out, flicking a pedal, narrowly shifting the ship just in time. The old airship shuddered as she spun a wheel, releasing the stored-up Spectrocite ballast tanks and venting them abruptly. Above the wheel was a framed, faded photo of a young girl in a floppy hat, smiling at the camera despite the hat being three times too big for her. Sarka couldn’t help but smile back as she closed the valve, her attention fully back on flying the ship.
Reaching behind her, Sarka flipped the lever that released the drag kite, slowing the ship dramatically. She had memorized all the blueprints and manuals of the V-100 Sparrow airship she was flying, when she was younger and dreamed of a life beyond the Spectrocite caves where her tribe was still enslaved. She knew every inch of the ship, every mechanical quirk and every potential weakness. She was determined to use her skills to bring freedom to her tribe, the Niraxi, who were still enslaved by the Order of the Crystal.
Sarka’s heart raced as she made her way through the dense clouds, the ship bouncing and rattling as it encountered turbulence. The roar of the pursuing airship was growing louder, its engines drowning out the sound of the wind as it closed in on her. With quick thinking, she banked the ship and disappeared into a cloud, narrowly avoiding the massive airship passing overhead.
As a skilled airship pilot, Sarka was familiar with the dangers and difficulties that came with flying the skies. However, with the recent changes to the National Council’s policies, the risks had become even more pronounced. The once-effective punishments for piracy had been greatly reduced, encouraging more and more pirates to carry out attacks with recklessness and abandon. The result was an increase in the frequency of attacks on cargo transports, putting airship pilots like Sarka in constant peril.
Sarka had taken on the higher-risk jobs on purpose, as they paid better, and her reputation as a dependable pilot allowed her to choose from the best available opportunities. She had almost saved enough money to buy her own airship and was determined to use it to bring freedom to her tribe, the Niraxi.
The Niraxi were an ancient people, hidden underground for generations, mining the glowing blue Spectrocite. It wasn’t until Milos stumbled upon their civilization that the rest of the world became aware of their existence. The Niraxi were a peaceful people, trading with the local villages for what they could not produce themselves. However, all that changed when Milos discovered their secret mine.
At first, Milos worked with the Niraxi, learning from them and helping them mine the Spectrocite. But as time went on, he became more and more obsessed with the power the crystals held. His exposure to the Spectrocite led him to become addicted to it, crushing it up and injecting it to experience its effects. This addiction, combined with his ambition, ultimately led to his corruption. He turned on the Niraxi, enslaving them and using them to mine the Spectrocite to his gain. He created the Order of the Crystal, using its members to patrol the mines and keep the Niraxi in line.
Lost in thoughts of the safety of her tribe, Sarka was suddenly jolted back to reality by a piercing warning whistle. She sprang into action, her quick thinking and skilled fingers flipping levers and adjusting controls to level out the ship and silence the alarm. She looked up at a photo above the wheel, a framed, faded photo of a young girl in a floppy hat, smiling at the camera despite the hat being three times too big for her. Sarka couldn’t help but smile back as she closed the valve, her attention fully back on flying the ship.