Trafalgar rested both forearms against the cold railing, leaning forward as the wind brushed past his face. Beneath the ship, the world stretched endlessly—smaller now, distant, as if it belonged to someone else.
Carac was gone. Not merely out of sight, but truly left behind, fading like a city swallowed by fog, its lights dissolving into memory rather than distance.
In its place, scattered lights dotted the land below. Small clusters marked isolated houses, faint and fragile. Farther away, larger constellations revealed towns and cities, their glow softened by altitude. Massive structures rose like silent monuments, their outlines barely visible through the haze. Other flying vessels drifted through the skies alongside them—sleek silhouettes cutting steady paths through the air—while bulky zeppelins moved slowly in the opposite direction, ferrying passengers toward Carac like luminous beetles crawling across the night.
It was… fascinating.
This was what he had imagined, once.
