Draven was standing on the bow of the airship looking up at the giant propellers cutting through the evening clouds, catching glimpses of starlight. He had flown on an airship once before. He was in just as much awe of the views now as he was then. In another hour, they would land in Maestwyth, Skyport 2. The other one, Skyport 1, was south of the mountains just outside of the capital. Airships largely stayed south of the Blacktail Sierra, largely due to wild wyverns. Dragons from the north were a nuisance, but wyverns were especially vicious. This posed a significant obstacle, because airships were desperately needed throughout the land. With the rise of the undead, traveling on foot was a terrifying prospect on its own. He had heard the capital was building other ports, but he was unsure as to where. In the meantime, some airships were commissioned by the capital, equipped with netting and other means to capture or kill wyverns that roamed the skies over the mainland. Draven wanted to tag along on a wyvern hunt. He thought it’d be thrilling. Of course it would be. It’d also be dangerous.

  Draven leaned against the railing. It was cold, but not nearly as bone chilling as the Ashveil. In one sense, he was happy to be far away from that tundra. The north was characteristically harsh. Dangerous winters, massive predators and little food made it a difficult terrain to survive in. In another sense, he missed the north. He missed his home. He missed the hearth. He missed his bed, the fur blankets, and the woman who kept them warm. Her name was Elynai.

  Being in the mainland was a bittersweet experience. In a lot of a ways, he left Malafane behind. Yet, here he was. Keep your head in the game, he thought. Once you find her, you get paid. Once you get paid, you and Elynai can go east.

  He thought about his wife. She was slightly taller than him, and thin. He thought about her long legs, her petite but muscular form, and elegant jawline. He thought about her magnificent cooking; especially when it came to the wild elk. He thought about her strength and precision on the hunt. He thought about her love for explaining elven history and ritual. He thought about her endurance in bed.

  One night, she held him close. He was resting against her chest, listening to her heart, watching the fire blaze in the central hearth. Her dark violet hair stuck to her sweaty breasts. She tightened her embrace and kissed his forehead.

  He thought about the fact that their marriage was hidden from the world. They were careful when they returned to their home. No one could know. If the elves found out, she’d be jailed, or worse. He always felt selfish. If humans found out, he’d simply be ostracized. His lifestyle would be minimally impacted. She faced a more serious threat. Oddly enough, none of that bothered her as much as the Pale Elf.

  “We can’t stay here,” she said. She gently patted his back, signaling she wanted to sit up.

  They twisted and he watched her push her self up and tuck her legs underneath as she straddled him. She was dazzling, majestically sculpted with Fyrecaller skin that shimmered like the fire blazing to their right. Her body was framed in an orange glow, highlighting every curve. She pulled her hair back, wrapping it into a bun, and then wiped away the loose strands that stuck to her forehead. She slowly waved her hand, cooling off her neck.

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  “Not this again,” said Draven. “Myths don’t have teeth, you know?”

  “I know you don’t have as much faith as I do, but our rituals reveal the greater truth. The Great Fyre is upon us. Prophecy tells us that the Pale Elf will be here soon. When that happens…” He watched her throat as she choked on her words. She forced herself to speak. “When that happens, the time of the elves will end.”

  He didn’t understand it. The Pale Elf scared her more than anything. He always thought it was a bedtime story, an eerie lullaby used to keep the elves from acting out. That made sense to him. The elves were already hated by the world and it seemed wise to condition their offspring to not stoke that hatred. Still, Elynai believed it wholeheartedly. The Pale Elf wasn’t just a scary story to her. It was prophecy. The Pale Elf would walk among them, ushering in a world of violence and destruction.

  “Let’s go east,” she said, straining a smile, hoping to change the mood. Part of her felt silly for being so worried about the prophecy, but part of her wished Draven would take it seriously. “The Eleralavi Islands are mostly unpopulated. We could live there. Might even get a nice view of the icy ocean!”

  “Across the ocean?” he chuckled. “You know that no one lives there because of the monsters, right?”

  She thought about it, her lips forming a mischievous smile. “Big furry beasts and sharp fangs? Whatever shall we do?” She leaned over, laying across his body, caressing his cheek. “Are we not hunters? My bow?” She kissed him sweetly, then nibbled on his ear as she whispered, “Your spear?”

  A cold wind rushed across the airship’s deck.

  “Hunters,” he said to himself. He looked up at the burgundy sheath. Elynai made it for him. “How easily we become prey.”

  Draven’s robe flicked in the wind. He saw other passengers come onto the deck, admiring the evening view of Malafane’s north valley. The mountains were glorious and the skyport was minutes away. Had it already been an hour? One of the crew members walked out of the bridge, calling out to the passengers. “We dock in ten minutes!”

  When the airship landed at the port, Draven waited for the others to depart. He tailed the line down the dock, keeping his spear close to his chest, watching out for any hanging lanterns as he made his way down the various platforms. He passed other passengers waiting eagerly to board. He saw others in gift shops, a few merchants cutting deals, and some sleeping on benches. He wondered if they had arrived too early, or missed their flights? He kept his robe closed as he exited the windy skyport.

  Maestwyth was a gorgeous city, especially so at night, embracing its inhabitants with warm light, floral scents and cozy streets. Despite approaching the second week of autumn, the city was surrounded by a lush green forest with just a few browning leaves. Magnificent vines dressed most of the buildings, some of which had flowers displaying their final colors from the aged window boxes. Horse led carts moved down the cobblestone streets, humans and dwarves crisscrossed around each other, going their way, giving friendly nods and handshakes. Draven overheard two merchants talking about heading south.

  “Excuse me, sirs,” he said. The two merchants looked at him, attempting a friendly smile despite his interruption.

  “I overheard you mentioning the capital. One of you are taking the road south?”

  “I am,” said one of them. He was a skinny bearded man. His mustache was so large it covered his mouth. “Head down tomorrow morning. Making it along the Mane.”

  “Might I hitch a ride with you?” asked Draven. “I can pay.”

  “No need if you can use that,” he gestured to the spear. “Could use the company with ghouls and the like roaming the lands,” said the merchant. “Transporting a couple wagons of wines and other such goods. I tried hiring some guards, but with all the undead, the kingdom’s stretched thin as it is and damn mercenaries are already booked up. Did manage to get a fellow to watch the back wagon, but I could use a partner in the coach seat. You okay with that?”

  “Sounds fine to me,” said Draven.