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This sucks. I'm not sure what God has planned for me, but if pushing heavy metal carts with my painful hands is in it, I'm scared. On the port side of the ship, I'm doing my job. Not that I really want to, but it's what I must do. The cart carries large shells for the secondary artillery pieces on the airship, and they are huge. By the Second Hell, they're as large as my legs. No wonder the bunks keep shaking and dropping us down when the guns are firing, they might as well be launching boulders. As I'm moving the cart, I hear another behind me. “You've got the secondaries, Smith? Damn. At least you'll get a good night's rest, aye?"

“Hopefully, Johan. Dealing with this shit is driving me properly insane. Three days of my hands being absolutely smitten. Might as well lob them off." Johan laughs amusedly as I push my carts, and I feel more and more annoyed. “I wish the bastards at the cannons would stop with this drill. Can't relax at all when you keep getting items dropped upon you."

“Isn't that the truth. Luckily, I only have 'ta do the port side sponsons. Luckily, they have those new shooters, small shells. No more of those giant hull mounts." Well, at least there's some good news. “Now if you'll excuse me, I got 'ta give these boys some ammunition. Toodle-oo."

“See you once my job is finished, pal." Pushing forwards, I make it to a small lift. With a pull of a lever, the lift raises, and brings me up unto the top deck. As I looked at the shells, one fell and rolled off the ship. “Damn! I guess it isn't that big of a deal. Hopefully." It plummeted to the fields below, and you simply ignored it. Nobody kept track of the shells you took from the magazines, they only cared about having it full when they reached port. As the lift reached its destination, I saw one of the secondary turrets being worked on.

It seemed like they were having issues with the horizontal drive. No matter, it's not my issue. As I bring the cart up, several men run up and grab individual shells, hauling them into the turret. Considering that this is my job, I'm quite confused about all of this. “Don't worry, we ain't got nothing to do since repairs are up, and boss'll kill us if we just laze around. We got it."

“Alright then. Don't go breaking your backs, will ya?" They wave me off and load shell by shell, filling some room in the magazine. When the cart is empty, all I do is head back to the lift, and start to lower. A sudden blast and shake lead to me falling like a fool, and as I put my hands on the metal slat, the heat of it comes to my hands. It was probably the stupidest mistake I'd make all month long. Rolling over, I tense up my hands as I hold in the scream that is longing to be released. Still, I make no noise. Wrapping my arm around part of the cart, I try to pull myself up, but it leads to only limited success. “Three days to recover they said. Damn that doctor. Useless thing." Still, you shouldn't be lazing about. It may hurt, but you needed to do your duty to preserve what honor you had as a drafted man.

The lift stops. I try to manage as I can, leaning on the cart to push it forwards, using my forearms instead of my hands. As I struggle forwards, familiar yellow eyes dart at me from behind a viewing port. They widen and soon vanish, with the sound of running. A good while later, the door behind me is opened as I hear her voice. “By the Divine, they're making you work? I told them to give you a week of rest!" Turning to the small Doberman, I doubt that claim. Usually, the officers would be surprisingly kind to me, it'd be odd if they weren't this time.

“Really? Well, here I am, with charred hard palms. Looks like they didn't want to hear it, huh?" She doesn't even listen to my words, only walking closer in shock.

“Forget about the cart. You need to get rest and heal. Come with me, I'm going to make your case." Laughing, I ignore her and continue onwards.

“Sure, and you can make me Crown-Prince too."

“What? Stop joking, you need this!" What I needed was either some tincture for my hands or a stiff drink. Either would suffice at this point, considering my hands were now a mess of burning pain and lack of feeling.

“I'm set to deliver shells to the secondaries. If you want me off-post so bad, go talk to them yourself. I have work to do." I can hear her feet running off, hopefully back to her post. Hauling shells sucks, and no way in any of the Hells am I letting another man deal with that. Working my way through steel corridors and lifts galore, I make it back to the main magazine. “Alright, load it up. This time we'll need the shrapnel shells. And yes, I've already heard twenty fucking times how much you hate them. I don't care." The men head my words and load up all the rounds without as much as a word. Good. Stumbling with the cart through lantern-lit halls, I can feel the pain starting to somewhat subside. Maybe using my forearms was the best idea fo-

“He's over there, just take a look!" The girl leads my direct superior, Laen as he walks up and takes a look at me.

“Smith, let me take a look at your hands." She just couldn't let this go, could she?

“In the name of the Divines, look! I'm fine, I've been on time with the deliveries!" Laen looks at my hands, then at my face with a questioning gaze.

“Smith. I need you at your best. I can get somebody else, just get the rest. You need it."

“Sir, I have to say that I can still-“

“This is an order, Smith. I don't want your hands to be of no use if we encounter any sky-pirates soon. Get to the infirmary." So, that's it. My ability has been sullied. Letting go of the cart, I walk off without a word.

“See, now you can get your rest, all good, correct?" I spent not a moment speaking to her. All I hear besides my footsteps as I walk away is the conversation between the beast-women and Laen. “What? Is… is he angry?" Laen chuckles at her expense, and most likely mine too. I've had enough. Cutting myself off from everything, I only walk. I hear nothing, I say nothing, I just walk.

-“You don't get it, do you?"

“No. I don't. He's got time off, he should be celebrating, but he's sulking!"

“Smith comes from the Eastern Isles. You just probably lowered his divine honor, or whatever that Eastern crap is called. Just made him feel like he was unable to do a thing, a weight to the rest of us perhaps."

“What?"

“Aye. Those who hail from the Isles are hellbent on devoting themselves to their duty, and if they don't, they feel as if they've failed themselves and their nation. Hell, they're so fanatical to that, they'd rather die than be captured in a fight. Definity the oddest people in our Ketrav Empire."-

I've not even paid a bit of attention to what they said, rather I've focused on heading to my new place of torment. All I hear is Laen laughing, and the Doberman speaking frantically. It doesn't matter. I needed rest. Hell, they might as well throw me overboard.

Pushing through a metal door, I slump onto a bed in the infirmary, unsure of what to do. If I were lucky, my hands would get fixed quickly, but I hardly ever seemed to be in the favor of the Heavens. Maybe I'd have to do things myself. The beast-woman wasn't here yet, so all I could do was think in my desperation. There were some medical instruments, maybe I could do something. Then again, what the hell would I do?

Curse it all. All my mind can do is yell at itself for the past few days. Should've stolen some Readvancement powder and coated my palms in the stuff. While I mentally beat myself for being such a stubborn fool, there's tapping on the viewport above me. “Well well well, Would'ja take a gander at that. Tell me, Smith, what happened to being all fine and dandy on this thousanda-tonner? Finally give in?" Gods, end me.

“Smash your face through the glass if you want to keep talking, Johan. It's not my choice to give up. If you want to be helpful for once, get me either my pipe or a drink."

“Hahahahaha! I don't think I'd be doing that with the tone of voice you got on, friend! Maybe-“

“Then piss off!" He quiets immediately and walks away, leaving my simmering attitude to stay warm in this damned room. Lifting the pillow up, I put it over my head before my eyes closed. Even with my eyelids shut, it always seems that light finds a way in.

-

“This is what you must do. Your life, your status, your meaning… your honor. This is you." Looking at the shovel in front of me, I try not to respond. To talk back to Father? Madness, surely. “We are farmers. Our lives are meant for crops. We are meant to grow, to harvest, to make our world better, more abundant. It may seem harsh, but it is set in the holy path. Follow it."

“Yes, Father." He seems content and hands me the shovel. With a point of the finger, I open the door and head outside. The sun is bright and shines down relentlessly upon me with seemingly a vengeance. Step after step, we make it to our lord's farm. The fool built it upon stone-filled soil, so we do what we can to remedy the fact. Shovel load after shovel load, we remove the small rocks from the dirt, creating a nice little pile. Then we move twenty paces and do it again. Then again. And again. And again. Over and over, we perform the same monotonous task, moving throughout the fields. As night falls and we get home, he only gives me a smile and a nod as we put the shovels away. When he fell asleep, I sat outside and gazed at the moon.

Is this my spot? My honor to be? A man who shovels dirt? If that was it, I'd rather bury myself alive. I didn't know what to do. I just sat and thought. If this is what I have, then I must make a better man of myself. Not just for my family's sake, but mine as well. Getting up, I knew that I had to do something. What that was, I didn't know.

-

“Smith? Are… are you alright?" Awakening from my slumber, I see the beast woman right above my face. So much for my space.

“Check my palms and tell me." She frowns and walks to her desk, looking down at the floor, her ears falling low.

“I'm sorry. I just wanted to help." Help? Help would be ignoring my wounds and putting in a good word with the captain. Help would be preventing this from ever happening! Keeping me in this room is not helpful. Too far from it. “I didn't know about… your ethics."

With a grunt, I sit up and look at her, a scowl on my face. “Alright. Fine. Listen, I'll take your apology under one circumstance." She looks up at me, her glare surprised. “Make this healing as fast as possible, and I'll take your word." She nods and gives me a nervous smirk.

“Smith, you have my word." Good. Hopefully, she'll make the best of it. Lying back down, I stare at the bland steel ceiling, how its welds are so painfully obvious. Suddenly, a cool sensation comes from my hand. She's covered my hands in soaked towels, the water keeping me from feeling the agonizing burns. Well, mostly. Still, it's a vast improvement compared to the hot air that permeates throughout the ship. With a smile, she seems to rush throughout the room, grabbing bottles, writing down notes, and seemingly gazing at my hands.

Whatever she's doing, it better be good. Soon she covers the palms with an odd ointment and takes a seat next to me. “I know that I'm the only other person in here, but don't you have any other duties to tend to? I don't want to be holding up anybody else if they need care."

“No, I'm sure. Doesn't matter anyway, I need to be here to make sure the medicine does that which it needs to do. You've got bad burns, it's surprising that you were able to keep working."

Surprising would be me quitting. “No. There is no giving up. Never. Plus, I've dealt with worse." The Doberman lifts a brow and turns her head.

“You had worse? How? Was it fr-“

“I'm not here to tell my life's story. I got hurt, but I didn't stop. Honor forbids it." Confusion and more, it's all over her face. “I'm an Ison, doc. Honor and dedication is my creed. Can't go breaking it." She puts a hand to her face and swipes away some falling fur, leading it to flutter off to the ground.

“I know, but I don't understand it. For 'my people', self-achievement is the best we can get to. Also, stop calling me 'doc'. My name is Sarnai."

“Well Sarnai, it's obvious seeing how you aren't from the Isles. Honor is the worth of a person, proving their loyalty to their family and community. For us, it has always been that way." Sarnai puts her hands up in a mock defense and widens her eyes. She's trying to back off from any offense.

“Hey, I didn't mean to be rude. I meant that from an outsider's view, it's difficult to understand."

“How so?"

“Well… for us, complete loyalty and dedication to duty isn't such a core tenet. Sometimes, leaders are wrong. They can be acting on incorrect knowledge, or just be plain bad. Sometimes, it's better to go out to help yourself than to stick with a man who is content with getting you killed for his own benefit." Listening to her words, you understand, but feel no fear.

“Luckily back in Ison, a lord would've been executed for incompetence by his peers, and I feel quite safe under our captain. I think I'll hold onto my ways."

“Hey, it's your choice, not mine." Correct. We both do nothing but lounge around for a bit, and it seems to take a toll on the girl. “Alright, I'm bored. You think your hands are good enough to play a game?"

“A game? I hope you remember that we're adults. Then again, you are quite short." She shakes her head and chuckles as she walks to a closet and opens it, pulling out a small box. It wasn't just in jest, the girl seemed to be only around 16 decimeters.

“No, nothing like children playing. A board game, one from the old empire. You ever hear of Mu Torere?"

“Mu- What?"

“That's a no." She sits down next to the bed and opens the box. All of it is just a board which doesn't surprise me, but some black and white rocks. “The old nobles used to play this." Board on my bed, the rocks are lied out. With 8 outer spots, the rocks are placed, all white on one half and all black on the other. The singular central spot is left empty. “It isn't difficult to learn, but it can be hard to master. You can only move your pieces when they have pieces of the other side touching them unless it's from the central spot. The person who can no longer move their pieces loses."

“Well then. Seems deceptively simple. Also sounds like you've had a fair bit of time playing this, so I don't think I'll put money on this. Who goes first?"

“White does." She grabs a piece and puts it in the middle. “Now you do."

“Gee, thanks." With each of us moving pieces, it suddenly becomes more and more worrying. Have I made the right move? No, I shouldn't have mo-

“Damn, you beat me. Good play."

“Oh." She looks up and smirks.

“You didn't notice?" I nod and smile. Seems like my luck carried me this time. “Ha, would you look at that! You feel confident to do it again?"

“Alright. This time, I go first." She seems to initially protest, but I turn the board around before she can say a word, which leads to her giving that up. It's round after round, each of us seemingly even on our scores, until we decide to call it quits.

“Right then, it's getting late, and you should get some shuteye. Let m-“

“Nope. I'll do it myself, I'm no child. I built myself up off pain and perseverance, I am not stopping yet." She leans back and groans, weary of my unwilling ability to carry onwards.

“You know, it'd help for you to just rest. It's important, please." I feel no desire to argue with the beast-woman, and just slump back quietly. “Thank you. Please, just relax, I'll even get you some sleeping aids, just get some rest."

With the sound of paws touching metal, she runs off to a closet, searching for whatever can help with your ailments. Coming back, she pulls out a needle of an unknown substance. At this point, today was too much of a hassle for me to keep caring. As she injected it into my thigh, I feel a warmth flow through me, and a weight forming on my eyelids.

I'm not foolish enough to fight it.

-

“Just handle it. Pain subsides, and you will learn to pass it."

“Father, what do you mean? All I can feel is the pain, nothing else. Not the dressing, the blood, just the pain." Father sits next to me, with a worn expression. Today was not a good day. Far from it. Today was horrific. My bloodied thigh was an indication of that enough.

“Remove the pain from your mind. It is something that only can hold us back, and we strive to rid ourselves of it. You'll learn." He keeps saying it. I'll learn. I'll learn. I'll learn. It still makes no sense. I can't just… throw away pain! It's damn near impossible just to feel it lessen, but to just magically remove it, I-… It-… It just makes no sense.

“I will try. I'm sorry." Father stands and looks outside, seeing the cold wind push branches aside, leaving a sound that never seems to leave my mind. My head lowers back to the bed and onto the pillow. I cannot blame myself for what happened, but my mouth does so anyway. That damned fool.

“It wasn't you. Don't worry my son, I'll make sure the fool pays for what he did." Father clenches his fists, anger residing in each shudder of the hand. What had happened was fast, and I only realized what happened as the man ran off. He must have been poaching, already crime enough, but that wasn't my luck, just to be left alone. No, instead he saw me as game. With an arrow let loose, it found its mark.

He realized what he had done and ran off. A fool running from his foolish actions, and thus, making an even more foolish choice. Thus, it brought me back to here. A young man trying to hide from his pain and the wind.

It was a cold night.