Hours passed in silence as Zay sat in boredom, his stomach growling from hunger. The sun began to set on the horizon. Zay squinted and saw the outline of the moon slowly appearing in the sky, letting out a heavy sigh.
"I just got out of the Hell Storm region, and it's about to be dark... again?" he muttered to himself, his voice thick with irritation. A loud groan escaped him, a mix of frustration from the monotony, hunger gnawing at him, and the deep annoyance of being stuck in such an endless cycle.
He ran a hand through his hair, It had been a long stretch since he'd had a decent meal, and he was starting to feel the toll of it. Staring out at the vast, unchanging sea only made the hunger worse, and the encroaching night did nothing to help his mood.
Zay pushed himself up from the chair, the muscles in his arms and legs stiff from hours of sitting. Without a word, he dropped to the floor, his body moving through the motions instinctively. His hands slammed into the cool surface of the ship's floor, and he began his push-ups. His mind buzzed with frustration, but the physical exertion helped to clear it.
One... two... three... The rhythm of his body was a very welcomed distraction, the burn in his chest and arms intensifying with each push. The steady motion was a way to silence the noise in his mind. Hunger, irritation, boredom—it all began to fade beneath the strain of muscle and breath.
The sound of the ship's creaking hull mixed with the steady slap of his palms against the floor, the only noises in the dimming light of the evening. Sweat trickled down his forehead, his eyes narrowing as the moonlight began to glisten off the water, casting a pale glow across the ship.
At fifty, he slowed, his breath steady but deep. The ship rocked gently, the endless sea stretching out before him. He could feel his mind sharpening, each movement grounding him in the present.
Another set. His body sank and lifted again, as if trying to push away the weight of the world that had been building inside him. The hunger, the frustration—they all paled in comparison to the focus he felt in the moment.
After another set of fifty push-ups, Zay stood. His breathing was steady, but sweat clung to his body beneath his white tunic and black leggings. He moved back to the chair, his eyes fixed forward—and there it was.
The first sign of life.
An airship drifted through the sky, steam hissing from its sides as it cut through the clouds, its metallic hull catching the moonlight. Slowly, it began to descend, disappearing into a thick patch of clouds.
"Gyro... finally. I'm here," Zay muttered to himself. His stomach growled loudly, reminding him of just how long it had been since he'd had a proper meal. The thought of Gyro's food drifted into his mind, vivid and irresistible.
He could almost taste the smoked marrow dumplings, soft dough filled with spiced meat and slow-roasted bone marrow that melted in the mouth. Then there was the ember-glazed venison, charred over firestone grills until the edges crisped, then drizzled with a sauce made from sunfruit and bitterroot sap—sweet, smoky, and tangy all at once.
His mouth watered further at the memory of steam-shelled crab buns, the outer layer steamed to fluffy perfection, the inside packed with buttery crab meat seasoned with dusk pepper and sea salt. And how could he forget the sky-soaked barley stew, a dish served hot in iron bowls, thick with chunks of root vegetables, tender cuts of lamb, and a broth so rich it clings to the tongue with every bite.
A low groan escaped him.
"I need food," he muttered, wiping a small line of drool from the corner of his mouth.
The ship rocked gently as a strong gust of wind swept across the deck, Zay narrowed his eyes and looked outside of the large window of the control room, then nodded to himself as the Bronze Port slowly emerged from the mist.
A marvel of industrial engineering, the port gleamed with steel frameworks, bronze scaffolding, and towering iron spires. Massive gears turned along the harbor walls, powering cranes and rail systems that moved cargo. Steam hissed from dozens of exhaust vents, filling the air with a low, rhythmic hum.
This was the gateway to Gyro.
Here, sea vessels ended their journey. From this point on, only airships traveled inland—suspended by steam turbines, magnetic levitation cores, and high-pressure exhaust engines. The continent of Gyro was far too vast, too intricate in its terrain and structure, for traditional land or sea travel to suffice.
It was, without comparison, the largest continent in all of Akser.
So large, in fact, that even aboard a high-speed airship—pushed to its limits—it could take nearly a full year to travel from the central capital to just one edge of Gyro.
And that was exactly where Zay was headed.
The capital of Gyro was nestled at its core, surrounded by mountains laced with rail routes for streamlined train travel, forest towers that sprouted like trees, and steam-powered cities whose smoke rose like pillars into the sky. It was the mechanical heart of the continent—and the unrivaled center of education of Gyro.
The capital of Gyro, Kingdom Cindra, enacted the 'Education Availability Law' six months ago in response to a sharp decline in student attendance across the continent. This law established a council of supervisors, each handpicked by the king himself, and was backed by substantial funding. Compared to previous years, an unprecedented amount of resources was invested directly into the educational system, marking a new era of academic reform and accessibility for all present, and future students.
Zay slowed the ship as he approached the port, gradually bringing it to a full stop. A figure emerged from the dock—an older man dressed in a dark brown trench coat that covered him from neck to ankles. Zay assumed he wore black boots, though the coat concealed most of them.
"I can help with that," the man said, offering a friendly smile. "Name's Monroe. I work in Ship Enforcement," he added confidently before tossing over a thick chain forged from bronze and steel.
Zay caught it, and moments later, golden aura flared around Monroe's arms and legs. Without hesitation, and with ease, he pulled the ship into proper alignment before releasing a anchor into the water, locking the vessel firmly in place.
Zay leapt from the ship, his boots hitting the solid metal port with a sharp clang that echoed into the night air. The dock beneath him vibrated slightly from the ship's final anchor settling, and a warm wave of steam hissed from a nearby vent, briefly veiling his form in mist. He landed just beside Monroe, who stood with his coat fluttering faintly in the wind, the scent of oil and salt hanging in the air.
"I assume you came for Kingdom Cindra, right?" Monroe asked, glancing sideways at Zay as they began walking in step with one another, the rhythmic thud of their boots against bronze panels filling the quiet space between them.
"Sure did," Zay replied, offering a half-smile in return—an echo of the one Monroe had given him earlier.
Monroe gave a slight nod. "I'll show you the way there. I'm heading that way myself to file a few reports." His tone was casual but carried a certain cadence—like someone used to giving directions.
He took the lead, stepping through the first of three short gates made of gleaming bronze rods. As they passed each one, steam hissed from hidden vents in the walls, venting pressure with sharp bursts of sound. The pipes twisted like coiled snakes overhead, and the metallic walkways clanked beneath their feet with each step.
Zay followed closely, his eyes scanning the industrial marvels around him. Tall towers rose in the distance like iron trees, their peaks crowned with spinning turbines and plumes of gray-white smoke. Vats of bubbling liquid hissed nearby, releasing pungent scents of metal and alchemical fuel, while heavy machinery pulsed with glowing sigils etched into their surfaces—ancient runes repurposed for new use.
The air was thick with warmth and the ceaseless hum of moving gears. All around them, port workers moved like clockwork, their uniforms stained with grease, goggles strapped over their eyes, communicating through short bursts of whistled code.
They walked in silence for over twenty minutes, boots tapping in steady rhythm as they made their way through winding corridors and massive bronze walkways suspended over canals of hot water.
Eventually, the path opened into a wide terminal where a sleek train of polished steel stood waiting, steam billowing from vents along its roof like a dragon exhaling. Its body gleamed under mist and hanging lanterns. Each panel seamlessly joined together by rows of rivets. The doors were still open, soft light spilling from within, casting long reflections on the platform's metal floor.
Zay stepped closer to the train, peering through one of the large, fogged-up windows streaked with condensation from the interior's warmth. Inside, a mix of passengers sat in dim amber lighting, the flickering glow of ceiling lamps casting soft shadows across their faces.
Nearest to the window, a woman in a high-collared navy coat sipped tea from a tin cup, her gloved fingers tapping nervously against the metal as she read from a small, leather-bound notebook etched with a silver crest.
Across from her, an elderly man with a half-metal jaw and thick goggles resting on his forehead leaned back with his arms folded, his cane—a twisted pipe with raven carvings—resting between his knees.
Further down, a group of young students dressed in dark grey academy uniforms whispered among themselves, one of them sketching in a notebook with a stylus that left trails of light. A merchant with a wide-brimmed hat and layered belts sat slouched in the corner, surrounded by crates stamped with foreign emblems—he picked at a roll of dried meat, occasionally glancing toward the window with guarded eyes.
Scattered among them were a few odd figures: a woman cloaked in sea-green cloth, her face obscured behind a glass mask filled with swirling vapor, and a sharply dressed man in a burgundy coat who stared forward without blinking, his gloved hands folded neatly in his lap as if waiting for someone.
Zay and Monroe approached one of the open train doors, steam curling around their feet as the hiss of pressure valves echoed along the platform. Just as they were about to step inside, a uniformed attendant stepped out from the shadows of the entryway. He wore a dark vest with bronze buttons, a sleek cap pulled low over his brow, and a small cogwheel insignia pinned to his chest.
"Tickets," the man said curtly, extending a gloved hand.
Without missing a beat, Monroe slid his hand into one of his trench coat's inner pockets and pulled out a black ID card edged in gold. The attendant's expression shifted instantly. He stepped aside with a respectful nod, waving Monroe through without further question.
As Zay moved to follow, the man blocked his path once more.
"It's two silver pieces for a train pass from the Bronze Port to Kingdom Cindra," he said firmly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked Zay up and down.
Zay tensed, letting out a small, awkward breath. "I… don't have any money on me at the moment."
Monroe paused just ahead and let out a tired sigh. "Young people these days."
He reached into another pocket and pulled out two silver coins, their surfaces etched with the Cindran crest—a gear intertwined with a laurel branch. He flipped them into the attendant's palm.
"You owe me one," Monroe muttered without looking back.
The attendant nodded and reached into a satchel clipped to his hip, retrieving a sleek metal pass roughly the size of a playing card. It was thin but surprisingly weighty, cool to the touch, and made from brushed steel. An inscription of Train Pass appeared across its center in glowing green letters as soon as he touched it—an enchantment triggered by contact. The corners of the pass held tiny clockwork teeth that gently clicked and rotated in place, syncing the pass with the train's destination path.
Zay blinked, mildly impressed. "Thanks," he murmured, accepting the pass and tucking it into his pocket before stepping inside.
The interior of the train greeted them with a low hum and the soft scent of oiled leather and polished brass. They found a pair of empty seats near the middle of the car—wide, well-cushioned, and upholstered in deep brown leather with golden stitching. Beneath each seat was a slide-out compartment for luggage, and above them, steel racks with interlocking grates offered storage for larger belongings. Zay glanced around—he had nothing but his katana and the clothes on his back, but still appreciated the convenience. The seat's gentle recline and warm cushioning were a welcome relief after the endless hours on the sea.
He settled in beside Monroe, exhaling as the train began to pulse with energy. Somewhere near the front, gears clicked into motion.
"You ever been on one of these?" Monroe asked, glancing over.
Zay shook his head, eyes tracing the flicker of light running along the brass trim of the window. "First time."
Monroe gave a half-smile. "You'll like it. Smooth ride. Scenic too."