Skyterra: The First Academy

Everett bit his lip as the Headmaster entered the hall. Dressed in blue robes and an ornate, golden stole, the wizened old man was startlingly imposing, despite his hunched back and short stature. Perhaps it was the way his hawk-like eyes never seemed to blink, or the way his lips were forever pursed in a cold, mirthless manner. 
As he passed a gaggle of students who had been whispering and stealing glances at Everett, they immediately fell silent, sinking to a low bow. Everett willed his shaking leg to stop and rose from his seat. He felt something lurch in his stomach as the Headmaster's eyes met his. 
Bowing, Everett attempted to speak, but the Headmaster simply raised a spindly finger. 
"In my office," he said, his voice surprisingly deep. 
Everett gulped and followed the Headmaster down the final stretch of the hallway. An archway with twin mahogany doors took up a sizable chunk of the wall, flanked on either side by a guard in gold and blue vests. Academy students, serving their time for whatever rules they had been caught breaking as the Headmaster's doormen. 
The two guards, pale-faced from hours of standing at attention, pulled open the heavy twin doors as the Headmaster approached. He walked through the doors without so much as a glance to his unwilling assistants, and Everett trailed sullenly after him. 
The Headmaster's office was the striking opposite of his cold demeanour. It was a generous space, well-lit by the sunlight streaming through the full length windows that comprised the entire north wall. A settee filled with throw pillows sat facing a small fireplace at one end of the room, and on the other was a large cherry-wood study table set before a row of bookshelves that stretched from floor to ceiling. 
The Headmaster made his way to his throne-like chair behind the study and gestured for Everett to take the seat opposite. Everett complied, feeling his boots sink into the thick rug as he walked over and sat down. 
The Headmaster leaned forward over his desk. For a while, he said nothing, just watched Everett with those avian eyes. Everett felt himself shrink under the gaze. He couldn’t help but look away. 
“Third complaint this month, Mr Fern,” said the Headmaster with a sigh. “It seems you have a knack for aggravating your tutors.” 
Everett gulped. “I was…simply asking questions, sir.” 
“Yes, several questions, all involving the same topic. Questions that your tutors assured me they have adequately answered. Multiple times, I might add.”
There wasn’t a question in the Headmaster’s statement, so Everett wasn’t sure if he should respond. 
The Headmaster continued, “Professor Sorrel claimed you followed him into the staff lavatory after Foreign Studies class, questioning his sources for his thesis on “Lystian Atrocities Against Firstland Colonists”. Professor Hamwell said a week ago that you held him back after class, challenging him about the validity of the Armada’s reports of their first encounters with the Lystian populace. And most recently, Master Walts says you interrupted her four times during her lecture on Eastern Aetheric Manipulations, asking if her claims were based on evidence or conjecture.”
Everett looked up. 
“Well?” the Headmaster pressed.
"I believe the questions were well-founded, sir. But the answers, not so much." 
He regretted it as soon as he said it. The Headmaster raised a thin brow and reached for his pen. For a moment, Everett thought the old man might stab him with it. 
Opening a drawer beneath his desk, the Headmaster pulled out a stack of parchments. It wasn’t a large stack, perhaps eight pages thick. The Headmaster flipped through the pages, using his pen as a marker as he perused the contents. 
“It says in your documents that your father led multiple expeditions into the Eastern Skylands, is that right?”
“Yes sir,” said Everett. “He was an independent explorer. Both my parents were.” 
“And were you ever able to accompany them on one of their voyages?” 
Everett shook his head. “They passed on when I was little, sir. Too little for skyship travel.” 
“There was a time when the men of the Armada would bring their women via skyship to the Great Colonies where they were stationed. Many of these women had babes suckling at their teats. It was difficult, I might presume, but not impossible.” 
“Then perhaps my parents thought to spare themselves the additional burden.” 
“And your parents, I’d imagine they had records of their adventures, yes?”
Everett hesitated. “My father wasn’t the most trusting man, sir. He always kept a small crew, and ordered them not to leave anything written down.” 
“Why do you think he did that?”
“I don’t know, sir.” 
The Headmaster’s eyes narrowed. 
“I’m sure you heard stories of their adventures, though? Embellished perhaps to tickle a child’s imagination, but stories inspired by what they saw and experienced in the East, no doubt?”
“Yes, sir. My mother would tell me about Lyst. How the Lowlanders led simple, honest lives by the rivers that flowed down from the Heavenly Capital–” 
“The Lystian capital,” interjected the Headmaster, causing Everett to pause. 
“Yes, sir. The Lystian Capital.”
“And do you perhaps find that your mother’s stories differed from the teachings here at the Academy regarding Lystian culture?” 
“There are indeed some differences, sir.” 
The Headmaster set down his pen and parchments.  
“So as you’ve said: your parents were independent explorers, beholden to neither the Armada nor the Academy. They kept no verifiable records of their travels in the East, and spoke only in anecdotes to their child whom they deemed too little to take with them on their voyages.” 
Everett bit his lip and looked down. He hadn't realized before, but his fists were clenched, the knuckles white and prominent. He quickly relaxed his fingers, and couldn’t help but notice how they matched the Headmaster’s–long and bony. Food was a luxury in the Academy, made available only to professors, masters and students whose wealthy parents provided generous donations to the school. Everyone else lived off a fixed portion of gruel and pickled vegetables each meal. If they were lucky, they'd get leftover meats, usually dried. It was enough to stave off hunger, but perhaps insufficient for fattening up a scrawny orphan like Everett. 
The Headmaster continued to speak, “You are no longer a child, Mr Fern. It is time to grow up and let go of your boyhood tales. The professors of the First Academy are learned men who’ve toiled their whole lives for the betterment of mankind. You are intelligent. Trust your tutors to impart their knowledge, and I have no doubt that we can expect great things from you, Mr Fern.” 
Everett nodded, though if he were being honest, he was only half-listening. 
“Yes, sir.” 
“Now, your academic curiosity, though misguided, is admirable. I’m putting you under the tutelage of Professor Hywind. You’ll be his assistant starting tomorrow.” 
Everett looked up. “An assistant, sir? But I’ve barely finished my first year.” 
The Headmaster smiled, an expression Everett found even more frightening than his usual cold stare. 
“I know the Academy’s policy reserves assistant roles for third-year students. But I’m the Headmaster, and I’m making an exception. I trust you will not squander this opportunity.” 
Everett wasn’t sure how to respond, or feel. As an assistant, he would have unrestricted access to a professor and all their work. He’d be partaking in their research and experiments, and if he earned their favour, maybe he might even have his own dedicated workstation. 
Or at least a sponsor, so I could eat more than just gruel.
“Mr Fern?” 
The Headmaster’s voice snapped Everett from his musings.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “I won’t let you down.”

Professor Hywind was a tall man with the build of a fighter. His tousled hair was dark red, like dried blood, as was his scruffy beard. From the Academy’s hangar bay, Everett watched as the professor disembarked from his cruiser, a battered old thing with a blockish silhouette and faded blue hull. 
Seeing the lad, Hywind said, “Are you my new assistant?” He hoisted up two large leather cases from the back of the cruiser. 
“Yes, sir,” said Everett, moving to help. 
“One will do,” said Hywind with a grunt. “I can handle the other.” 
“Yes, sir.” 
They made their way out of the hangar, and into the gardens. Even from a distance, the stone castle that was the main campus could be seen, its three white spires rising through the clouds.  
Everett kept a watchful distance as they walked. He had never seen or heard of Professor Hywind before–he had apparently been on expedition the past eight months, exploring uncharted skylands in the south-east regions, and so had little to no interaction with the first-years. Compared to the other professors, Hywind came off as a little unkempt. He wasn’t wearing traditional Academy garb, but instead sported a loose, well-worn tunic and dusty leather trousers. His boots were caked with mud, and the dagger he stuffed in one of them had a rusty handle. 
“Do keep up, lad.” 
Everett shook himself from his scrutiny and jogged over to Hywind’s side. 
“Everett Fern, is it?” 
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you prefer Mr Fern, or would Everett suffice?”
The question took Everett aback. No one, especially not a professor, had ever thought to ask him for his preference. 
“Everett would do, sir.” 
“Alright then, Everett. First lesson as your private tutor–you don’t have to punctuate every sentence with ‘sir’.”
“Yes, sir,” said Everett, before hastily adding, “I mean, yes, alright.” 
Hywind laughed. “You learn fast.”  
"How was your expedition?" 
"Complete waste of time," said Hywind with a loud, exaggerated sigh. "Son of a wealthy noble heard rumours of an uncharted skyland in the southeast. Thought it'd be his claim to adventure and fame."
"Did the skyland not exist then?"
"Oh, it existed. After five months of searching it bloody existed. But the land was barren, nothing but arid savannahs and giant mayflies. Too small and remote to be of any financial or strategic advantage." Hywind paused to shift his luggage to his other hand. "But the spoilt lad signed up for an adventure, so we spent a month crossing the terrain till he realised adventuring wasn't for rich arseholes who grew up with two hundred servants wiping their bums after a good shit, and another month making our way back."
"That sounds terrible."
Hywind shrugged. "At least the rations were top-notch."
"Why did the Academy agree to the expedition then?" 
"Because the bastard's father donates huge amounts of money to the Academy. And when I say huge, I mean they practically named the South Tower after him."
Everett's eyes grew wide. "The expedition sponsor is the son of Arthur Colt?" 
"You bet your penniless backside he is."
They entered the castle's arching doorway and into the main hall, passing rows of students huddling around long wooden tables, talking or poring over various manuscripts. From there, they turned right into the West Wing and climbed up two flights of stairs. As they entered a broad hallway, Everett expected them to make another right, towards the faculty offices. Instead, Hywind veered left, stopping in front of an old wooden door. 
"Is this your office, sir?" Everett asked without thinking. 
Hywind had one hand on the brass knob. He paused mid-turn, saying, "Surprised?" 
Everett felt his face flush. "It's just...there was no sign, so I thought--" 
Hywind laughed. "It's quite alright, Everett. It's not the first time I've gotten that reaction. And yes, this is my office." 
He opened the door and flicked a switch. A hanging lamp flickered to life, illuminating a small, windowless room. Piles of books and manuscripts covered most of the floor; the desk and lone bookshelf were just no different. One entire wall had been covered with a large map of Skyterra, besmirched with pins, threads and handwritten notations. 
Plopping his travelling case on the floor, Hywind gestured to an old armchair on the other side of the room. Everett sat down, setting off a plume of dust that caused him to gag. 
Hywind sat behind his desk and waited for the lad to stop coughing. When he seemed content that Everett was done, he said, “So, what did you do wrong?” 
Everett looked genuinely confused. “Sorry?”
Hywind opened his arms and looked about his office. “As you can see, I’m not exactly the most prolific of professors in the Academy. So clearly, you must have done something to warrant becoming an assistant to the likes of me.” 
Everett bit his lip in hesitation and was quiet for a long moment. Still, Hywind waited, saying nothing as well. Eventually the silence became too much to bear, and Everett said, “I offended some of the other professors, sir.” 
“How so? And what did I say about ending your sentences with ‘sir’?”
“Right, sorry,” said Everett. “Well, I just thought some of their teachings on Lystian culture were possibly–” he paused, searching for the right word, “--incomplete? Or perhaps, misguided? Apparently, I gave Professor Sorrel such a headache he had to take a week’s leave of absence.” 
The laugh that escaped Hywind’s mouth was raucous and shocking, and seemed to set the small office quivering. It made Everett jump, which set off another shower of dust from the armchair, followed by a second fit of coughing. 
When the sounds had died away, Hywind leaned over his desk. “Well, Everett Fern,” he said, looking Everett straight in the eye. “I suspect you and I will get along very well indeed.”

“The Lystians have two distinct societies. Those who reside in the Lowlands are typically labourers. Their adoration of those living in the Capital borders on fanatical. It’s almost as if they regard them as deities, with the Lystian Emperor as their god-king.” 
“And your mother said this ‘worship’ is fueled by a belief that the Capital provides the Lowlands with everything they need to live an honest life, like the rivers flowing from the upper Skyland?” 
Everett nodded. “That’s right. Their belief is also enforced through folklore. Children are told from a young age the story of a god-like saviour called Tian, who established the Heavenly Capital and brought peace and order to the lawless Lowlands.” 
“It’s possible that this Tian was a ruler of sorts, perhaps a past Emperor whose real name has been forgotten. According to early scouting reports, the Lystians sometimes refer to their Emperor as ‘tian wang’, meaning ‘Sky King’.” 
Everett’s eyes lit up. “Or he could have been Lyst’s first Emperor!” 
“Possible,” said Hywind, leaning back into his chair. “We know frighteningly little about the eastern Skylands. Hard to imagine that our ancestors used to share the same land mass.”
“Do you believe in the Sundering?” 
“That is the popular theory, heavily supported by geological evidence. The Skylands of Skyterra were once a single land mass, until an unknown, cataclysmic event tore the world asunder.” 
“I wonder if people misunderstood each other back then, too,” Everett said, his voice sombre. 
The words gave Hywind pause. He considered his young assistant’s quiet resolve and smiled gently. It had been two months since they had been acquainted. Initially, Hywind had simply gotten Everett to help with various errands--compiling research papers, sorting through his expedition notes, or passing memos to other professors. Eventually they got to talking about Lyst, the topic that got Everett stuck as his assistant in the first place. There was a reluctance to elaborate on the subject at first, and Hywind couldn't blame him. It took a fair amount of effort to reassure Everett that he would not be penalised or reported to the Headmaster for sharing his views, as long as those views remained within the four walls of Hywind's office. 
That was when Everett's true nature began to show. 
Everett was a bright lad–Hywind could tell as much from their conversations. He had an excellent memory, and exhibited a passion for knowledge that was pure and unbiased. He wasn't the most talkative student, but when he did speak, Hywind found his words thoughtful and calculated. 
Not unlike a certain someone. 
He must have been staring, because Everett asked, "Is something wrong sir?" 
"Nothing," said Hywind, standing. “Come. Let’s continue our conversation over lunch.” 
“In the dining hall?” said Everett, frowning. “People might overhear.” 
"Does that bother you?"
"I sort of promised the Headmaster I wouldn't bring my parents' research up again…"
Hywind considered this briefly. 
“In the market then.”
“But that’s quite a journey, even by cruiser. I have classes–” 
Hywind reached out and placed a hand on Everett’s shoulder, stopping him mid-sentence. “Everett, you’re an assistant to a professor. If I say you’re needed for a research assignment, then your classes be damned. Understood?” 
Sheepishly, Everett nodded.
“Alright, let's get out of here.” 
They stood and headed for the door, and Hywind nearly crashed into the Headmaster, waiting outside. 
The Headmaster shot a quizzical look at Hywind, before squinting at Everett. 
“I trust you’ve been proving yourself useful to Professor Hywind, Mr Fern?” he asked. 
“Yes,” said Everett. “I mean, yes, sir.”
The Headmaster’s expression darkened a little, and Hywind had to stifle a laugh. 
“Can I help you, Headmaster?” the professor asked. 
“Yes, I wanted to speak to you about Colt’s expedition.”
Hywind turned to Everett. “I’ll meet you at the garage. Go on ahead.” 
Nodding, Everett left them, disappearing down the hallway and stairs. Hywind re-entered his office, gesturing for the Headmaster to sit. The imposing old man remained standing.
“The garage?” he said, raising a brow.
Hywind shrugged. “Just taking the lad out for a trip to town. A little fresh air and exposure to the real world never hurts.” 
“A student’s duty is to study, Hywind. I’d advise you keep Mr Fern in the Academy, where he belongs.”
“I’ll make a note of that. Now, what about Colt?”
To the Headmaster’s credit, his attempt to hide his annoyance at Hywind’s dismissal of his warning was commendable, albeit not quite successful.
“There’s been a request to revisit the skyland that Colt’s heir discovered, and naturally you will be accompanying him on the expedition once more, as the Academy’s field scholar.”
Hywind frowned. “What? The land’s barren and too small to be of any territorial value. Why the hell does he want to go back? He was the one who cut the bloody holiday short.”
“Apparently he believes he’s stumbled upon a business venture,” said the Headmaster, nonplussed. “It seems he’s befriended a group of Tekhrans who believe they could convert the Skyland into a manmade Oasis, using Tekhran terraforming technology.” 
“Great, hire the damn Tekhrans then. Why involve us?”
“You know exactly why,” replied the Headmaster. “We cannot risk ceding territory to Tekhrans." 
"That's bollocks and you know it," said Hywind. "The Academy is supposed to be neutral. We both know what this is really about."
The Headmaster sighed briefly. "Very well. The First Academy survives on the donations of Firstland’s elite. It is within our best interests that we remain at the service of Mr Colt and the other nobles who fund our more productive endeavours.”  
"Get someone else to do it then. I'm sure Professor Elkwood would love a chance to schmooze with Colt and his ilk."
"Professor Elkwood has classes to teach."
"And I don't." 
"No, you do not," said the Headmaster. "Not after the bout of complaints I received regarding your lectures, where you made several contradictions to Firstland history." 
"So that's what this is about," Hywind said darkly. "Is this the Academy's way of keeping my mouth shut? Keep me away from students by sending me on meaningless errands while you fill up your coffers?" 
The Headmaster's face remained stoic and he made no reply, though Hywind swore he could see a ghost of a smile on the old man's face. 
"Why Everett Fern?" Hywind asked.
"The boy is smart but misguided. I simply thought he'd benefit from observing an Academy researcher at work."
"We're similar. You know how he feels about "Firstland history"."
"Yes, I'm aware," said the Headmaster with a slight sigh. "I'm happy you two are getting along well. It was my sincere hope that he'd remind you of yourself, perhaps motivate you to be a little more accepting of Academy teachings." 
The revelation wasn't all that shocking--Hywind had suspected as much. Everett was simply the Headmaster's leverage, to provide Hywind with something to lose so he'd conform. 
That the Headmaster would so readily admit it caught Hywind off-guard. 
"The lad's not a chesspiece, Headmaster," Hywind said, his voice quiet, even. 
"No, he is a child. A brilliant one. And he'll need all the help and guidance he can get if he wants to succeed. Firstland doesn't take kindly to orphans." 
The Headmaster proceeded to take his leave. At the door, he paused, turning back to cast Hywind a sidelong glance. 
"The Colt expedition begins in a month's time," he said. "Stop whatever foolery you're getting up to with the boy, and make the necessary preparations."
With that, the door shut, and the Headmaster was gone. Hywind waited for the sound of his footsteps to fade before grabbing his ink bottle and flinging it at the wall. It shattered, spattering the dark liquid everywhere. 
Sinking into his chair, Hywind cradled his head with shaking fingers and let out a long sigh. How could he have been so stupid? He'd known that being assigned a first-year assistant was part of the Headmaster's ploy, and he'd fallen right for it anyway. The old fogey must have known Hywind could not have resisted. Everett was a mirror of his younger self: quiet, thoughtful, smart. Filled with questions. And most of all, an outcast. A puzzle piece that simply didn't fit in Firstland's grand design. 
Everett Fern was bait, and Hywind, despite suspecting as much and predicting the consequences, took it anyway. 
He slammed a fist onto his table, and a stack of empty manuscripts toppled under the sudden impact. Hywind considered the blank pieces of paper before him.
"One month," whispered Hywind, all alone in the shadowy, sunless room. "We have one month to complete your parents' research, Everett Fern, if it's the last thing we do."

The ride to the market was silent and long. Hywind seemed lost in thought and didn't speak, and Everett could only guess what had happened between the professor and the Headmaster after he had left the office.
Taking advantage of the quiet, Everett turned his attention to the scenery. He'd hardly left the Academy grounds since his enrollment, and the sight of the open skies felt liberating. The weather was pleasant this time of year, with the mid-spring sun lightly fettered by passing clouds, and the icy breath of winter waning. A large flock of white-breasted starbirds, migrating home from the East, rose up from the cloudline, their raucous squawks filling the air.
"I can't stand those noisy bastards," said Hywind. 
Still watching their flight path, Everett replied, "They're quite fascinating. They fly off to other parts of Skyterra once winter comes, no flock ever going to the same place. Yet they always return to the Western skylands come spring and remain here for most parts of the year. Nomadic, but in a way, loyal." 
"Territorial, too," said Hywind. "That's why the flocks avoid one another and stir up such a fuss when they fly."
"To warn other flocks not to get close." 
Hywind nodded. "Volume equates to numbers. The louder they are, the less likely they are to face competition." 
The flock passed, and Everett returned his gaze to the road. Compared to the skies, it was an unimpressive view. 
"What did–"
"Why Lyst?" said Hywind, cutting him off. 
"Sorry?"
"Plenty of uncharted territory in Skyterra. Why were your parents so obsessed with Lyst?" 
Everett hesitated. He always expected the question to come up, ever since Hywind started taking an interest in his parents' research. He felt a knot in his stomach as he wondered how he should respond. Hywind was unlike the other professors--he was the only person in the entire Academy to react without prejudice towards his views towards Lyst. But he was a professor, nonetheless, beholden to the Academy. 
Hywind's voice disrupted his thoughts. He said, "The Headmaster's sending me on another expedition. I leave next month." 
"Another one?"
Hywind nodded. "You're a smart lad, Everett. By now you should have observed I'm not like the other professors. What do you make of our situation?" 
Moments passed before Everett responded. 
"At first I was confused. It was clear that the other professors had taken offence at my…obsession. Yet somehow I was offered the position of a professor's assistant. That rarely happens for first-years, especially not ones without sponsors. It felt strange, being rewarded for doing something I supposedly did wrong.
"When I first met you, I began to suspect that I wasn't being rewarded at all. I'd never heard of you, and when I tried asking the other professors about you, they'd just shake their heads or ignore me. Your office was telling. It's a far cry from the offices of the Headmaster or other professors. It bothered me at first, but less so as time passed."
"Because of Lyst?" Hywind asked. 
"Because of you," said Everett, leaving Hywind taken slightly aback. "You were the only professor--the only person in the whole Academy--willing to listen. You didn't dismiss me or my parents. You paid attention and shared your own views about the inaccuracies with Firstland's records of other skylands."
Everett paused, casting a sidelong glance at Hywind, and wondered if he should continue. When the professor made no reply, he said, "I'm grateful that you're willing to entertain my family's theories. But if I were to be honest, I don't know if I could trust you."
Hywind smiled slightly. "You've got good instincts. I could be the Headmaster's spy, for all you know. An illusion meant to lure you into a false sense of security, so you could freely air your views while the Academy prepares charges of treason." 
Everett pursed his lips, unsure of what to make of Hywind's words. 
"Do you know why I don't teach?" 
Everett shook his head. 
"Years ago I was sent on an expedition with the Armada, led by a brilliant man named Xander Rose. We visited nearly all the uncolonized skylands, lived among them, learned about their cultures and ways. It was a revolutionary mission, and a long one, lasting almost three years. A first for the Armada, to gather deep insight into the nations that resisted Firstland rule."
"That sounds exciting." 
Hywind smiled. "It was. It was a motley crew, just Firstlanders, at first. There was Xander and me, and a cook we called Skillet. Gabriel Kyte and Madelyn Clearwell, Xander's most trusted lieutenants. A handful of other Armada soldiers. But Xander was one hell of a charmer. Wherever we went, we picked up strays. Eventually, more than half the crew were from other nations. Even had a bloody Valanorrd Warfather onboard with us at one point." 
"I can't imagine the Firstland crew members being too happy about this."
"That's the genius of Xander Rose. He handpicked us because he could see we were different. But of course, there were a couple of naysayers who tried to incite a mutiny, almost killed the Valanorrd in his sleep. So Xander dropped them off in Winter's Crown." 
"He could have executed them himself. It was his right as their commander," said Everett. 
Hywind nodded. "That he could have. But then they wouldn't have had a chance to survive. Out in Winter's Crown, if they learned to play nice, they might have found favour with a Valanorrd tribe and survived the cold. That's what we did, anyway."
The professor stopped speaking, but Everett could tell that wasn't the end of the story. 
He asked, "What happened to the expedition, and to Xander Rose?"
Hywind shrugged. "We were coming to the end of our tenure. Our ship had docked by a skyland the Tekhrans called the Jackal's Eye, where we'd hoped to make contact with a group of Tekhran pirates. Don't ask why. Our first attempt didn't yield much fruit, so we went back to the ship to rest for the night. When I woke up the next morning, Xander Rose had disappeared. Went on the run, they say. Turns out he had some kind of argument with his superiors and became branded a traitor."
"And the crew?"
"Disbanded, went our separate ways. Some fled back to their own nations, others to Firstport, under the Free Trade Agreement. Old Skillet still runs his own trading vessel, running contracts for the Quartz Company. Bastard said he’d name his ship after me, but he never could spell very well. As for me, I went back to the Academy, resumed my classes, but it just…wasn't the same."
"How so?"
"When you've learned the truth about the world, in all its beauty and splendour, it's hard to keep it in. As an academic, a professor, I thought it was my duty to share what I'd learned with my students. The Academy, however, didn't feel the same way."
They fell silent again, and this time, Everett did not pry. He could already figure out what must have happened next. 
The cruiser continued on. The road filtered into a wooded area, with trees flanking them on either side. Here, Everett felt an unfamiliar sense of tranquillity. There were no manmade structures in sight, apart from the dirt road. The rustle of leaves overhead and the distant caws of the starbird flock were the only sounds. 
"My mother was Lystian born."
Everett waited, expecting Hywind to say something, but the professor simply nodded. 
"My grandfather fought the Raizens during the Hundred Year War. He was wounded and left for dead during a skirmish along the Lystian border, but a Lystian woman found him and nursed him back to health. They fell in love and had a daughter together.
"For several years my grandfather lived peacefully with his new family. But then the Armada came looking. They threatened to burn down the village where they lived if my grandfather didn't come back with them. Without much choice, he obliged, taking my mother with him.
"As she got older,my mother became curious about her heritage. She wanted to know why she didn't look like her peers, and why she was treated differently."
"They denied her entry into the Academy?" said Hywind.
"It wasn't just Firstland. Every formal institution in the colonies denied her entry," Everett nodded. "My grandfather had to hire personal tutors to keep up with her education. We're not a noble family, so he went into debt pretty quickly. Fortunately, his commanding officer offered to help. They'd become close during the war, and he'd always felt guilty about leaving my grandfather behind."
"And this CO, he's…"
"My paternal grandfather." 
Hywind smiled. "Fate sure has a sense of humour, doesn't she? And your parents, may I asked what became of them?"
Everett hesitated, then said, quietly, "I came home from my lessons one day, and there was a man in Armada uniform, in my house. He said my parents' ship was found along the Lystian border. The entire crew had been slaughtered."
"I'm sorry, lad," said Hywind. "Lystian pirates?" 
"So they say."
They emerged from the woods and approached the massive, wrought-iron city gates, tucked beneath a towering stone archway which fanned out in either direction to form a formidable wall around the capital. Everett could make out the sentries with their muskets and bayonets at various command posts along the wall. 
Hywind turned the cruiser off to a dirt trail and killed the engine.
"What are you doing?" Everett asked. 
"We've got a choice to make, Everett Fern," said Hywind. "Option one: I help you with your parents' research, and we try to find some way to publish what we know about Lyst. Possibly face a ton of backlash and get thrown in jail for spreading treasonous lies. Or option two: we forget everything, forget the Academy, and go on a little expedition of our own." 
Everett gawked. "You're asking me to leave the Academy?" 
"Yes. But you won't be alone. I'll be there, and I still have a few contacts outside the Academy. We could form our own crew, be the next Xander Rose." 
"I don't know what to say. That sounds a little extreme."
"There's also option 3. We both shut up and accept the Academy's narrative."
Everett considered this. Leaving things as they were seemed the smarter option. He was an orphan without a sponsor. If he were to leave the Academy or be kicked out, his future would be uncertain. But if he stayed, could he bear to sit in silence as his professors and peers spewed lies about his mother and her people? 
A small part of Everett had hoped that, if he were to keep his head down and focus on his studies, he could become a professor one day. Then, he would have the authority and capacity to change things. But this hope, however faint, seemed to evaporate with the knowledge that Hywind had failed in that exact same endeavour. 
Perhaps that was what the headmaster wanted all along, the very reason he placed me in Hywind's path.
After a long silent moment, Everett said, "Why me, professor? Why would you ask me to follow you, instead of leaving on your own?" 
Hywind sighed. "Truth be told, I had long given up and accepted my situation. Option 3, if you will. A professor who can't teach, forced to go on meaningless expeditions. At least that way, I could still see the world, or parts of it, and enjoy a modicum of stability. 
But then I met you, and it reminded me how painful it can be, being trapped in a place you don't truly belong. Being force-fed lies you cannot swallow."
He turned to regard Everett. "I guess I didn't want the Academy snuffing out another bright spark." 
Everett felt his cheeks flush at the compliment, but also with some measure of anxiety. He opened his mouth to respond, but Hywind said, "Take your time. Think about it. Offer's on the table till I have to leave."
Everett nodded, and Hywind started up the cruiser again. 
"You know what, let's just ditch classes today. Drinks are on me."
Everett wanted to say that perhaps he wasn't yet old enough to drink, and that he probably shouldn't skip classes, professor's assistant or not.
Instead, he simply stayed silent as they rode into the city.

Everett could not sleep that night. His head hurt from that one goblet of ale Hywind had forced him to drink. Hywind's offer echoed in his mind, and it didn't help that four of the seven other students with whom he shared his room were heavy snorers.
Lying on his cold, hard bunk bed, Everett stared up at the nondescript ceiling and thought of his mother. He could picture her porcelain face, though no longer with the same clarity as when he was a child. Still, her turquoise eyes, ever warm and kindly, ever filled with some secret mischief, were impossible to forget. Nor was her radiant, peach-coloured smile, which now more than ever, he wished to see. There were other details as well, though these were fuzzier–the slight cleft in her chin, the solitary dimple in her left cheek, the high bridge of her nose, and the semi-pointed ears that betrayed her true heritage.  
“Yu shi cheng,” he heard her say, though he couldn’t be sure if the voice in his mind were hers. A half-fantasy, perhaps, like the way one’s own voice might sound in the sanctity of his self-image. “That’s what the city is called in our native tongue.”
He had tried to speak those foreign words, but ended up butchering the pronunciation miserably. His mother had laughed and explained that the colonisers has been unable to pronounce the words either. 
"That's why they came up with 'Lyst', which was the closest they could manage."
His mother had taught him other words, but Everett had never been good at languages, and whatever Lystian vocabulary his mother had tried to impart was ultimately lost on him. 
It was a regret he carried with him till this day. 
Turning to his side, he mouthed the words silently: yu shi cheng.
His mother’s face and voice soon faded from his mind’s eye, and his thoughts drifted lazily, haphazardly. He saw many other faces in the dark: that of his father, of Lucienne, of the Headmaster, and of Hywind.
"I didn't want the Academy snuffing out another bright spark."
The night wore on. Here and there, he dozed off, mere minutes at a time, but could never truly fall asleep. 
When daybreak finally came, he considered feigning an illness so he could stay in bed and avoid any interaction, but feared it would only cause trouble for Hywind after their outing had caused him to skip a full day of classes. So he got up before the rest of his bunkmates and showered. The icy cold water helped a little, and by the time the sun was up, Everett felt a little more prepared to face the day. 
For better or worse, his timetable that day afforded him no time to meet with Hywind. He shuffled in and out of classes the entire morning and afternoon, sitting at the back to avoid the attention of the professors. Though, he didn’t have to try too hard. Due to his reputation, the Academy tutors were giving him a wide berth. 
In the mid-day, it was customary for students who missed classes to meet with their professors for make-up lessons, usually conducted with smaller batches of students. Everett found himself attending such lessons alongside two other first-years who had eaten questionable meats the day before. By the third (and final) class, he could barely keep his eyes open. Once the professor dismissed them, he returned straight to his quarters and crashed onto the bed. Sleep came easy, but the dream that came with it, less so.
It was raining. 
“Wake up, dear Everett,” he heard his mother say.  
Everett stirred. The howl of the wind was so strong, he could hear it through the shut windows. A storm had been brewing the last two weeks, and it seemed like they were finally in the thick of it. 
“What is it?” he asked, groggily. 
HIs mother placed a palm against his cheek. He recalled her touch to be cold and wet, yet in the dream it was filled with tenderness and warmth. 
“Your father and I have to go somewhere,” she said. There was a sadness in her eyes that young Everett, at that age, could not comprehend. In reality he had thought little of it–his parents were often away, and he enjoyed the company of Lucienne, his tutor and caretaker, and looked forward to the stories his mother would tell him of their travels when they returned. 
Yet in the dream, he felt a strange fear grip him. The storm continued to rage, and he shivered in the cold.
“Why?” 
She explained why, but Everett could not hear nor understand. Behind her, his father emerged from the doorway. 
“We need to go now, my love,” he said, his voice anxious. 
She nodded and smiled. “We won’t be long, my dear boy. Lucienne will take care of you while we’re gone. She’s downstairs in the guestroom if you need her.”
“Don’t go.” 
Had he said that? No. But it was a dream, after all. 
His father came and took his hand. “Focus on your studies while we're gone. It's extremely important that you do, okay?"
His mother said, "We love you, Everett. In time I hope you’ll understand–everything we have done, is all because we love you.” 
With that, they were gone, and that was the last time he ever saw them again. 
Days later, after Everett had fallen into the comfortable rhythm of living under Lucienne's care, the messenger from the Armada would arrive, and his world would fall apart. 

***

The next day, after his morning classes, Everett felt an uneasiness creep into his stomach. He had managed to avoid Hywind and his strange offer for one whole day. But they had their regular meetup this afternoon, and he would have to face him.
Once more he considered feigning an illness, but he didn't have the constitution for such casual dishonesty, though it seemed to come easy for some students.
Begrudgingly, he made his way to Hywind's office once he was done with his tea break. 
When he arrived, he found the door locked. A note was stuck on the wood with gum. It read: 
E: Urgent meeting. Reschedule. Tonight or tomorrow. H.
Normally he would have wondered what the urgent meeting was about, perhaps even worried a little. But today Everette heaved a sigh of relief, the knot in his stomach loosening. He took a pen from his pocket and circled the word 'tomorrow', buying himself a bit more time.
"Back to bed then," Everett murmured to himself, still feeling the residual exhaustion from the earlier night. 
Wanting to avoid the throng of students in the main hall, he decided to take the longer route, cutting through a row of classrooms outfitted with consoles that the first-years were not allowed to use. The Academy believed that students retain foundational information better when they scribed with pen and parchment, so the luxury of console access was reserved only for seniors tackling more complex subjects. 
As Everett trudged past one of these classrooms, the sound of his name caught his attention. He stopped and stooped down to listen.
"...believe they let that Everett Fern play assistant to a professor?" said a twangy male voice.
"I heard he pissed off a bunch of professors," replied a girl. 
"And, what, got rewarded?"
A third individual, another boy who spoke in much deeper tones, chimed in, "Not a reward, mate. Apparently he's an assistant to Hywind." 
Twangy boy laughed. "I'll be damned. What did he do to deserve that?"
"Kept going on about Lyst and his folks and whatnot," said the girl. "Rumour has it his mother was a Lystian peasant."
"I heard she was a whore," said the deep-voiced lad. 
"You mean like your mom?" the girl said, igniting a loud, annoying laugh from Twang. 
"Oh sod off Lyra!"
"Hywind and Fern," said Twang, annoying his squabbling companions. "I guess those two air-headed sons of whores deserve each other, aye?"
All three students burst out laughing. The sound was grating and idiotic. Everett balled his fists, nails digging into the flesh of his palms. A vision of himself rushing into the room and punching the three students in their faces flashed in his mind, white hot and violent. He wanted nothing more than to make that vision a reality. 
But that, much like feigning illness, was something he simply wasn't built for. 

***

The next day, Everett found himself faced with a locked door yet again, only there was no note this time. He waited several minutes before deciding it was easier for Hywind to find him instead, since the professor had access to Everett's class schedule. 
He took a parchment from his bag and scribbled a note on it. He folded up the parchment and slipped it under Hywind's door. 
He didn't feel like he needed to feign an illness today.

It rained the next day. It was unexpected, uncommon weather for the time of year. Yet it rained as if a secret storm had been brewing all week. 
A gloom fell over the Academy. The rain battered the walls, creating a cacophony which echoed in the classrooms and made listening to lectures all the more challenging (especially when it was Professor Shell, the world's slowest orator, covering double classes that day). The distant rumbling of thunder got closer with each passing hour. 
Everett had not heard from Hywind at all since their excursion into town, apart from the little note he'd left on the door. He felt a touch of irritation bubbling at the back of his mind, though it was tinged with worry. 
He was en route to his next class (geometry with Professor Mulberry) when he saw three students were coming up the stairwell. He didn't recognise their faces, but their voices were unmistakable. 
"It can't be true," said the girl called Lyra. 
"Oh but it is," Twangy replied. "They've shipped him off to some forsaken skyland in the middle of nowhere. Hywind's gone for good."
"Good riddance," said the third lad with the deep voice. 
"What did you say?" Everett said, stepping out in front of them and forcing them to stop at the top of the stairs. 
Lyra made a startled gasp, and the deep-voiced one's eyes widened. Twangy didn't share his compatriots' surprise, simply smirked. 
"Look who it is," sneered Twangy. "Everett Fern, prodigy amongst the first-years. Youngest professor's assistant ever."
"What did you say?" Everett repeated. "Just now, about Hywind?"
"He's gone," said Lyra, a little cautiously. "Jonas here says they've put him on an expedition. He left yesterday, the rumours go."
Everett looked down at his hands. They had balled into fists again, and were clammy with sweat despite the chill of the storm. "No," he whispered.
Twangy stepped forward. "I've been meaning to ask–" 
"Jonas, stop," said the other boy. 
But Jonas ignored him and continued on, "How are you two related? Is he your distant uncle or something? A bondsman to your father, perhaps? Oh that can't be, your father wasn't a noble. Oh, I've got it."
"Jonas, please," said Lyra.
Everett looked up, his face flushed. Jonas' grin was smug, his dark blue eyes filled with cruel mirth. Everett bit his lip. His hands were shaking, bleeding, though he didn't notice. 
"Is he your real father? Did your Lystian whore of a mother bear a bastard with that pathetic little–" 
Everett punched him square in the jaw.

He was back in the Headmaster's office, with the magnificent desk and larger-than-life bookshelves. The warmth of the fireplace was a small comfort, while the storm continued to rage. The chair he sat in felt hard and prickly as he stared into the Headmaster's avian eyes. 
"Let me be clear, Mr Fern. What you did today is in no way acceptable."
Everett said nothing. 
"You are lucky Mr. Flint decided not to pursue the matter. His family is one of great means, and insulting him would do you little good. Do you understand?"
Silently, Everett nodded. 
"Well, Mr. Fern, would you care to explain yourself?" 
Would it make a difference? Everett wondered.
The Headmaster raised a brow. 
"I understand you must be upset that Professor Hywind had to leave–"
"What is this?" said Everett. The quiet interruption gave the Headmaster pause, though his expression betrayed neither indignation nor surprise.
"I beg your pardon?" 
The words came out of him before he could stop himself: "What am I still doing here? Why haven't I been expelled?"
The Headmaster, who had been leaning forward, his fingertips touching in front of him, now sat back, dropping his hands behind his desk. 
"Very well. You're an intelligent young man, and I'd be remiss to treat you otherwise.
"I'd hoped, by assigning you to be Hywind's assistant, to accomplish two things. The first was that you would see some glimpse of your future should you choose to pursue the path your parents had chosen, going against Academy teachings and desecrating Firstland history.
"The second was for Professor Hywind to realise that he might still have a chance for redemption if he, like yourself, chose the right course of action.
"Now, of course, the plan had some inherent risks. What I hadn't accounted for was how complementary you'd be. I knew Professor Hywind would take a liking to you, certainly. But I hadn't conceived of the notion that he'd be so foolish as to indulge your fantasies. 
"I gave him a choice. He could continue his foolishness and be sent away, or he could embrace the Academy's teachings once and for all. Then it would all come to an end–the meaningless expeditions, the teaching ban. Hywind is, in spite of his inclinations, a brilliant intellectual. A rare gem to be found perhaps once in a generation." 
Everett stayed quiet, trying his level best to keep his face even. A myriad of thoughts swam in his head, puzzle pieces slowly coming into focus and clicking into place as the Headmaster delivered his exposition.
Finally, he dared to ask, "What happened to Professor Hywind?" 
The faintest ghost of a smile crossed the Headmaster's stoic face. "Sent off on his expedition. I'm sure he mentioned it to you." The last line wasn't a question. 
"He said he had a month. Why did he leave so quickly?"
"Because he made the wrong choice."
The Headmaster allowed the words to sink in.
"The cruiser," said Everett, the realisation hitting him. "You were listening." 
The Headmaster tapped a button on his console, and the choppy, mechanized recording of Hywind's voice spoke:
"I didn't want the Academy snuffing out another bright spark."
"Honestly, I'm surprised Hywind never noticed. But I suppose thinking he had nothing else to lose made him complacent." 
"Why are you telling me this? I could tell everyone, and you'd get in trouble." Even as he said it, Everett knew it was nonsense.
The Headmaster echoed his thoughts: "Your word against mine? We both know how that would go. And the doorway you walked through is outfitted with a scrambler designed to short out any listening device that passes through." 
The old man's eyes locked onto Everett's, and the boy couldn't help but look away. Outside, the rain continued to pour.
When the Headmaster spoke again, his voice was gentle, almost inviting. He said, "Hywind was right in one regard, Everett. You are a bright spark, one who could potentially light the way for a new generation of students here at the Academy. I am more than willing to look past your recent hijinks with Hywind. After all, the fault lies with the teacher who misguided his pupil."
He retrieved a stack of parchment from his desk drawer, and Everett had a bout of deja vu. Only this time, instead of his personnel files, Everett recognised it as the notes he and Hywind had compiled. 
The Headmaster got up, beckoning Everett to follow. They walked over to the fireplace. 
"It seems to me you have a choice to make, Mr. Fern,” said the Headmaster, gesturing first at the documents in his hand, then to the fire. “And I do hope it's the right one."
He handed Everett the stack of parchment, the culmination of all the work he had done with Hywind, the only person to have ever believed him. Believed in him.  
Everett took the notes, his gaze shifting between them and the fireplace. He saw faces in the flames–his father's, his mother's, Hywind's. In the rain he heard their voices. 
“Focus on your studies while we're gone. It's extremely important that you do…"
'...everything we have done, is all because we love you.”
"But then I met you, and it reminded me how painful it can be, being trapped in a place you don't truly belong. Being force-fed lies you cannot swallow."
Everett looked up from the flames, into the eyes of the Headmaster. His fingers tightened around the parchments. 
The Headmaster returned his gaze with hawk-like eyes. 
"Your future is, quite literally, in your hands."

It was barely dawn, but already the port bustled with activity: crewmen transporting large crates of goods on hover-trolleys, securing anchorages and performing standard safety checks before docking or upstaking, while port officials shuffled around with their portable radios and clipboards. A majority of those at the port were Firstlanders, since there were only three docking bays dedicated to foreign vessels entering Firstport under the Free Trade Agreement (Tekhrans, mostly, and Raizens working under the Kaito Company banner). But ever so often, one of the crews would sport a deckhand from one of the colonies, perhaps Lunaria or Talvaros. If you looked hard enough, you might even spot a Valanorrd worker. 
Captain Harlowe used to go by a different name, one that had been given to him by friends and employers, back in his old life as a galley cook. The old name suited him fine back then, but when the opportunity to run his own business came knocking, he thought to reclaim his family name, perhaps as some misplaced attempt of bringing it a semblance of honour (his ancestors were not of noble stock, and few in his family had ever achieved anything noteworthy with their lives). 
Now he owned a trading vessel with a motley crew of no more than thirteen men, running both an independent business and commissions for other companies. He was the first of his blood relatives to ever captain a skyship, small as it may be, let alone manage a successful business. And for those reasons alone, he was mighty proud.
A portly fellow with oak-coloured eyes and a crooked, battered nose, Captain Harlowe leaned against his ship's mud-coloured hull, smoking a thin cigarette, and frowned when the young man approached him. 
"You lost, boy?" said the captain. His voice was oddly melodic, completely dissonant from his gruff exterior. 
"Are you Captain Harlowe?" the young man asked. He was a short, stocky fellow with a messy crop of copper hair. Not much older than a boy, thought the captain. He lugged an oversized, leatherbound briefcase behind him. 
"That’s what they call me. Going somewhere?" 
The young man nodded and fished out a small pouch of Firstland credits. The captain beckoned with an open palm, and the young man awkwardly tossed it to him. 
"I heard you’re headed south-east. How far will that take me?"
The captain eyeballed the credits and said, "I’d say about as far as Talvaros, maybe Tekhra if the winds are good to us. Leave your bag. My men will come get them. We leave on the hour.” He threw his cigarette onto the docking bay and stamped it out with his foot. 
The young man clambered up the step ladder leading up to the skyship’s main deck. It was a small ship, an older model that was well-preserved, though not without its fair share of battle scars. Onboard, several deckhands were running about, taking inventory, performing pre-flight maintenance checks, and making sure everything was prepared for departure. There was another individual standing by the starboard, towards the tail end of the ship. He seemed no older than the young man, perhaps younger, even. He carried a small backpack with him, and his dusty robes bore the colours and insignia of the Academy. Since he wasn’t up and about like the rest of the crew, or wearing their brown and green uniform, the young man figured he must be a fellow passenger, buying his way out of Firstport. He simply stood there, watching the clouds through the docking bay’s open doors.   
The young man approached the stranger. 
“Great weather for running away, eh?” 
The stranger nodded, but said nothing. He continued staring at the clouds.
Drawing a cigarette and lighter from his coat pocket, the young man asked, “Do you mind?” 
“Not at all,” said the stranger. 
The young man lit his cigarette and drew a deep breath. Thick white smoke billowed out his mouth and nostrils as he exhaled. “I’d offer you one, but you seem kind of young.”
The stranger turned to regard him, and the young man saw a familiar melancholy in his blue-green eyes. He said, “I could say the same about you.” 
Smiling, the young man said, “That you could. See, my mom remarried after my dad passed on. The bastard she calls a husband threw me out, says I’m old enough to fend for myself and not mooch off him anymore. I figured that also means I’m old enough to smoke.” 
“I’m sorry to hear that.” The words sounded genuine. 
“It is what it is. That’s what my dad used to say.” The young man inhaled another draft of smoke. “You got a story, kid?” 
The stranger hesitated. His lips pressed together in a tight line as the young man waited. Finally, he said, “I’ve somewhere I need to be.” 
“In my limited experience, somewhere usually means someone.” 
For the first time since their interaction began, the stranger smiled. 
“I guess it does.” 
A horn blared, and Captain Harlowe could be heard shouting orders. One of the deckhands scuttled up to the crow’s nest, while her fellows proceeded to man their stations. The rising sun cast a mesmerising blend of purples and golds into the sky, the colours leaking onto the deck, gilding the skyship in an ethereal glow. 
“Got a name, kid?” asked the young man. 
Everett said his name, and the Highwind took off.