Storms of Truth (HIATUS)

16 (REVISED)

FALORA

If Alexavier suspected Orilion's identity, he made no mention of it.

The Vortex weaved among tall, anvil clouds. Majestic paths opened up in their path, where smaller, passive aetherbeats floated alongside them and ducked into the clouds. Islands bloomed between the breaks of the sky and bloomed with fruits, untouched by Azari settlements. Falora hung on the railing and drew the wonderland in front of her. Heavy trails of mist broke apart when she reached out to touch a small puff, and she relinquished herself from the cold.

Orilion sat in front of the ship and rarely left the spot, even to eat. His gaze remained firm on the horizon. Falora frowned at the shift in his behaviour, a stormy, sullen mood and he rejected any of her advances to converse. And considering I'm not in the mood to argue with a moody god... She headed up to Alex when he hissed under his breath and tapped on one of the dials around his wheel. "What's wrong?"

"Storm coming," Alex said and pointed at the grey dial with several needles pointing in different directions. One pulsed, brightened, and stayed in place. He tugged on the left lever. The sails shifted and he left the wheel to head to the staircase which led to the lower deck. "Zyle, get the anchors ready to latch." Orilion peeked around the foremast, and Falora steadied herself when Alex raced back to the wheel and took a sharp turn. "Just need to find a suitable island before the stormfront fires off..."

Falora clasped her hands together and looked out into the expanse. Clouds darkened and rumbled with energy and blocked their continued flight path. Alex grimaced and took another sharp turn when fog spilled through the Vortex's barrier. It slithered over the deck, and Falora shivered at the ice-cold sensation. Overhead, a shadow bloomed out of the mist, but Alex angled the airship underneath it where an island's underside came into view. Vines and lichen hung off gemstones, and Alex spun the ship around to face their original heading.

Zyle rushed up. "Anchors are ready, Alex."

"Thank you," Alex drew out in singsong.

Nature-made skycores buzzed in her ears. Holes released an aethermist from the island's center. Alex tapped her shoulder. "I'd take shelter," he said with a nod at Orilion. "Same goes to you, Sir Skeptic."

"Rain doesn't bother me," Orilion replied back.

Falora facepalmed, but Alexavier shrugged and sent the anchors upwards to latch onto the stone, drawn forward by the gemstones full of air magic. Thunder rumbled and the heavens shook. Her gaze lifted to Orilion, who returned to his safe spot. Unable to do much else, she moved below decks with Alex and Zyle. Every day, a new sight drawn within her sketchbook. Shapes of clouds, wondrous and free. Into the bed of her quiet cabin, she curled under the covers. Rain pattered against the barrier with a soft song which lulled her to sleep with Mother's voice. It became a roar the moment she closed herself from the world.

White flashed. Lightning forked. Wood cracked and crumbled.

Falora snapped up again. In the dark out of her nightmare. Underneath her feet, the Vortex swayed with the wind. Clouds remained a sullen grey. Rain slipped down the glass of her window. Out into the corridor, she snuck past Alex and Zyle's room and tread onto the upper deck. I can't help but worry Orilion hopped onto a storm cloud on impulse with how his mood has been... Uncertainty struck her at Orilion's lack of being by the boxes, but she made the trek onto the ladder and reached the crows nest, heaving open the door with her shoulder and climbing into the darkness. Unable to adjust to the lightning, she jolted when she twisted to see bright, cyan eyes peering at her.

"What are you doing?" Orilion's shadow raised, and she shivered at the mirage of wings to match.

"Making sure you didn't jump off the ship."