Together, the mechanic and the aristocrat leaped through the back window, hurtling into the smog-filled abyss of the city. Two vastly different birds, finally forced to flock together.
Jax, a scrawny mechanic with grease permanently etched into his cuticles, sat across from Kaelen. Kaelen was a High-Flyer, a literal citizen of the floating Upper Spire. He wore silks that cost more than Jax’s entire workshop, yet here he was, nursing a glass of fermented sludge in the slums.
Kaelen’s polished exterior cracked, showing a flicker of genuine fear. "Because up there, we’re all gilded cages and scripted smiles. My father wants to glass the Lower Rings to build a 'scenic park.' You’re the only one with the tech to stop the launch."
"No? We’re both sitting in a basement, hiding from the same police, trying to keep a world from ending. If we're both flying toward the same sun, does it matter whose wings are real and whose are scrap metal?"
Jax patted his vest. "The drive, the encryption keys, and a very short fuse. Why are we doing this again?"
The neon hum of the "Aether & Ore" tavern was the only thing louder than Jax’s nerves. In the dive bars of the Lower Rings, people didn't just hang out; they coalesced like oil on water.
"You have the drive?" Kaelen whispered, leaning in. His eyes darted toward the door, where a pair of Enforcers were hassling a street vendor.
A crash at the door ended the philosophy lesson. The Enforcers had spotted them.