“Damn it, they’re at our velivus!”

  Antony’s exclamation barely resounds in the midst of the thunderous blasts unleashed by the floating ship.

  “The assault troops must already be landing there,” Samuel chimes in. “Let’s use Dad’s metaforeas.”

  I’m not given the slightest time to recover from the surprise. With Antony’s gun pressing against my back, we dart along the house’s outer wall to skirt around it. Once we’ve cleared a corner, we break into a run across the grass, heading in the opposite direction from the flying hull.

  What’s happening? I wonder, confused. All of a sudden, I find myself entangled in a war operation! And it’s being fought by machines I’ve never seen before!

  Battleship… is that what they called that metal hulk? From the bits of unusual knowledge I’ve picked up from various video games, I know it’s one of the most formidable types of ship… certainly not something capable of flight!

  Maybe it’s only a dream… no, let’s not talk nonsense. What I’m seeing is undoubtedly real.

  If only I could move freely… that’s what I want more than anything right now. But this guy… Antony… keeps me at gunpoint.

  Absurd… they’re acting as though this were a situation they’re used to… or prepared for.

  New, much closer sounds join the explosions. I look up and spot a few small aircraft racing over us.

  They’re like the ones I glimpsed yesterday, when I ran all the way to the edge of the fragment. Seeing them now, they somehow remind me of swallows. An oval fuselage makes up the body of each plane, from which two long, arched wings extend. White smoke trails pour out of those appendages, though no engines are visible.

  “They’ve spotted us…” Dawn’s father says.

  Immediately afterwards, we dive into a wood, whose foliage hides the sky from view. There, while we push our way among the trunks—panting from the long sprint—we hear hammering noises that strike me as extremely familiar.

  Machine guns?!

  Indeed, together with the whirring of the aircraft, I can hear the racket caused by a multitude of small projectiles pounding the forest a short distance away from us.

  Those planes… they’re firing among the trees! They’re trying to hit us!

  Terror keeps me running, even though I’m almost at my limit. That’s how, after interminable minutes, we burst out onto the other side of the wood. There, before us, stands the rise that juts up from the fragment.

  That’s the same mountain I saw while I was falling.

  A broad stone staircase, ancient-looking and devoid of railings, climbs along the edge of the rise. It’s an impressive structure that, for long stretches, juts out of the ground without leaning on the mountain, almost as if it were straining toward the sky. Yet it’s unclear where it leads: from the ground, it appears to end in mid-air—something senseless to my eyes, since on the Earth I know, I couldn’t point to any construction remotely like it.

  But my “companions” don’t seem impressed in the least. On the contrary, without the slightest hesitation, our group heads for the staircase.

  “Come on!” Samuel says, beginning to climb the steps.

  Utterly exhausted by now, we start trudging up. Samuel is in the lead, followed by me and Antony; then comes Dawn, and lastly the father.

  As we hurry as best we can, the small aircraft armed with machine guns zip past us. I almost fear they’re going to open fire, and I watch them in terror as they streak by. It’s then I notice a significant detail: the flying battleship has shifted position. Tracing the edge of the fragment, it’s now lining up on our left flank, its cannon ports trained on us even though it’s nearly a kilometre away.

  Does it, by any chance, intend to…?

  A volley of shots erupts from the cannons, exploding at the base of the stairs. The whole structure trembles, and we have to stop to keep our balance. We’re practically hanging over nothingness: if this thing collapses, we’ll crash onto the ground dozens of metres below.

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  “Warning shots,” Antony says. “Let’s move!”

  We set off running once more. We’re three quarters of the way up when a second salvo goes off. Again, it hits the base of the staircase—this time directly beneath us.

  Chaos ensues: the steps shatter, and part of the structure crumbles. Stone blocks plummet below… but the worst of it follows at once. A piece of the staircase, broken off from its base, flies through the air along a terrifyingly dangerous trajectory… and it comes crashing down right where we are.

  We scream at the impact. Shards pelt us, and Dawn’s father is flung backwards. The section of stair between him and us collapses, with a thunderous roar accompanying the disappearance of many of the steps… and before I fully realise what’s happened, the man’s been cut off from the rest of us.

  “Dad!” Dawn cries out.

  Could he jump? I wonder, hastily gauging the gap between the broken ends of the staircase. No… there’s no way he could make it.

  “Go on!” shouts the man, getting back to his feet.

  “No!” his daughter protests. “I’ll try using mayea…”

  “No, Dawn!” Samuel yells. “You’re not skilled enough—you’ll put him in danger!”

  “But I…”

  “Tsk!” Antony snaps.

  He ditches the pistol, slipping it back under his cloak, and grabs his sister’s arm. She tries to pull free, but his grip remains firm.

  They resume their climb, leaving their father behind.

  “But…” I say. “He…”

  “He knows what he’s doing!” Samuel asserts.

  “Hurry up!” Antony barks, sourly.

  “Dad…” Dawn moans.

  “Don’t worry!” her father shouts as the three siblings and I draw farther away. “I know how to handle them!”

  I watch the man as he heads back down the stairs. One of the swallow-shaped aircraft has turned towards him and now circles widely, tracking his movements. He walks slowly, showing no intention of fleeing any longer. He’s surrendering.

  I don’t fully grasp what’s going on; so many things are slipping past me. Still… seeing this scene makes me feel deeply sorry.

  ???

  At the same time, in a chamber aboard the battleship, a man in an elegant white uniform is pointing a spyglass at the stone staircase visible through the windows on one wall.

  “What a surprise,” he murmurs. “It really does look like him.”

  “We’ll now proceed with the third salvo” announces a man nearby.

  “No… we’ve already put on enough of a show,” the other man stops him. “It seems we’ll soon have a special guest: I don’t want anything happening to him. For now, have all forces hold their fire!”

  ???

  We climb back up the last stretch of steps. Once at the top, we find a platform made of the same blocks that form the stairs. From here, there’s nowhere else to go: as we could already guess from below, the structure looks out into nothingness.

  And now?

  As that thought crosses my mind, I glance over at the swallow-shaped aircraft. I don’t know why, but they’re keeping their distance. After all, why bother hovering over us when we have no escape route?

  As for the battleship, right now it’s not doing much… other than emitting strange flashes from various points on its hull—presumably from powerful spotlights—almost as if it were…

  … communicating? Is it sending signals to the planes?

  “Samuel…” Antony says, setting down the suitcase.

  The two brothers position themselves beside a large square of metal at the centre of the platform. They lift it, revealing a wide compartment beneath.

  Wow!

  Hidden in the cavity is an aircraft. It’s extremely odd: like much of this world’s technology, it looks rougher than the equivalents I’m used to. Two wings equipped with engines protrude from the sides of the craft, whose fuselage—far from aerodynamic—features several windows.

  “Down you go,” Antony orders, clutching the suitcase again under his arm.

  We descend some narrow steps into the hiding place and from there clamber aboard the aircraft. Once inside, I gaze around in amazement: several seats, upholstered in well-worn leather, line the windows, and at the front of the cabin is a control panel that looks as though it belongs in a Second World War aeroplane. Cables and pipes run along the ceiling and walls of the craft, which themselves are covered in bolts and welds.

  Will this thing really be able to fly?

  Samuel settles at the controls, starts up the machine, and grips a control stick. The others take what seats they can inside. I see them putting on some sort of harness. I try to do the same but can’t figure it out at all.

  “Here, I’ll help,” Dawn says, noticing my struggle.

  “Thanks…”

  While she fastens the harness for me, I watch her face: her eyes are wet, and she keeps her gaze down. I feel a surge of sympathy for her.

  Dawn has just returned to her seat when the vehicle lifts off. Vibrations course through its metal frame as it rises out of hiding in a vertical motion. Within seconds, we’re above the platform. At that point, Samuel pushes a lever, and with a loud roar, the aircraft surges forward.

  Bloody… hell…

  Pressed into my seat by the sudden acceleration, I force myself to look outside: realising we were not truly trapped, the enemy craft have immediately given chase. They’re fast.

  “They’re going to catch us…” I say.

  Machine-gun fire starts rattling in from the swallow-shaped aircraft.

  “I don’t think so,” Samuel retorts. “I’m a good pilot.”

  Our plane speeds into a bank of clouds, dodging the opponents’ bursts of bullets. Hidden in a sea of mist, it performs a series of blind manoeuvres that leave me thoroughly disoriented. After a short while, it emerges from the clouds: somehow, it’s managed to position itself alongside the enemy.

  Samuel flips open a small cover on the control stick, revealing a button on top of it. He waits until we’re close enough to the opponents. Then he presses the button.

  A round projectile fires from the plane’s nose. When it reaches the cluster of aircraft, the sphere glows for an instant… generating a small lightning storm around itself. These electric discharges, produced by who-knows-what kind of absurd technology, engulf the machines; as a result, they veer off course, smoking as they scatter in all directions.

  They don’t seem capable of manoeuvring anymore… assuming their pilots are still alive.

  Our aircraft levels out and continues swiftly on its way. Through the windows, Dawn and I look back: concealed by the clouds, the fragment where her father remains disappears from sight.

  We accelerate, piercing through the clouds with a loud noise.

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