The dawn bruised the heavens in strokes of orange and violet, the kind of winter sunrise that slid its cold fingers down one's collar no matter how tightly the coat was drawn. I pulled mine closer, breath fogging the brittle morning air. When our carriage finally lurched to a halt at the port, the wooden wheels groaned like elderly men rising from prayer.
"This is our pilot. His name is Henrijs," Miss Lakshmi said, gesturing toward a broad-shouldered figure standing beside the airship's gangway.
"Good morning, Miss Lakshmi. Miss Halle," he greeted first, dipping his head with the politeness of someone raised well. Then he turned to Victoria and me. I opened my mouth to respond—only to pause when his eyes caught mine. Deep, molten orange. No book had ever captured that colour properly.
Oh. Much different from the illustrations, I thought.
"Wow—an Orc! And even taller than they say in the novels I have read," Victoria blurted, rescuing me from an embarrassingly long stare.
Henrijs laughed, bright and sharp. "Good morning, you two. And what might your names be?" He spoke while lifting our luggage with the ease of a man moving pillows instead of trunks.
"I'm Victoria, and this is Heiwa."
"Pleasure. I am Henrijs of Ilishadur," he replied, tusks flashing faintly as he smiled. "And you two hail from…?"
"I'm from Shénlóng Zhōu—the Divine Dragon Province," I answered, regaining my composure, "and she is from the Twin Spirit Province."
"A fine place. A pleasure indeed," he said, tipping his head again.
"Nice tattoos," Victoria added with all the delicacy of a brick through a window. He chuckled, running a hand along the intricate ink curling up his arm.
"You've got a good eye."
Inside, the airship stunned even me. Brass fixtures polished to mirror shine. Dark walnut panels smelling faintly of lavender wax and machine oil. Functional luxury—like a manor that decided it was done sitting still.
Victoria darted about immediately, poking her nose into every corner like a curious fox. When I found her again, she was already seated across from Miss Lakshmi with a chessboard between them. Miss Halle stood behind her like a marble statue come to life.
The airship's ascent was so smooth that my stomach hardly noticed. Within minutes, we were nearly thirty thousand meters above the frostbitten countryside, the world below shrinking into a watercolor blur.
Victoria pressed her face to the nearest window. "Sick," she whispered, then hopped to the next window. And the next.
"May I meet the pilot?" she asked, hopeful and reckless.
"Best not to disturb Henrijs mid-flight," Miss Lakshmi replied without lifting her gaze from the board. "Come back and finish our game."
"Hmmm… alright," Victoria sighed, collapsing back into her seat like a scolded child. She twirled a coin between her fingers. "If you were heading to the Capital anyway, and we're basically just tagging along, why charge us so much?"
Miss Lakshmi smiled—a small, dangerous curl of the lips. "Because it is what profits me."
Victoria mirrored her grin. "If I win this match, we ride for free."
"And if I win?"
"I'll owe you a favour. And you strike me as someone who knows exactly what to do with one."
I cracked open a steamed crab as the duel began, letting the warmth chase the winter from my fingertips. Miss Halle silently arranged our breakfast with that soft, measured grace she always carried.
But the real theatre was on the chessboard.
Miss Lakshmi leaned forward, eyes narrowing. Victoria sat upright, every muscle quiet but coiled.
"Your move," Victoria said, voice soft but unmistakably provoking.
Lakshmi advanced a pawn—subtle, confident. Victoria mirrored her. Bishops glided like assassins. Knights crouched, ready to spring. The tension thickened, a storm knitting itself between the two women.
Lakshmi struck first.
Her knight swept in, claiming the pawn at h7 with ruthless precision. A clean incision. Victoria blinked—just once—but it was enough to betray her faltering certainty.
Then came the avalanche.
Pawn sacrifices. Knight forays. Hidden traps. Lakshmi let one piece fall, then another, weaving threads Victoria never noticed until they tightened around her like a snare. Victoria sent her queen lunging to retaliate—
—but Lakshmi's bishop slid into place, long and merciless, carving through every route Victoria tried to imagine.
Then it happened.
Lakshmi's queen drifted forward, elegant as a fine blade.
She paused. Lifted her teacup. Sipped.
Set it down.
"Check."
Victoria scanned the board, her mind sprinting through possibilities, but the snare was already cinched shut.
"Checkmate," Lakshmi murmured.
No triumph. No gloating. Just a quiet, devastating certainty.
Victoria stared for a heartbeat, then looked up with fire rekindled in her eyes. "Again?"
Lakshmi smiled. "Of course."
For minds like theirs, the war was never over.
I finished the last bite of crab and exhaled slowly. The Capital was drawing closer by the minute. The sky outside blazed cold as forged steel. I thought of the "favour" Victoria now owed and groaned under my breath.
"What happened to not handing blank cheques to women like her…" I muttered.
I straightened my coat and braced myself.
The world was shifting faster than our airship could climb.