Zephyr led them up a treacherous goat path carved into the vertical face of a sandstone spire. They climbed two hundred feet above the canyon floor, leaving the clicking sounds of the blind Hollows far below.
They reached The Aerie.
It was a settlement clinging to the underside of a massive rock arch. Tents made of hardened leather hung like bat cocoons. Bridges of woven rope connected the spires. Wind-chimes made of hollow bones hung everywhere, creating a constant, dissonant melody that masked their scent and sound from the predators below.
"My people are gone," Zephyr said, leading them into a workshop carved into the rock. "Taken by the stone. Or the wind. I am the last keeper of the Wings."
He pulled a tarp off a rack against the wall. Underneath were three Glider-Rigs.
They were beautiful, archaic contraptions. Frames made of hollow, lightweight aluminum (scavenged from old world wrecks) and wings stretched with a translucent, tough membrane.
"These are Song-Wings," Zephyr explained. "They don't just catch wind. They catch sound."
He tapped the membrane. It hummed.
"The canyon is a speaker," Zephyr gestured to the open air where the wind howled. "The acoustic waves create pressure ridges. If you ride the bass notes, you sink. If you ride the treble, you rise. You must listen to fly."
"I'm a pilot," Isolde said, inspecting a rig. "I know aerodynamics. Lift, drag, thrust."
"Forget physics," Zephyr snapped. "Here, physics is a suggestion. The wind is alive. If you fight it, it breaks you. You must harmonize."
He looked at Julian.
"You have the metal hand. You make the loud noises. Can you be quiet enough to hear the updraft?"
Julian looked at the sheer drop outside. The wind was a visible river of red dust.
"I'll listen," Julian promised.
The Launch
They strapped into the rigs. The wings extended, locking into place with a satisfying click. They hung suspended in harnesses, their legs free for landing, their hands gripping control bars.
Julian checked his Resonance Gauntlet.
"Skid," Julian radioed. "You seeing this?"
"I'm tracking you," Skid's voice was static-heavy. "The Titan is ten miles north. But Julian... the weather radar is a solid red block. You're flying into a hurricane."
"We're not flying into it," Julian said, stepping to the edge of the platform. "We're surfing it."
Zephyr went first. He didn't hesitate. He ran off the ledge and dove.
For a second, he plummeted like a stone. Then, his kite-wing caught an invisible wave. He shot upward, banking sharply to the left, soaring on a current of air that sounded like a low cello note.
"Follow the melody!" Zephyr's voice echoed back.
Isolde went next. She whooped as she dropped, catching the air with practiced ease. Lyra followed, looking pale but determined.
Julian took a breath.
Don't fight.
He jumped.
The wind hit him like a physical blow. The glider shook violently. He started to spin.
Panic.
No. Listen.
He closed his eyes. He heard the wind screaming past his ears. But underneath the scream, there was a rhythm. A pulsing beat caused by the wind hitting the pillars below.
Thump... Thump...
Julian leaned into the rhythm. He tilted his wings.
Suddenly, the turbulence smoothed out. He caught the pressure wave. The glider stabilized and shot forward, accelerating to sixty miles per hour.
He opened his eyes. He was flying.
To his left, the canyon wall rushed by—a blur of red and orange rock. To his right, the abyss.
"Nice recovery, Conductor," Zephyr called out, swooping above him. "Now, stay on the High-Line! The low air is dead air!"
The Sky-Eaters
They flew in formation, weaving through the stone arches. It was exhilarating. The sheer speed, the roar of the wind, the feeling of weightlessness.
But the canyon had guardians in the sky, too.
"Movement at twelve o'clock!" Isolde yelled.
Emerging from a dust cloud were shapes. They looked like manta rays, but translucent and gelatinous, floating on the wind currents. They had long trailing tendrils that sparked with static electricity.
Aether-Jellies.
"Don't let them touch you!" Zephyr warned, banking hard to avoid a school of them. "They drift on the static! They will shock your heart to a stop!"
A massive Jelly drifted directly into Julian's path. It was too wide to fly around.
"Move!" Lyra shouted.
"I can't!" Julian yelled. "I'll lose the lift!"
He raised his left hand, still gripping the control bar. The gauntlet hummed.
I need a path.
He aimed his palm at the Jelly.
Focus: Air Cannon.
He fired a pulse of compressed air.
WHOOSH.
The blast hit the Jelly in the center. It didn't kill it, but it blew a donut-hole right through its gelatinous body.
Julian tucked his wings and shot through the hole in the monster, emerging on the other side covered in static tingles but alive.
"Show off!" Isolde laughed.
The Eye of the Storm
After twenty minutes of harrowing flight, the canyon opened up into a massive, circular basin.
The wind here was insane. It formed a continuous, rotating cyclone—a tornado that never moved, trapped by the geometry of the cliffs.
And in the center of the cyclone, suspended in the eye of the storm, was the Titan.
Titan 04: The Gale-Warden.
It didn't look like a person or a beast. It looked like a Station.
It was a massive, vertical structure of brass and silver, shaped like a gyroscope. Three concentric rings rotated around a central sphere. Massive intake fans the size of stadiums sucked the dusty air in, filtered it, and blasted clean air out the top.
But the rings were wobbling. They were grinding against each other. Sparks the size of lightning bolts showered down into the abyss below.
"It's off-axis!" Zephyr shouted, fighting to keep his glider steady in the turbulence. "The gyroscope is destabilized! That's why the wind is screaming!"
"How do we get inside?" Julian yelled. "The wind speed at the perimeter must be 300 knots!"
"The intake!" Zephyr pointed to the bottom of the structure. "The central fan is pulling air in! If we dive into the updraft, it will suck us right into the hangar bay!"
"Or into the blades!" Lyra yelled.
"The blades are slow!" Zephyr promised. "Timing is everything!"
They circled the storm, gaining altitude.
"On my mark!" Julian commanded. "Dive!"
They tipped their wings and plunged into the cyclone.
The world became a blur of grey dust and noise. The G-force pressed Julian into his harness. He saw the massive intake fan approaching—a spinning maw of death.
Wait... Wait...
He saw the gap between the massive fan blades.
NOW.
He folded his wings.
He shot through the gap, missing the blade by inches.
The air inside the Titan was suddenly calm. The roar vanished.
Julian deployed his parachute (a backup system on the rig). It jerked him to a halt.
He drifted down, landing on a metal grating platform inside the belly of the machine.
Lyra landed next to him, rolling to absorb the impact. Isolde came in hot, skidding to a stop. Zephyr landed gracefully, folding his wings like a bird.
They were inside.
The interior of the Gale-Warden was a cathedral of gears and rushing air. Pipes hissed. Pistons pumped.
But something was wrong.
The walls were covered in Graffiti.
Rough, jagged symbols painted in red paint.
And hanging from the ceiling pipes were cages.
"We aren't the first ones here," Julian whispered, unholstering his Sonic Lance.
Zephyr looked at the symbols. He stepped back, terrified.
"The Dust-Born," Zephyr whispered. "I thought they were a myth."
"Who?"
"Scavengers who worship the storm," Zephyr said. "They don't want the Titan fixed. They want the wind to scour the world clean."
From the shadows of the machinery, figures emerged.
They wore masks made of air-filters and rags. They held pneumatic bolt-guns and jagged scrap-metal swords.
A leader stepped forward. He was huge, shirtless, his skin embedded with shards of glass and stone.
" The wind brought fresh meat," the leader growled.
Julian sighed, charging his gauntlet.
"Why is every Titan infested with lunatics?"