Wilfred sniffed at the stagnant air that flowed through this part of town. To him, it was a pleasant scent that reminded him of better times and brighter days. Within the shadow of a manufacturing plant for airships was the closest thing he could call home, even more than Lyssandra’s humble abode. Down a long and winding flight of stairs, Wilfred could see the fountain he used to meet Marlaove at. A grin pulled at his tense face as he remembered the scheme Marlaove had hatched to get experience points after they had been fresh-faced Sky-seekers. It was only two days later that they both realized their levels stopped scaling linearly after level 25 and only got more difficult if you didn’t rank up. That was the first time they realized there were restrictions placed upon them. Shackles from those more powerful. Now that Wilfred thought back to it, Marlaove didn’t seem disappointed about it. No, he saw it as an opportunity.

  A step crumbled beneath Wilfred’s feet, and he caught a rusted rail to stop his fall. No one reached out a hand to help him get back up, and the fountain’s bubbling streams remained quiet. All of that was long gone. It all disappeared with Marlaove. Maybe it started before he disappeared, but it didn’t seem real until he was gone.

  Each of the houses in this area had flat roofs that allowed for some to stack on one another as they climbed their way out of the sinkhole. A shadow shifted in the window of one building behind the fountain, yet the town held its silence. Wilfred wanted to convince himself it was an animal, but experience told him that was a dangerous assumption to make. Running his hand along the eroded edges of the fountain, he slowly approached the abandoned structure. Broken glass caught the afternoon light, and for a brief moment, Wilfred glimpsed his weary expression. His face was creased with a history he wished had been gentler.

  Slowly, he pushed the tattered cloth hanging in the doorway to the side with the tip of his vibro crystal pistol and scanned the darkened room. A small creature scampered across the spilled grain, and Wilfred tightened his grip on the trigger. Letting out a sigh, he relaxed his shoulders and lowered the gun, but his instincts still wouldn’t let him holster it.

  On a table, a framed photo collected dust. Wilfred brushed his fingers over the murky glass to uncover two familiar faces. Calbert and Alice. Tracing through the dust only brought back more faces and more memories. Robin, Jack, Samuel, Everett, and Marla love. Even Wilfred’s younger face smiled back at him with one arm wrapped around Marla and the other around Alice. It was not the face of someone who didn’t know hardship but one who still had hope in the future. His eyes were not so tired.

  As he scrubbed the last traces of dust from the photo, an airship in the background became visible, and the grease marks on Alice’s face showed themselves. One day, we’ll have our own airship, and we’ll pilot it wherever we please. Far away into the infinite sky. Her words had stuck with him long after they married and even longer after she died.

  Looking around, he noticed a dark wooden easel holding an empty canvas. This was Calbert’s house, he realized. More paintings hung on the wall. Some were of snowy landscapes based on what they heard about the seventh layer, while others swirled with bright colors and splotches of glorious pigment, a rendition of the stars. Calbert was still alive somewhere; he could not be found. Somewhere, he wished never to be found. It was best for both of them. We got too greedy. Wilfred frowned as he walked out of the house and back into the center of town.

  Sitting on the cusp of the fountain, an old man took a bite out of a small loaf of bread, and Wilfred raised his gun. Ready to fight or flee using his skill.

  “I thought you abandoned this place long ago. Most people did for good reason, but for some reason I never could.” A crooked smile graced the man’s face as Wilfred lowered his pistol.

  “Edwin?” Wilfred furrowed his brow in concern. “What are you still doing here? It’s dangerous.”

  “Bah,” Edwin took another bite of bread as he swatted away Wilfred’s question with a grunt. “You know Faulpher-tek doesn’t care about some old dope like me. The better question is why you came back.”

  “I... I,” Wilfred blinked to regain his composure. “I’ve found a lead on Marlaove. But the fool’s maybe it difficult. You know how he is.”

  Edwin chuckled as he pushed himself off the fountain. “Hasn’t changed in all these years, has he? Well, what’s this lead you’ve got?”

  Wilfred pulled out the notebook and tossed it over to the old man. “I found it at one of the warehouses we had an agent in. That bastard Barry ruined the whole thing, but it seems Marlaove was still able to get one by him.”

  Flipping through the pages, Edwin curiously scanned the rows of numbers and occasional notes. Suddenly, he snapped it shut. “This notebook may look old, but the codes tell a different story.”

  Wilfred raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

  “They’re shipping codes. No different than the ones I used to work with.” Edwin glanced up at the airship factory. Steam and dark clouds rose from the building, casting a strange glow over the abandoned town. “Every time we delivered an airship or any of its associated parts, we would log a code to keep track of what we were delivering, who ordered it, and the date it was shipped. Nearly every code in this notebook ends with 74 or 75.”

  “But that’s only a year or two ago.” Edwin tossed the notebook back, and Wilfred snatched it from the air. The more he uncovered, the less it all seemed to make sense. So not only is this notebook more recent than it looks, but Marlaove has somehow been able to record shipments from the warehouse for the past two years. “If I gave you some of the codes, would you be able to decipher them?”

  “Maybe, but each company has an internal system for how items are coded. Some similarities may bleed over, though, and I’ll be able to tell you the type of items that were being shipped but not what the items actually are.”

  “Thank you, Edwin.” A glimmer of hope resurfaced within Wilfred, and an image of Marlaove’s smiling face flashed through his memory. For the first time in months, he finally felt close. Beyond the numbers, the notes in the margins presented another mystery. Some of them read like a grocery list, while others were barely legible scribbles, but the ones that interested him the most were the strange riddles. Marlaove always liked a good riddle and told them often enough to have filled several volumes by now. There was one that especially captured Wilfred’s interest. Flipping to the middle of the book, he found it. “Hey, Edwin. Does this mean anything to you? Our roots go deeper than a Lucetop but not as far as a logger's dream.”

  The old man gazed into the sky as if the answer was just out of his reach. “Have you tried checking Marlaove’s garden? He grew those Lucetop things.”

  Edwin’s answer didn’t feel right. He had checked Marlaove’s old home many times, always finding the same empty abode, but it wouldn't hurt to check once more. Maybe this time I’ll try digging through the garden. Thumbing towards the back of the notebook, Wilfred ripped out a page sparse with notes and handed it to Edwin. “I’ll go check. Let me know what you can decipher from this when I get back.”

  Edwin nodded and began to scan the page as Wilfred walked off deeper into town. The flat-roofed homes rose with each step Wilfred took out of the sinkhole. Stairs made of discolored stones, long faded from their polished white, provided some semblance of structure to the town that was slowly sliding into disarray. Marlaove lived near the top. It was a humble home with two rooms and a small backyard. A wooden fence, a little lower than Wilfred’s shoulders, still stood strong as he opened the gate. Inside a mulched pathway bisected two rows of withered vegetables, and several bugs buzzed in the air. They scattered as Wilfred approached, and he crouched down as he ran his hands through the cold dirt. The dry grains slid through his fingers with ease while the scent of the garden brought back more memories, back when the leaves of the Lucetops were green and healthy.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “What do you want me to find, old friend?” Wilfred whispered to himself.

  He noticed a small garden shovel lying against the side of the house. Pushing against his knees, Wilfred got up, grabbed the shovel, and began to dig. Starting with each Lucetop, he uncovered their long, shriveled bodies and even longer roots and set them side by side on the mulch pathway. Sweat begins to bead on his forehead as Wilfred uncovers the last one. Twelve sizable holes cratered the garden, yet still nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Wilfred wiped the sweat with his sleeve and pulled out the notebook again. Still, the riddle stared back at him. Our roots go deeper than a Lucetop but not as far as a logger's dream.

  A logger’s dream. There’s something I’m still missing. The light from the center of the Abyss had brightened to its afternoon gleam, and Wilfred let a tired sigh escape him. Exhaustion was all he felt these days, but he knew he could never show it around others. I need to stay strong until I find Marla. There’s no one else I can rely on. Ezra and Milo had been helpful, but he knew those two boys were likely in over their heads. Their enthusiasm was encouraging, though. He just needed to make sure danger didn’t find them before they were strong enough to handle it.

  A shadow darted across the gaps in the fence, and Wilfred tensed as he grabbed the shovel again. It was too big to be an animal. This time, whatever it was wouldn’t escape. He focused on the area behind the fence, and suddenly, the world warped around him. The ground twisted into the sky, and Marlaove’s house was sucked into the space behind him. Wilfred let go of his skill and arrived on the other side of the fence as he frantically scanned the landscape for any sign of the shadowy figure. Dashing around the corner of the fence, the landscape before him remained as empty as the town. What’s going on? Am I losing my grip?

  Wilfred took a deep breath and stilled his trembling hand. If you start thinking like that, you really will. As he calmed himself, it was then he noticed beyond Marlaove’s home a lone tree perched on a barren hill. A Jade Tree, Wilfred realized. A logger’s dream. It had to be what Marla meant. The tree was typically native to the eighth layer and had a metallic gleam that reflected the light of the abyss. Marlaove had taken great care to raise it after he bought it from some man on the sixth layer. The details were fuzzy to Wilfred, but the memories he had under that tree were clearer than a melted glacier.

  It was under that tree Marlaove and the rest of them had met after their shifts at the airship factory. It was under that tree they celebrated after becoming Sky-seekers and then again after passing the Morltin test. Yet, what Wilfred could never forget was that it was under that tree that Marlaove had consoled him after the deaths of Alice and Marie. The time when they had made the promise to tear down Faulpher-tek and everything it stood for. It had to be there because only there did their roots go deeper than a Lucetop.

  At first, he started to walk, and then, before Wilfred knew it, he was running towards the tree on that hill. He could almost feel the wind of long-forgotten springs running through his hair and the soft grass beneath his bare feet. The vivid world of long ago bloomed with life in his memories as he set his hand against the cold, shiny bark. Beneath his feet, the ground bulged just slightly in a way anyone would have mistaken for a natural deformity.

  He took the shovel and split the ground nestled between two gnarled roots. Only about an arm's width beneath the ground, the tip of the shovel struck a hard surface. Wilfred got on his hands and knees and shoveled out clumps of dirt until the palms of his hands were stained black. Beneath it all lay a small gray box that was beginning to rust at the corners. Reaching down, Wilfred pulled it out, surprised by how light it was. Wilfred noticed there was no lock on the box; after all, who would find something buried on the edge of an abandoned town?

  Inside, a single note rested at the bottom. Wilfred slowly picked it up as if the paper would crumble into dust at any moment. The handwriting was Marlaove’s; he was sure of it.

  I don’t know how long it’s taken you to find this. I’ve taken precautions upon precautions to make sure my plan remains hidden, but I feel it would be too cruel to leave you floundering around in the dark entirely. So I tell you this, Wilfred: you are not alone. After the disaster a year ago, I knew the way things were going would no longer work, so I pivoted and did what I knew best. All those years in the airship factory weren’t for nothing. I learned many things. I made connections, and most importantly, I saw a crack in it all.

  Faulpher-tek has a weakness. One that can only be exploited from the inside. Barry was the first step, but we both know how that worked out. In time, you’ll see me again, and when that day comes, Alice and Marie will finally know peace. It was never the other’s fight; they were just along for the ride. For those that are still alive, let them live out their lives and protect their little corner of the world. Just wait a little longer, old friend.

  Marlaove

  Wilfred read through the note again, letting each word echo through his mind as if Marlaove was speaking them himself. Deep inside, he wanted to be angry at Marlaove for hiding this from him for so long, but the emotion never came. You are not alone. Perhaps that was all he really needed to hear from him. Folding up the note, he shoved it into his coat pocket as a knife emerged from the shadow cast by the tree.

  The blade nicked Wilfred’s elbow as he twisted his body beyond its reach. Blood dripped from the wound, and Wilfred stared at the spot just behind the tree. A figure in beaten armor wrapped in a tattered cloak rose from the ground as if the shadow clung to the edges of him. Gripping the edge of his belt, Wilfred found the hidden blade he was looking for. The shadow lurking through the town was exactly that. This’ll be over in seconds.

  Wilfred kept his gaze focused beyond the tree as the world warped around him. The metallic trunk arched over like a shimmering ring, and he turned before the world returned to normal. Before the man could comprehend, Wilfred's arm was wrapped around the tree with his knife at the man’s throat.

  “Why have you been following me?” He pushed his blade closer. “Tell me!”

  “Like I would…” The assassin gasped for air and dropped his knife as Wilfred struck his throat with the rounded hilt of his dagger.

  “Think before you speak. Now give me an answer.” Wilfred kept his voice deathly cold.

  “Marlaove’s allies.” He coughed, trying to get more words out. “That is what you call him? I came looking to see what was left. I was told no loose ends this time.”

  Wilfred furrowed his brow, trying to process all the new information. “What do you know about Marlaove? Who told you?”

  “Who do you think dipsh...” This time, the blow came to his abdomen, and Wilfred let the blade prick the man’s flesh. No words were needed; the man got the message as he stopped struggling. “Faulpher-tek. It’s Faulpher-tek. He’s been working for them for months. Maybe even years. I don’t have all the information.” Silence settled on them both until the man spoke up again with a smirk. “But he’s been found out. They’re going to kill him tomorrow morning, and he doesn’t even know.”

  “Then where is he?” Wilfred glowered. The following quiet only fanned the flames. The man let out a muffled scream as Wilfred severed two of his fingers. Blood dripped from the stubbed ends onto the tree. “Where is he?”

  “T…They’re taking him to warehouse fifteen.”

  Wilfred bit his lip in frustration. That’s halfway across the third layer. The Tarkin-trams don’t go that far, and it would take a whole day to get across the ring. Wilfred plunged the dagger into the man’s hand as he let out a whimper. “Are you sure? Absolutely sure!”

  “Yes,” tears began to stream down his face. “Yes, it’s warehouse fifteen. He’s scheduled to do an inspection there tomorrow morning.”

  There was a gurgle, and then everything went quiet as Wilfred slit the man’s throat. He pulled back, and the man went limp against the tree. “Damn it!” Wilfred screamed as he threw the knife down the hill.

  I’m so close. He’s right there. I know where he is, but I can’t reach him in time. It felt like everything up to this point was one sick joke that made him want to hurl. Wilfred steadied himself against the tree as he took deep breaths.

  “I have to try,” he finally said to himself. “It won’t be for nothing. It won’t.”

  After taking a moment to remember the cold touch of the polished bark, Wilfred pushed off and ran down the hill, leaving the body under the tree.