Flight of the Nachtherr

[Stefan Dornkirk]

34 Searing, 122

The manservant nodded to his master and stepped away without a single word. With the same efficiency with which he tried to fulfill all of his duties, Dienerin moved through the halls filled with confusion, down into the underbelly of the Windworks, to where the Nachtherr had sat, concealing the silent menace of its presence since it had returned from the ill-fated trip to Kalzasi.

It felt strange to enter the ship alone, in the darkness, but then, everything felt strange that day. Entering the ignition code, known only to four people, he felt the regular engine hum to life. The second engine, one made not for propulsion but for revulsion was something he accepted might be needed, but could hope otherwise. Taking the ship out into the city was like stepping out of deep water into chaos; the echoing quiet of the deepest caverns of the Windworks giving way to a city in the midst of destruction. The utterness of it threatened to overwhelm the stolid ex-soldier for a moment before his mind came back together on Lord Dornkirk's words.

Get your family.

As in all things, their purpose was aligned.

It should have taken only a few minutes to reach the small but respectable house he had purchased for his wife and daughters, but he dared not reach the heights of flight the ship normally would have, not with the storm of mists rending the skies. He kept to just above the line of buildings, thanking the ingenuity of Dornkirk's design that reflected as close to no light as possible without magical hiding. The ship avoided the notice of what creatures might intend him ill, and though there were some close calls, Deinerin managed to steer her away from the worst of the lightning. Landing in the street directly outside his own front door he stepped nearly from the hatch into the house. His good wife was there, standing in the entry hall, a look of frightened determination on her face and dressed for traveling with his three girls, similarly attired, each holding a carpet bag of what he could only assume were their most needed and most treasured possessions. Stepping forward he wrapped them in his arms briefly, saying only,

"Come, we must leave." Before leading them out and onto the ship. Leaving his wife to strap the girls into seats he returned to the cockpit. White Knight Hall was the next stop, but getting there was even harder than navigating to his home had been. The storm, far from abating, seemed to be whipping itself into a maelstrom a fury, intent to see Zaichaer shattered from the face of the earth. Twice the ship was hit, grazingly, by strikes of energy, and once a building collapsed as it passed, sending showers of stone against the hull. The plating that kept all eyes from the Nachtherr was surely damaged, leaving them vulnerable to any creatures that thrashed their way from the Mists.

At last, he was able to land, shakily, on the grounds of the Hall, thankful that the master of the place had thought to give leave that the Nachtherr could pass through the extensive wards. Telling his family to stay on the ship he left at a run, making for the house and its occupants. When he was admitted he was confronted nearly immediately by the contingent of guards, both members of the army and the Order, that were now stationed to protect the noble families. When he asked where Lady Delia and Lady Luca were a look passed between the soldiers that did not bode well. As he made his way, at their instruction, deeper into the family rooms he heard a sound that startled him and then drained the blood from his face as his mind caught up with its meaning.

A long, high shriek pierced the closed doors between the servant and his mistress. After attending the births of his own three children, the wail was all too familiar. Entering the main bedroom with less decorum than he ever would have thought to under other circumstances he beheld the ladies of the house, one standing at the bedside of the other, and said,

"My ladies, Lord Dornkirk sent me, I am to get you away, to the country where your Lord husbands will join us."

[Eitan Angevin]

Mrs. Dornkirk would have made her husband proud, even when her water broke and Mrs. Angevin was forced to take command of the household. It was a strange sort of hierarchy: Lucrece was married to the master of the house; Delia was married to the man with more authority in the city. The city was falling apart, but the household did not.

Lucrece went in and out of the room where one of the Lysanrin servants, skilled at midwifery, was attending. In the room, she was as helpful to her sister-in-law as she could be. Outside the room, she was coordinating with the ranking member of Order and the Zaichaer Air Defence Corps. She went in hard and they deferred to her certainty and the knowledge that Captain-Seeker Angevin trusted his young wife's judgment. Perhaps they all just needed her certainty.

"Clever Eitan," she murmured from a second-story window as she watched a beastie slam against the ward only to be thrown back, yelping in pain and fleeing for easier prey. From there, she also saw the Nachtherr approach, and the airmen scurrying out onto the green to properly moor the experimental vessel. They shouted joyfully, assuming their ship had come in—pun intended—and ready to evacuate.

When she descended, Watcher Einhorn was arguing with Commander Brötzmann. The former argued that the Seeker's wards were holding and that they ought to provide safe harbor for those citizens who found White Knight Hall's sanctuary; the latter argued that there was no telling how long the wards would hold against the terrifying rift in the sky, the mist storm, the corrupted monsters, and the civil panic to follow. He argued that they would better serve the survivors by establishing a sanctuary outside the city where those who successfully escaped.

"I hadn't taken you for a coward, Brötzmann," she sneered.

"The Nachtherr," Lucrece cut in before an argument could erupt, "is a civilian vessel." The fact that it was built under a military contract was something she glossed over as she continued. "Shall we see whether Minister Dornkirk and my husband have something to say about the matter?"

They agreed, though Brötzmann bristled a bit and Einhorn seemed smug. Lucrece marveled at the human capacity for pettiness in the midst of an emergency. As they turned toward the door, Stefan's valet burst in with his report. Then Delia wailed in a manner that brought the light of recognition to the man's eyes.

"The labor has proceeded too far to move her just yet. I would suggest you oversee the servants, Dienerin. They are preparing essentials for evacuation or triage. Einhorn and Brötzmann can oversee the defenses in the meantime, and I will return to the labor room to assist. I would suggest you hope for a speedy birth."

[Stefan Dornkirk]

35 Searing

What time was it?

Sweat stung into his eyes and Stefan swiped it away with a cuff that had long since gone filthy with worse things than sweat or blood. The sun was down, and no moon or stars showed in the vortex of the sky.

He didn't remember how many times he'd led his contingent of mixed military men out into the streets to gather and lead groups of stranded civilians to the safety of the Windworks.

Whatever Eitan's last act with his Negation rune had been, it had held against any and all attempts to pierce it, conscious or unconscious.

Eitan...

Stefan's chest clenched but he did not have time for grief. The two Order members in the Windworks who also had the rune of Negation had been astonished by whatever Watcher Angevin had accomplished. Their attempts to explain it to Stefan hadn't been comprehensible to him but he had understood that while they could not come close to recreating the structure of protection that had felled its maker, they could, should the need arise, reinforce it. Thus far that had not been required, so he had taken one of them out with him on each excursion, leaving the other with orders to rest and ensure his strength was at its peak. The two had saved many lives that day and, if they saw more days, Stefan would see them receive the highest commendations possible.

If there was anyone left to give award them.

The thought hardened Stefan, added another layer to the growing shell that he had began wrapping around himself with the Presidium's destruction. He'd gotten word from one of the groups of soldiers that were finding their way to the Windworks that Dornkirk Manor had been hit and was not little more than rubble, adding another layer. No one in the government with a higher rank than himself had been heard from since before the storm had begun. While there were surely field generals still alive due to their deployment in the war effort, it was unclear if anyone above the rank of Captain survived within the city or its surrounds.

The Windworks was, for all practical purposes, the current headquarters of Zaichaer's government, as well as the only known stronghold of refuge.

The set of events that had led to the mass expansion of the underground laboratories and shipyards now seemed nothing short of providential. Though they had been built with the intention of building a massive fleet of stealth ships for the war effort, they were not being quickly repurposed to house and care for hundreds of incoming refugees fleeing their own homes.

Civilian ships were coming in, and even without escorts the people were coming. Word was being spread that safety could be found at the Windworks, and whoever could make it there did. Stefan had made it loudly clear that no person was to be treated differently than any other in terms of comfort or rations. Sails were being ripped into bedding and bandages, food would be carefully controlled. Anyone with useful skills was being put to work. Medical stations were set up and a whole empty ship bay was now serving as a medical bay for the wounded.

A quarantine zone had been set up for anyone that showed signs of having been effected by the mists. Stefan had given the overseeing of that unpleasantness to Orator Beeman, who had some experience with the signs of infection and how long quarantines should last. Already the bodies of those who had been put down due to overt infection were coming out, discreetly covered in tarps so no one would accidentally see a neighbor or loved one mutated with a bullet through their head's to end their misery. It was the kindest thing anyone could do for any of them. If Stefan returned from one of his excursions thus inflicted, he would want the same.

Except now his officers were asking that he stop leading the men out personally, there were soldiers enough now to take over, from every branch of the military. Stefan, as the highest level Minister available should stay in his office and oversee.

The idea was both awful and appealing. He was exhausted, he knew, and, beyond that, his mind was made for the big picture, for organizing and problem solving. Yet, if he stopped moving, if he went and sat down and, Zaichaer forgive him, had a cup of tea or a bite to eat, he would have to begin thinking beyond what was happening in the moment.

He hadn't heard anything from his Dienerin. He hadn't expected to, but he had no way of knowing if the man had made it to the Manor before the lightning had, no way of knowing if he had made it out of the city, and wouldn't until he could investigate personally or send someone to do so. It wasn't a priority in the same way that saving as many lives as possible and barricading the grounds in case the shields ever did fail was, but, for the sake of his sanity and clear-minded control of the situation, it also was.

"Dienerin." He called as he reached the top of the stairs that ledto his office. Someone had cleared away the glass from the floor and his desk so now only the empty window frame spoke of the destruction. His tired mind expected his manservant to be a step behind him and it took him a moment to remember the man was gone. Unexpectedly, in the silence, a voice very similar to his man's responded to him. The other Dienerin, Eitan's man, poked his head hesitantly into the room and Stefan blinked at him. The younger servant had been staying in the adjacent room, with what remained of his master.

"Oh." Stefan said, not sure what to say or do, but the man looked, "Nevermind. I'm sorry. As you were."

The look that he was met with implied, quite strongly, that this Dienerin, like Stefan himself, was in great need of something to occupy him, else he lose the self control he was clutching on to. Responding to the kinship of need without thinking about the words before he said them, he said,

"Could you, if you aren't otherwise occupied, possibly have someone send up something to drink? Water or whatever there is, and maybe a sandwich?"

He knew a crew of industrious workers' wives had organized a kitchen somewhere in the depths and were passing out sandwiches and other food that could be eaten from hands and while he told himself he was too busy to eat, and not hungry besides, now that he'd stopped running his stomach felt like it was considering the nutritional value of his other organs.

As soon as the man nodded, looking almost grateful, a half dozen others, some in uniform, some not, arrived, looking relieved to have someone in charge who they could access, and began to ask him questions ranging from the mundane to what would have, before that morning, been insane.

[Eitan Angevin]

Dienerin was holding Captain-Seeker Angevin's hand. Perhaps it was unseemly, but his master had been the best of men, and he didn't think it right he slip away into death unattended. The lesser warders had helped him carry the man's dying body as if in state into the Windworks. They couldn't let his body lie upon the ground that he had kept safe for them. They had marveled at his work, awed, perhaps even jealous, though their own work had been required to bring more people in. At least, that was what Dienerin understood.

Finally, he set Eitan's cool hand upon his chest and stood, straightening the uniform, the hair that was a mess of curls that sweat and stress had worked out of the pomade. He looked like what he was: a fallen hero.

"Pardon?" he asked at Minister Dornkirk's voice. "Oh." A moment passed between them before he sucked air through his teeth, looked back at Eitan's body, then to the man's brother-in-law, and nodded gratefully. "I am certain I can locate water and a sandwich for you, sir."

Dienerin straighened his own coat and then disappeared to look after Mr. Dornkirk. It felt right; the man had been so close with his master, and his cousin wasn't here to look after Mr. Dornkirk so it seemed the right thing to do. Mr. Dornkirk was too busy to see Orator Beeman's overlarge spectacles flash in the light as she turned to enter Angevin's room.

When Dienerin returned, he somehow managed to wrangle people out of the room, setting water and sandwich in front of Minster Dornkirk. Then, he reported.

"I stopped by the comms room, sir," he reported. "Your man collected his family and made it to White Knight Hall, but your wife was too far into labor for her to be moved. The Nachtherr remains safe under the wards there, and refugees are accumulating. They are preparing to evacuate, however, and he assured me that if your child isn't safely delivered soon, he will carry Mrs. Dornkirk aboard even with Mrs. Angevin's holding a firearm upon him."

"Minister..." Orator Beeman knocked upon the door jamb from the adjacent room, looking a bit satisfied with herself, but also worried. "I might have stabilized him, and... the Seeker is asking for you."

[Rune]

The Grymalka were the first to come. It was late into the first night after the vortex had opened to sunder the city of Zaichaer before the group approached the manor house. The sanctuaries of their ancestors were buried under many tons of rubble and while they might still survive, they were inaccessible. Without the ability to shelter there they were one of the most vulnerable, and, by the time the group that now approached White Knight Hall had realized they were trapped outside their sacred places it was too late to contact even the Railrunners for a way out of the city.

The ancestors could feel the pull of the wards, shining like a beacon for anyone with the ability to sense them, and had led the small group (hoping they weren't the only group left) to the hall. They had met with opposition, and though the army soldiers represented little threat, the Order mages and the wards themselves did. They were refused entry, by a representative of military and one of the Order, (Though the Order mage had obviously been a glorified babysitter until that morning.) and then by a beautiful, diminutive, young blond woman who appeared to believe herself in charge. To the surprise of the Coven members, so did everyone else.

After first attempting to overawe her, to little effect, the spokesperson for the Coven tried to plead for their lives, which was met with some empathy but did not budge her. It was not until the leader's ancestor spirit leaned close and whispered, 'Listen.', that the woman turned her ear to the faint but distinct wailing that could be heard, more through her magic than her actual ears. The ancestor murmured more wisdom to her and when it was finished she said,

"If you let us in, we can save her, and the babe. There is still time."

These words, at last, caused the woman, Lady Angevin it seemed, to hesitate. And, after some quiet discussion with the others gathered at the gates, they were allowed entry, on the understanding that, if they either failed to save Lady Dornkirk, or attempted to use magic in any way not approved by Lady Angevin, they would be bound by the low level Order Negation mage and then shot by the military.

It was a better deal than they would have gotten any day before that one. As the Ancestor's liked to say, not all curses are without their blessings.

The child had been breech, despite being already a week over due; traverse across the uterus, making the mother's labor all but pointless without aid. But aid was given, by one of the most skilled midwives (though he was a man) in the Coven, and, by dawn, Lady Dornkirk was delivered of a girl. Mother and child lived, though both were very weak, and the Grymalka were allowed to take up residence in the clean but unused basement. It had once been used for terrible things, but could now be made into a home, however temporary.

The first Kindred showed up late the next day. They were only four and, after a brief conversation with the Grymalka who had assumed leadership of her group, they promised to keep the household fed in exchange for sanctuary. What conferences went on among those running the household, the Covens were not privy too, but they kept their sides of the bargain.

When more refugees, citizens both high and low, began to arrive, seeing one place that was not destroyed or overrun, the mages, of both Order and Coven, were kept busy, healing, providing and settling them as best they could in the, relatively small, manor and its grounds. A few more stragglers from both Covens came, in ones or twos, and even a few from others, major and lesser.

Those who found safety there began calling it 'The Fortress', at first in grim humor. As the days passed, the humor faded and something else replaced the despair that had birthed it. Not hope, not exactly, but a determination that reached towards it.

[Eitan Angevin]

It had been a trying time.

Delia and her darling daughter were safe, healthy, and resting. Witches had moved in, but an Order Warder—not as skilled as her husband—had assured her that they hadn't attempted to enchant her. So long as they acted in good faith, she would reciprocate. When Eitan joined them, he could decide what best to do and she would report faithfully how they had behaved. Word came that Eitan had fallen in defense of the Windworks, and she had screamed fit to drown out Delia's labor pains. But then word came that, while critical, he was yet among the living. She found herself talking to her grandmother, who was long since dead, about Eitan and about the life they wanted to build together. It wasn't praying, but she wished there was something she could to protect him, to heal him.

Alas, all she could do was keep their house safe, even as his wards were doing the bulk of the work.

The midwife had examined her as well, and said that her child was untroubled by all this, but that she ought to rest. It was difficult. She was exhausted, but so much depended on her.

From her window, she watched the witches plow furrows into her lawns in order to plant seeds that would grow quickly in the Searing and provide them with more food should they not be able to evacuate the Hall. She had to plan for the short term and for the long term, not knowing what would happen.

Eventually, the day came with good news: Stefan was going to visit. Her own rooms had been given over to Dienerin's family, and she was sleeping with Delia and the newborn. All she could think to do was order the servants to give the Hall a proper cleaning. If her husband wasn't coming, then at least Stefan ought to be impressed by how well they were keeping home until their husbands could return.

[Stefan Dornkirk]

35 - 42 Searing

The days that followed were full, as full as any Stefan had ever experienced.

Eitan had been awake only briefly before falling into a sleep that was deep but, Orator Beeman assured him, was real, restuful sleep and not a return to the coma state. She also informed him that she was going to keep the Seeker sedated for at least a few days so that his body and soul could heal properly. This, Stefan had no objection to. He kept his brother-in-law close, in the adjoining room to his office, which he now also used to sleep and as a place where he could escape the constant need for his attention for a few minutes at a time.

Sleep was had in naps, an hour or two when he could take them, between emergencies. Luca, and, eventually, Delia were in contact with the Windworks regularly. His wife's advice was, not surprisingly, quite useful and led him to avoid several disasters in the realm of keeping all the refugees calm and cared for. She was quite adept with logistics, something Stefan had previously relied on either her or his Dienerin for.

Eitan's Dienerin was in contact with his own and, when the man wasn't caring for his unconscious master, he began doing the sorts of small things for Stefan that he always expected from his own servant. Thus he was kept fed and water, and even with clean shirts.

As soon as the proverbial dust had settled he had sent out small scouting parties to assess the city. He sent them in small but well armored ships, and always with a Negation mage, with orders to return should they encounter any attack, be it physical, magical, or natural. From them he learned that the Vortex was still spinning and showed no signs of failing to do so. Orator Beeman explained that, if it was what she suspected, it was permanent. The information took time to process. It meant that Zaichaer, as a city, was lost, probably forever.

The scouts reported destruction and mayhem everywhere. No area had been spared. Those further from the center of the storm were overrun by the Mists or the creatures the Mists created. While they did find some refugees, a percentage of those had to be put down in quarantine from exposure to the deadly phenomenon. No one spoke of it, even when it was their own relatives. They mourned, sometimes violently, but if anyone blamed Stefan it wasn't said out loud. Some even thanked him, which he couldn't cope with, so he stopped interacting personally with the families who had lost someone in that way.

Once the immediate problems of refugees, logistics and protection were, if not solved at least organized and streamlined, Stefan turned his mind to the next major problem they all faced: They could not stay in the city. The solution was already in the works, but would need to be fast tracked. Thankfully, as it had been a workday, almost all his workers were alive and present in the Windworks. Where previously almost all of the resources of the business had been put toward building or refitting the Naval Fleet, now the men were left with nothing to do.

So Stefan put them back to work on the project that he had been quietly working on since the start of the war: making the Windworks itself into an airship. Having the main means of production for airships needed to win the war be stuck in one place, easy to target, had felt foolish, and, with the means and the know how, there was no reason not to make the Windworks into a mobile factory. The area under the factory had already been dug out and was in the process of being turned into docks to put together the secret fleet of stealth ships. The space had been turned into refugee camps, but the areas designated for the engines were already partly constructed. Stefan himself had spent late nights in the underbelly of the beast putting together the latticeworks of dragonshards that would power the steam and mechanics required.

He estimated that, if all available trained workers were funneled into the project they could be off the ground by the end of the season. That was still a long way off; a long time to support as many people as were not living in close quarters. It took him longer to solve that problem, and it was Delia who gave him the idea.

The neighborhood around the Windworks was made up of the homes of the workers, which had been convenient for everyone involved. There were large apartment buildings as well as single family homes intermixed with the shops and small businesses to support them. If they project was extended to include some small sections of these neighborhoods, the workers would have homes outside the Windworks (After it was out of the city and the Mist creatures had been cleared out.). It also solved the problem of giving the people who were not engineers or other skilled workers already employees by the Windworks something to do.

When he asked for volunteers to work to save some of their homes, nearly everyone stood. Some had to be denied; women with young children and those who were working either as nurses or to prepare food for them all, as well as children under twelve. Stefan didn't want any children working at all but Delia has convinced him that they needed to feel useful too, they needed something to normalize what was happening in their lives, to feel like they could do something, had some control.

So the project began. It went well with few setbacks, which should not have surprised him, if Zaichaeri was known for anything it was their ability to organize and work together for the greater good.

It was again Delia who had asked what was to become of the Hall, it was as well warded as the Windworks and there was no reason to abandon it. At first Stefan had balked, but, after giving it some thought he couldn't think of a reason not to turn the property into a ship of it's own. It was much smaller than t he factory and setting it up to fly wouldn't be much harder than making any large Navy ship. It would need workers to do it, both those to dig out the area underneath and to to the engineering work, and that meant traveling there.

Travel was strictly controlled, due to the dangers and limited resources, but it seemed safer to take himself and the workers that would be needed to the Hall than trying to get all the refugees there to the Windworks unharmed. Starting should be done sooner, rather than later, if the Hall was to catch up to the factory and be ready at the same time, so it was only eight days after the destruction of Zaichaer that Stefan got himself and the needed workers into the best armored ship he had left and made the short journey to the place he had made his home.

[Eitan Angevin]

There was room enough for Stefan's ship once the Nachtherr had been moved, but little more lawn remained. The rest had been turned into the tiniest farm, the witches of the Kindred coaxing the most growth out of their crops as possible given the ample Searing sunlight. The herb garden and the fruit trees were flourishing as well; the refugees at White Knight Hall were at least well-fed. The Kindred preferred the open air, kept free of Mist by the wards. The Grymalka preferred the basement. The Lysanrin servants kept tabs on the witches on Lucrece's order; she wanted to trust her guests, but she also wanted contingencies in place should things go awry.

Delia watched from an upstairs window, protected by the fine glass. Lucrece waited by the main doors, far enough away the turbulent air wouldn't make a fright of her hair.

Lucrece smiled. She knew she was a figurehead as well as the leader pro tempore of the sanctuary that her home had become. People looked to her for confidence. She smiled when she saw her brother-in-law debark, and his valet strode forward to attend him. But when she saw his cousin Dienerin helping her husband debark, propriety be damned—she ran, skirts hiked up and out of the way, to throw her arms around him. She was careful, though, noting the cane and how he was not quite so solid as she remembered. But she kissed him passionately all the same.

A little flash of red shot from the trellises where vines were being coaxed to cling, and suddenly a squirming body was clinging to Eitan's leg. His wife's welcome took his breath away, but he laughed all the same, taking the Bloodborn Lysanrin's horn and giving him a gentle shake.

"Hello, little Devil. No Mist storm can take you down, hey?"

He patted the lad's head as another servant shooed him away so the master of the house could go inside. Lucrece took his arm while the Dienerins coordinated with the passengers of the airship and the people protecting the Hall to offload equipment. His wife pressed her belly against his side; while she knew she could raise their unborn child alone, she certainly didn't want to. It was comforting to have the father of her child near.

They went inside so the brothers-in-law could greet Delia and the newest member of the family, and then, of course, as always, there was work to be done.

Delia seemed recovered enough to threaten the integrity of Stefan's ribs with her welcoming embrace. She didn't let go even when she took Eitan by the ear to pull him close enough for a kiss upon the cheek. She was weeping gently, and scoffed at herself.

"I still get emotional at the drop of a hat," she said, more irritated than embarrassed. "So I have relied upon Luca to do the leading—"

"With your frequent input, sister; don't be too modest."

"Yes, well. Welcome home, my husband. My brother. Come and meet the little one. I have at least been able to take care of her so the staff can focus on all the other work that needs done..."

She led them to the master suite. It was more crowded than before, the nursery furniture and Lucrece having moved in to free up more space for refugees.

"May I present to you," she said, both terribly happy and terribly sad, "the last daughter of Zaichaer."

[Stefan Dornkirk]

Getting the crew set up to prepare the Hall for flight was made less complicated by the fact that Stefan had chosen his most experienced crew and crew boss for the work. Since he would not be there in person to oversee the work he wanted it to be able to be completed with as little oversight from himself as possible. More parts would have to be brought along as they were created and he intended to do all the latticework and mechanical construction himself.

His mind had been on the work when they had arrived, and it was a moment before he could really feel the effect of having Delia and Luca in his arms in addition to Eitan. Once he could feel it, it was immediately a struggle not to forgot all the other reason he'd arrived. There was a job to do, a very important one to keep all these people safe. But, as the embrace broke there was another surprise, another blow to his composure.

Laying in a little bassinet that Stefan remember picking out with his wife what seemed ten years ago now, but was probably only six months, was a little bundle of person. His breath caught at the proclamation of her, the Last Daughter of what he had dedicated his life to. Taking a tentative step forward everything else seemed to fade to quiet as he peered down into eyes that he knew well. They were Delia's eyes, and Eitan's eyes, and Brenner's, and his own. It was dizzying for a moment looking down at his child. His child.

He had looked forward to this moment since long before he married, planned for it, worked on a future that would support its every ambition. Those plans were gone now, but, somehow, the child had come anyway. His breath caught and the world stopped making sense, briefly. When it reoriented it was settled onto the creature who returned his look with almost equal solemnity. Then she smiled and something inside Stefan broke apart.

"Hello." He whispered, not daring to speak any louder or come any closer. Turning back to Delia he hoped she would understand the slightly wild look in his eyes because he certainly didn't.

A little while later, he wasn't sure how long exactly, he was back to directing the crew, though they knew their work. The crew boss seemed to think he needed handling and, in that moment, Stefan couldn't disagree with him. He listened to the man's assurances, nodding along and trying to look as steady as he could.

When it was time to leave again he kissed his wife on the mouth and his sister-in-law on the forehead. Together they seemed more than competent, though he knew Eitan had had a stern conversation with the Order members and Lysanrin staff alike about the refugee Covens. Stefan was more than happy to let his brother handle that group as he himself wouldn't have had a clue what to do or even what specific laws might apply or be being broken. He would have encouraged his right hand to stay on had it seemed like he wanted to, or was needed, but was relieved that neither appeared to be true.

~~~

The next few weeks went quickly, or perhaps they only felt that way from how little time Stefan had to himself. His days were spent working on the arrangement of the dragonshards that would support them all aloft, overseeing the work that would allow the latticework of magic to be set in place, answering questions about the logistics of the survival of so many people now living literally atop each other in the Windworks, or working with Eitan to train them both in the use of the Powered Armor Suits he'd spent most of the last year tinkering to build.

Before he knew it, six weeks had passed since the mists had come. All preparations were going forward as expected. The gardens, assisted by the Kindred, were producing crops, the underground digs were all but finished and the work to render the two warder properties into airships was well on its way toward completion. Testing would be needed, and nothing would tell for sure if it was done until the day to take off came. It would be about two weeks more before that day, just at the turn of the season, if there were no setbacks.

Sometimes he wondered if we was being selfish. He could probably have gotten the civilians out in the few airships they had. It would have been a risk and some might have been lost, but were they truly safer with him and the Windworks? He tried to tell himself that they were and, usually, succeeded.

There was something else he intended to test before take off though, and after almost a month of practice he couldn't really put it off any longer. He would need his equipment from Dornkirk Manor, and he wanted to know the fate of his parents if he could have it. Perhaps they had taken a ship out and he would find nothing. He had gotten word that the Manor was in ruins on the first day but that did not mean all who had once lived therein were lost. Eitan was growing stronger all the time, so that was no longer and excuse. The suits were warded now, similarly to how the Windworks itself was. The lower level Order Negation mages had begun the work but Eitan had finished it once he received the green light from Orator Beeman.

So, plans were made for them to make their way to the Manor, in the suits, in the Nachtherr, on the 77th. They would gather whatever they could from the wreckage and load it onto the ship. The Manor's doors and ceilings were high enough for the suits to traverse, if they were still standing, and the heightened strength of the apparatus should allow them to clear rubble if that was required. He wasn't even too worried about Eitan tiring himself since the mechanisms would do ninety percent of the work for them. The day dawned as bright as any did with the storm still raging in the heart of the city, and getting into the ship felt as much like coming home as Stefan was likely to get any time soon. Eitan's Dienerin accompanied them to tend the ship, and though Stefan dreaded what he might find, it was time to go find out what had become of his family.

[Eitan Angevin]

Meeting his niece changed the game for Eitan, as well. For all his rest and recuperation, he was still exhausted. He began to weep. Delia smiled; Lucrece clung to him, pulling his hand over her own belly to remind him that there was another yet on the way.

"Oh, good, I shan't have liked to miss the theatrics."

The door shut behind Perpetua Angevin, who walked over slowly to join the family gathering. She eyed him critically, her gaze lingering upon his cane.

"Yes, well, I have heard reports that nearly half of the old estate remains standing and lights have been seen within. You shall have to form an expedition soon to recover certain things. I suppose you ought to have your grandfather's cane." That said, she embraced him, rather strong for her age—in fact, rather strong without qualification. She certainly didn't snuffle against his chest. Crying was so middle class.

Later, he sat with representatives of the Kindred and the Grymalka. They hammered out a temporary understanding. They handed him a sapling from their grove and a soul stone from their phylactery to solemnify the event, thanking him for the wards that kept them safe. One of them asked to accompany them back to the Windworks, where apparently she had a brother. It seemed wise, and there were other warders left behind to keep an eye on her. But she could be useful there as well, planting where possible, or helping with some sort of hydroponics—a science Stefan had been going on about. Their flying remains of a city would need its greenery to survive.

Eitan stayed, along with his Dienerin, while Stefan returned with his. But now, it was not impossible to traverse the space between the Hall and the Windworks via airship. Resting at home with his wife helped, he thought. Returning to the Windworks, did as well. But he was able to split his time somewhat, to train with the clockwork suits, and to oversee the excavation of what might amount to the entire block that housed his home. He had perused the plans, but the violence of their ascent might have ideas of its own as to how much land came up with them.

Thankfully, Perpetua, Lucrece, Delia, Dienerin, and even his mutinous servants did all they could to ensure he rested when he was home. He was only sad that he had taken a nap with his niece sleeping peacefully upon his chest before her father had, but Necessity had different things in store for them, and Stefan would survive to see his family grow.

When finally the day came to explore the Dornkirk Manor, though, Eitan knew no amount of preparation could make them ready for their fears to be proven true.