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Speeding through the clouds, Cyrus Fairwynd, and his brother Travis race, hell bent, to beat one another to 'The Spire' ahead of them. 'The Spire', is a mountain, aptly named for it's shape, almost needle like, pointing up through the clouds. They raced this run possibly a thousand times, from when they were children, laughing and giggling as each gains a short lead over the other every few seconds. The sheer adrenaline as they occasionally send sparks flying off the rock face from their ships is more than enough to get them out alive.

This time is different however. They could both feel a change in the wind, but they did not heed it. Jumping into their ships, they rocket off, cheering and hollering all the way. About halfway to 'The Spire', the weather turns choppy. Winds buffet them from side to side, but this is nothing new. It merely adds another level of excitement. Travis, taking the lead, roars past Cyrus, leaving a plume of steam in Cyrus's goggles. He quickly wipes it off, and tries to catch up. Racing neck and neck, they round 'The Spire', just as a blast of wind hits Travis's ship and knocks him into Cyrus. Cyrus then bounces off of 'The Spire', and slips with a yell. Then, another blast hit's Travis into Cyrus again, this time crushing Cyrus's arm between the hulls. Cyrus yells out in agony, and accidentally pulls back on the throttle, a stray updraft throws him up, only to land on top of Travis's ship, crushing the balloon on top.

Travis's Airship falls. Through blood and tears, Cyrus watches as his little brother falls, hands outstretched grasping nothing. The pleading look in Travis's eyes as he falls to his doom. A doom Cyrus will blame himself for the rest of his life for. Cyrus wakes up.

Jolting awake, with a sudden weight on his side, Cyrus looks down. The bedsheets are tangled around his legs, restricting movement, but that is not what bothers him. The cold steel protruding from his shoulder where his arm once was comes as a shock. He screams out, and is immediately met by the town elders. Tears pouring down his face, he cries for his mother, but she never arrives. His father watches from the room across the hall with an accusing look in his eyes. Murderer. They say. Cyrus blacks out again.

He awakes again, but this time not in his room. Now he is in a cell, laying on the cot. The dank dark room pervades his senses. A guard watches him with a sorrowful look. He soon realizes that this is not just any guard. "Tyrus." Cyrus rasps, his throat parched with thirst. This guard was his friend. Tyrus used to help Cyrus and Travis sneak out of the manor to pick apples. "Tyrus. Where am I?" Cyrus asks him. Shaking his head, Tyrus says nothing and walks away.

Cyrus wakes again, but not gently. He is jerked awake again, by guards dragging him outside. A crowd had gathered at the town center. The gallows were put up. Fearing the worst, Cyrus is led up the steps. There, an elder reads aloud to him, but the words do not make sense. Murder? Negligence? He did not even know the meaning of these words, at least not fully, until a few days ago. Now they were going to hang him for it. He feels about his wrists. A razor blade, hidden in his arm. How did that get there? No time to think. He looks pleadingly at his parents, his mother clinging to his father, the both of them accusing. Cyrus calls out. "Mother! Father!" They turn their backs.

That was it. Enough is enough. Using the razor, he cuts his bonds, and in a single upwards stroke, slices into a guard's face. not even thinking, he takes the quard's sword and runs. left and right, there are more guards and townsfolk. That leaves only straight. Ahead he sees a two man imperial patrol ship docked. The pilots both watching. He runs for it, cutting down any in his way. The pilots draw their cutlasses, but not soon enough. They both die, all too easily. He hops into the cockpit, and fires off. The ship is torn from it's moorings, chains flying behind it. Cyrus doesn't care. Anywhere is better than here right now.

Cyrus has been flying for four hours. The ship is almost out of steam. Almost to the water. Almost to the ocean. He thinks. Then he sees it. The water, stretching out on the horizon. Just as the steam runs out. His ship plummets through the air, and he pulls back, aiming it for an emergency water landing. Hitting the water in a fine spray, Cyrus passes out again.

Waking once more, Cyrus stands. Looking all around him, there is no land, no nothing. Nothing but water from all sides. "I may as well condemn myself to a slow death." He mumbles.

"Help!!" Shouts and cries came from the murky ocean below. A man was drowning, or appeared to be, gasping and swinging his arms wildly. He was very large... extremely large. In fact, he wasn't even human. He was an ogre, ten feet tall and six feet wide. He carried a silver mace over his back, which did not help him stay afloat. "Help me!" The ogre shouted, trying to keep his head above the water.

"With my last breath..." The ogre shouted once more, beginning to pull himself up. "I blame Zoidberg!" He shouted, pulling himself over and taking deep breaths. It was a wonder how he had arrived in the water in the first place. He normally stayed on land and never came near a body of water larger than himself. "Thank you, my savior."