The fuselage shuddered and shook as the wind and rain slammed against it, forcing a side-to-side movement that troubled even the most iron-clad of stomachs.The Twenty-Six dipped in and out of the clouds as it navigated the storm. Within, stuck in an aisle seat and fighting overwhelming anxiety at his present situation, Ryman Feldspar clasped a small silver pendant around his neck, muttering prayers to Ceres, the goddess of air; as he listened to the structure of the plane groaning overhead. Wiping sweat away from his forehead, he quietly swore to never make a deal with the Buckthorn Syndicate again, he couldn’t imagine having to make another trip like this one.

            He cast a look around, hoping...

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