The central hall of the Academy itself was large enough to house a small town. Sunlight splintered into individual beams of solid colors that danced across the finely crafted individual tiles that reverberated each and every footfall of the hurried scholars whose robes danced through the hall. Excited chatter over the latest discovery or theory could fill its own library with the sharing of ideas and realizations as well as the various rumors between scholars, teachers and those who learn underneath them. Tall, leafy plants adorned a few of the corners and other spots along the walls, seemingly built around as some proved to be even more ancient than the Academy itself.

“I didn’t think you’d actually show up!” Whistler followed behind the chittering girl he spent a distant fortnite with, despite their physical intimacy. He was still surprised how little her figure expressed itself through her long flowing gown. Similarly, her almost comically large glasses almost ruined the composition of her visage, further fortifying his idea that she looked better without clothes than in them. “So, did you come to help me with my research?”

The young captain blinked twice in an effort to buy time, “T-totally! I remember you telling me all about it!” 

“Fantastic!” She smiled through her slightly crooked teeth, one of the things that drew him to her despite the unflattering garb. Leaning in, the grin broadened into a more lecherous smirk, “And then if you’re free after…” She blushes deeply, unable to meet his eyes, “Maybe you can help me with something else…”

Whistler shifted side to side. “Sure.” He nonchalantly chimed as his groin protested, far more than how this pillow princess had left him during their stint together, “Oh, but I also wanted to find someone while I was here.” 

The girl he still did not remember the name of skipped ever so slightly through the colored rays before half-heartedly examining one of the broad leaves that dared to grow out into the populated walkway, “Oh, sure. What’s their name?” People of various races and creeds flowed in and out through the hall, some lowlandsmen like the two of them even stopped to chat amongst their fellow scholars.

“Uhh…” This time, he scratched his head out of genuine confusion, not as a tactic to buy time, “I remember it started with a ‘f’ sound… Phlegm? Flannel?”

Turning away from the leaf, the brunette perked up, “You mean Professor Flamel? He’s one of my supervisors!”

“Perfect. Let’s go visit him before we need to do… Whatever it is you have to do.”

The walk proved to be even longer than one would expect. Nearly labyrinthian alongside their immense size, the colleges could double as a fortified military base with how complex their interiors proved to navigate which was typical of highlander architecture. A single-person-wide stairwell down led to an outdoor atrium, up the side of a tree before ascending a twisting path connecting to an amphitheater currently holding outdoor lectures about something or another. Passing those fed into another central hall, this one decorated with glowing crystals, nearly replacing the sunlight as it fed into the mountain itself. 

Whistler had determined he would have not made it this far if he had to break past the guards. This girl, who may have said her name once but was promptly forgotten, seemed to have a story at every landmark within this massive academy. But as the two drew further into the darkened corridors of the school, her anecdotes grew more and more scarce. Finally, standing before two large dark wooden doors cloaked in darkness, she placed a dainty hand on one.

She nervously looked at the heavy portals, curious as to if she could open them or not, “This is the place.” Her tone sounded as dark as the environment, “No one comes to visit him often, I just remember having to drop by here once to leave a package in front of his door one time…”

“So you never met him? I thought he was one of your supervisors?”

The girl teetered a bit, hemming and humming before answering, “He is… But only in name. My papers get sent to him for review and then get delivered back the same day, usually with heavy revision.”

“So he’s a bit of a hardass.” The trip alone almost caused Whistler to just head back and carry on with the rest of his holiday, but the curiosity that the old professor’s letter instilled in him urged him to press on, “I don’t much care for his kind, but I know how to deal with ‘em.”

His guide continued to shift from side to side, “D- do you want me to go with you? I don’t want to interfere with what business you have with him, but…” She shifted her glasses once again, “I kinda want to see what he looks like.”

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” He shrugged, unsure of the matter of business himself.

It took the both of them to open the door, the hinges creaking loudly as they finally got enough space to squeeze through. Emerging on the other side, the room was just as dark as the hallway that preceded it. Instead of crystals lighting their path, strange machines emitting a similar light met them on the other side. Read outs someone more educated than the captain could determine their purpose and the results of that purpose strewn a light blue hue throughout the tiny space, casting their light on a figure hunched over a table no higher than waist height. 

“Hello?” Whistler asked, gingerly stepping into the strange space.

The shadow lurched slightly, blocking the view of a strange purple glow that fought for dominance against both the blue light and the ever present darkness. Slight mumblings, grumbling underneath its breath as the captain took another bold step in.

“Professor Phlegming?” He asked the hunched figure once again before being corrected by the girl still holding onto the door.

In response, it moved once again as if being roused from a deep slumber. 

At this point, he was nearly hovering over the occupant of the room, now shown to be an older man bathed in the purple light. His beard was absolutely uncared for, scruffy in some places while patchy in others, all of which were unabashedly a pale white similar to the surprising full head of hair on his head. His curls were similar to the captain’s: tightly wound, grouping up near the scalp, betraying one’s expectation as to how much hair actually was atop their heads.

“H-hey, gramps…?” He now had placed a hand on the old man, the robes feeling absolutely filthy. Mustering a slight stir, the captain retreated back to the center of the room as the owner of the lab finally came to.

“Eh… What’s it…?” His voice was as gruff as one expected a man of his supposed age to be. “Wh-what is it? I’m almost done on my…”

Whistler stood a bit taller. There was nothing to be afraid of, he was just an old man, “Hey Gramps,” he called out, further rousing the codger from his slumber, “You called me out here?”

Finally tearing himself away from the table, even though a string of saliva still tied them together, Professor Flamel looked upon his guest still in a stupor, “Petunia? No, that’s not right… Margot?”

The young captain ran a hand down his face, “No, you old fart, Whistler Thane? You sent me a letter?”

“Eh?” It took a second before the man snapped back into reality, “Oh, Verossica’s son!” 

Whistler scoffed slightly at hearing the name, “Right. You wanted business with me or something?”

Even through the sheer layer of robes the man wore, it was plain to see his legs wobbling as he made an effort to stand, “No, no! N-never something like that…” He shuffled towards the captain, the lines in his face appearing like chasms in the contrast of the blue lights, “I… I never got the ch-chance to meet you. W- work had me b-busy, preoccupied with founding a-”

“You brought me out here for a family reunion?” The captain plainly asked. 

“W-well, yes… I n-never had the ch-chance to-”

“How did you even find me, old man? It was nothing short of a miracle your letter got to me while I was visiting the Archipelago.” A pirate’s greatest weakness was being chased. Anyone who has a bead on him at any given time could forewarn his prey, or worse, rat him out to the authorities.

“Th-that was quite simple, really… All it took was-”

The girl’s head popped back into the room, “I’m… I’m gonna go, Captain Whistler…” She tore her gaze from the smuggler and placed it on the hunched old man, “It was nice to meet you, Professor Flamel! My name’s Kanda!”

Before the educator could give her a proper send off, the brunette disappeared back into the hall. “O-oh… I’ve read her papers a time or two… Seems promising…”

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” Whistler situated himself between the doors and the old man, “You mentioned a job for me, Gramps. Don’t tell me that was a lie.”

The hunched figure craned his neck back up to his grandson, “Y-you’ve got that fire in you… Must’ve g-gotten it from my side of the fam-”

“Shut up.” The captain almost had enough. Time was money and this time was getting devalued real quick, “Tell me, are we smuggling, robbing or hitting? I’m at the stage where my prices just doubled.”

Flamel side eyed the upstart before him, slightly ashamed he had to look upwards to meet his gaze, “I… I need your help.”

“Okay. Yeah. Sure. Everyone does. From traders to their daughters, what are you looking for?”

Nearly exhausted just from standing, the professor retreated back to his stool before the work bench, “N-no… This… This is far bigger than all of that…” He took another second to catch his breath, “Wh-when I asked you in the letter wh-what you wanted m-more than money and fame… I al-already knew your answer, y-young man.” 

Turning around, he cradled in his hands the item before him that emitted the purple light. Holding it up for the captain to see, a sense of pride brought a few tears to his eyes. This culmination of his years of tirelessly searching, pursuing and chasing had led up to this moment, “I-I knew you wanted… Eternal life…”

 

The lower stratum of Louisdale was thankfully fairly empty, as expected. This time of day, most of the dockhands had completed their loading and unloading, the traders were out selling and only those who worked in the transport of people were gathering what they needed before heading out into the great blue beyond. 

“Holy shit, old man.” Whistler leaned against the wall as Flamel finally caught up to him. “I didn’t think I’d make a fortune just getting you down to the docks…”

Sounds neither had ever heard come out of any kind of living creature crawled out of the professor., “I-I’m quite serious when it c-comes to this…” He pulled the hood tighter over him, shielding him from some of the first sunlight he may have seen in years. 

From what the old man explained, Whistler’s job was to take him out to the middle of the skies, near some location he vaguely remembered and drop him off with the strange glowing possession he refused to let go of. He almost felt guilty charging the man nearly 200 thousand in coins for just a day’s worth of work, but his client was more than happy to pay that much.

 “Family discount.” The captain whispered to himself.

Standing back up, the young man stretched ever so slightly, his blade knocking against the brick building he stood beside, “So what’s with the hood? Afraid of a little sunshine?”

“Sh-shut up…” Flamel bit back. Part of the reason for their late arrival was due to his insistence of double checking each main road they crossed and a thorough examination of each alleyway he demanded they take. “Sm-smugglers don’t ask qu-questions, right?”

Whistler smirked. “Right, sorry about that.”

Making it all the way down the main road to where the boats could be seen plainly, they were nearly home free from whatever haunted this man’s suspicions. Thankfully, The Silent Secret was anchored towards the front, still neglected by the repairmen that have yet to see her fixed. Few were visible around her, giving an easy chance to slide out of the dock and into the airspace around Sommerset.

For the supposed danger his client silently claimed they were in, not a single person gave them a look that lasted more than a second. Either the old man was just doing this for a bit of action or simply misinterpreted how much trouble this would cause.

“Say Gramps, why are yo-”

“Get down!” The tiny elder shouted, already flat on the ground. 

In response to his command, a loud crack before a splintering of brick hit the young captain’s face. Quickly glancing at the dagger that still shimmied as it lodged itself into the wall beside him, Whistler dropped to one knee while simultaneously drawing his saber. 

“The rate’s doubled again, old man!” A second knife flew from his front, before being parried by Whistler’s curved sword. Shadows around them shifted and curled as figures moved in the alleyways to their sides. “Shit.” He swore, now taking a broader stance, “We’re surrounded…”

A hooded figure dashed out from the alleyway behind them, lurching towards the downed senior. 

With one continuous swing, Whistler kicked off the wall beside him, twisting around before pivoting on his other foot, and finishing the arc through the figure’s stomach. Bringing his other foot around, he ended the dance with the man’s face eating the stone as he pinned him down with a commanding stance. “What are these, old man?”

Flamel laid shivering on the ground, trying to make himself as flat as possible, “Se-secretaries!” He shouted, “Th-they pr-protect the Academy’s secrets fr-from getting out!”

“Which is what we’re doing right now, huh?” The captain deflected another thrown knife, this one aimed at his client. 

This time, two dashed out from the alleyways before them, each adorned in matching brown hoods and robes. Armed with a knife each, they remained low to the ground, showing them to be practitioners in Panterian style. 

One kept as low as he ran up the hill as the other leapt towards the captain. Catching the airborne assailant in the air with a slash that hit him crossbody from shoulder to hip, Whistler flipped over the flattened old man, bringing the secretary with him as he flung him into the one still striding uphill. 

He shook the blade of any blood, making sure to twist it in a way that spared the hook on the end that ran counter to the curve. “What did I expect from a bunch of eggheads?”

Responding yet again to him, a knife flew up the hill towards the captain. 

“I’m getting tired of this shit!” Catching the knife in the hook, he spun and twisted himself to return the blade back into the hand of the thrower. 

The assassin yelped in pain as it pushed through his palm and into his forearm. 

“Double time, Gramps!” Picking up the old man, the captain bounded over the two collapsed secretaries before dashing past the knife thrower, still screaming in pain. Silently thanking the codger for being a bone-thin hermit, Whistler sprinted downhill the stone highway to the docks below. In his mad dash, he managed to catch a few more secretaries emerging from the shadows, their magic twisting and twirling the darkness.

Blades were thrown and dodged as the assassins now were not afraid of making themselves known, maintaining their low profile as they careened after their prey. 

Finally landing on the flat stone, darkened from centuries of clouds rolling over them with whatever they brought on their winds, Whistler picked up his pace towards The Silent Secret. In his haste, he happened to notice no new hunters emerging before him, granting him the hope he needed for escape. “Gramps, I’m going to need you to hold on tight when we get up there!”

 The two boarded the ship. No one else appeared to be aboard granting them ease of access into the bridge where the helm was. The steering column for the entire ship was located on the back half, as to be near the rudder and engines. Entirely lifted by the balloon, much like a dirigible, the captain dreaded to see if they would pop it, stranding them on the port.

Broad windows upfront gave clear view as to what lay ahead, with the ship small enough to skip out on a mast. Entirely made of hardwood, there was not much in the way of decor, mostly showing the single function the room provided. Four seats were stationed around an area just a few steps down from the wheel, each in charge of monitoring different gauges and meters.

“A-are you sure you’ll be a-able to get away?” Flamel asked, nervously looking around the helm. He continued to clutch the purple object, holding it near his chest wrapped in his cloak.

Whistler unlocked the wheel, lined with 16 handles around the main steering apparatus. It was quite large for such a small ship, as the engine roared deceptively loud as well, “Please, this is a custom modified Cassius class type-C carrier with an extended engine and enhanced boiler for ma-”

“S-save it!” He shouted for the first time, “Ju-just g-get us out of here!”

“Well then, gimme a minute because we’re…!” Putting his foot on the throttle, the ship began to pull away from the dock before-

A loud clang of chains pulling echoed out.

“Shit! I forgot about the anchor!” Whistler shouted. He usually left such a task to his XO as a part of docking and undocking to an island. “Gramps, go tug on the winch!”

Consternation crossed the scholar’s face, “Th-the what? Th-there aren’t any w-women out here at this hour!”

Rubbing his eyebrows, the captain swore loudly, “The thing that controls the anchor! Go! Pull it in!”

Without much thought, Flamel ran, as much as he could, out of the bridge to where he was pointed. Reaching the catch-and-release system also on the rear end of the ship, he stood dumbfounded, trying to comprehend such a simple machine. A large metal chain with a reinforced cord through the loops was connected to a rotating tackle with a lever one needed to rotate over and over to fully wrap the anchor and a button in the middle to draw and withdraw the teeth on the anchor which held onto the rock face of the island. Each loop was nearly as wide as his outstretched hand, something he could never hope to break with his bare hands. 

The brown hoods and robes of the secretaries grew in number as they began to draw near to the ship, throwing a few knives into the wooden vessel. Soon, there were nearly twenty threatening to kill him as they dashed towards him. “They’re on a ship, after them!”

Pressing what looked to be the release button on the wench, it failed to budge. “St-stupid frail body…” He grunted as he tried twice more to no avail. 

“Crownsword, step off the ship with your hands up!” An armored woman stood on the edge of the docks, the blade in her hand reflecting the light of the sun. He had failed to notice the armored guards show up alongside the assassins, showing him that the corruption ran deep. As the old man tried a few more times on the machine, throwing nearly his whole body to press a button, the officer turned to motion for backup. “This way! They’re trying to escape!”

“Shit!” With a slicing motion with his hand not clutching his life’s work, a thin blade of air appeared before the link of the chain sliced in half, freeing the ship.

Grasping for dear life, Flamel held onto the wench as the ship surged forward, flying through the air more than three times the speed allowed in the airspace. The engine screamed as it pushed The Silent Secret through the air, causing the winds to become visible alongside any flat surface. Vague shouts were drowned out by the screams of the machine throttling as it barreled the ship out into the common airspace.

Going at such a speed, alarm sirens picked up in pitch as a few small gunships were dispatched to enforce the speed limit. Emblazoned with the insignia of the Regime, they knew they would not catch up, but resorted to other matters instead.

“Get low, Gramps!” A voice called out over the brasscomms as two light ships hovered before the oncoming carrier. Streaks whizzed by as the ship narrowly dodged bullets flying from the law enforcement. 

Flamel crawled down to where the wench met the deck, the sound of a bullet bouncing off of the steel where he was just a moment ago ringing in his ears. Holding on for dear life, he clutched onto the purple crystal far closer, hoping to see them both through. 

The Silent Secret continued to fly forward, only making a few concessions through the flurry of bullets. Far faster than ramming speed, Flamel could only watch as the two gunships grew closer and closer until…!

Rotating on its side, the pirate ship skirted around the right side of the blockade. Flamel could feel what was supposed to be the dock of the ship was now a perpendicular wall against his right shoulder as those on the law enforcement skippers looked on in awe to his left.  

Correcting its rotation, the ship blasted forward once more, escaping the space around Sommerset. Going full throttle, Flamel held on for dear life, his loose hair and robes being violently dragged back to where he came from just a half second prior. The stone he held felt warm against his aching chest, silently urging him to continue to see his greatest accomplishment through.