Obstruction

Kaihi

The sunlight flickers through the leaves like trickling gold coins, and it’s that shimmer that wakes me from my slumber. I stretch in Mazel’s pilot seat, every muscle aching from sleeping upright. But at least it was warm.

Dew coats the grassy airstrip, catching the morning light like scattered glitter. Mazel’s wings are steaming now - sunlight evaporating the sheen of water across their smooth surfaces.

I twist in my seat, unstrapped, and glance toward Zyla. She’s curled beneath a light blanket, breathing soft and steady, her box humming faintly. She looks peaceful. Her nose peeks just above the edge of the blanket, and I decide not to wake her. We’re running late - definitely - but I don’t care. For once, the world can wait for us.

I lean back and watch the trees above sway gently in the breeze.

But something’s wrong.

A dark shape drifts across the canopy.

I glance toward the sun, expecting to see a cloud - but my blood goes cold.

Overhead, gliding just beyond the tree line, is an aircraft carrier.

Fighters circle it like sheepdogs herding an enormous, airborne whale. Have they seen us? No - we’d already be dead if they had. One salvo from the carrier would be more than enough. At this range, they wouldn’t even need to launch any aircraft to check if they’d hit.

Maybe it’s Karikogan? A surviving carrier?

I squint into the sun, trying to make out the insignia burned into the hull. But the glare is too strong. Then I hear the fighters. The sound gives them away.

Birvyden.

I freeze. Still as stone.

Like if I don’t move, they can’t see me. Like they’re dinosaurs.

The massive carrier drifts lazily through the clear blue sky, silent and terrifying, until - after what feels like forever - it disappears behind the trees.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, and slide the canopy back.

The wing is still damp as I step out. I crouch down and gently shake Zyla’s shoulder.

She mumbles something, shifting beneath the blanket.

“Hey,” I whisper. “It’s morning.”

She hugs the blanket tighter. I sigh, and try again - this time with a firmer shake.

She rolls over, mumbling something unintelligible.

I let her be.

As I jump down from the wing, my foot slips - but I catch myself on the canopy’s edge just in time. Dusting off my pants, I make my way around to Mazel’s storage bay and take a quick inventory. Good. We’ve got more than enough food. It’s not exactly appetizing, but it’ll keep us alive.

I stretch my legs, working out the stiffness.

But the thought keeps gnawing at me: what is a Birvyden carrier doing way out here?

Are they searching for us? Are ground forces sweeping the area?

If so, it’s only a matter of time.

We can’t risk leaving today - not with that thing in the sky. Carriers are flying fortresses. They’ve got their own missile batteries and more.

We’re grounded. For now.

I grab an MRE. Then pause. Think. And grab another.

Waking up to food - no matter how bland - is always better than nothing.

“So we have to wait till tomorrow?”

Zyla sips from a water bottle as I explain the situation to her, sitting cross-legged on a blanket in the damp grass.

“Yeah. It’s too risky to try flying today. Hopefully they’re long gone by tomorrow. Otherwise…” I shrug. “We’ll just have to risk it.”

She nods and takes another sip. I’ve noticed her condition steadily degrading - she struggles to move faster than a walking pace now, and climbing anything above knee height requires my help. But she soldiers on, despite the obvious pain she’s in. She awes me. Her strength is enviable. Her determination, worthy of praise. She’s better than I am. I panic at the smallest inconvenience.

“What are we going to do now?”

Her voice pulls me from my thoughts.

“Now? I’m not sure. We’re playing a waiting game, so... we wait, I guess.”

She nods again.

“Well, how should we pass the time?”

I shrug. “Talk? I don’t know. Actually... talking might be a good idea. We could get to know each other better.”

She smiles faintly, her blush bringing a touch of color back to her pale cheeks.

“Well, what would you like to know?”

I think for a moment.

“How about we start at the very, very beginning. What’s your favorite color?”

Only when she bursts out laughing do I realize how stupid that sounded. I blush. But her laughter quickly turns into a coughing fit, her chest heaving with each painful breath. I jump in alarm.

“Are you alright?”

She nods, letting out a final cough.

“Y-Yeah. I’m okay. Sorry. But that was really funny.”

She grins at me, and I return it.

“Well? What is it?”

She shakes her head, smiling.

“Like... faint bluish-purple. The color the sky turns when the sun dips behind the horizon. You know what I mean?”

I nod. Her grin widens.

“I’m gonna guess yours. Is it... blue?”

I nod again, a little surprised.

“Knew it. Sky color, right?”

I grin.

“You got me.”

Her smile is radiant. Pure. Like a child being handed a present.

“Alright, my turn. Simple questions, huh? How about this: what’s your favorite song?”

“Song?”

“Yeah. I know you listen to music while flying.”

Wait - how does she know that?

She grins, noticing my confusion.

“Sometimes you hum along. It’s cute.”

My face flushes. She giggles. I mumble my answer.

“Well, I guess it depends. I listen to different stuff when I’m flying versus when I’m on the ground, so... it changes.”

She shakes her head.

“Okay, but that’s not an answer.”

She’s right. Again.

“Sorry. My favorite right now is probably... Transatlanticism. Not great flying music, but I still love it.”

She nods thoughtfully.

“I haven’t heard that one before. How does it go?”

An idea flickers in my mind.

“How about I show you?”

I stand, hop onto Mazel’s wing, and reach into Zyla’s side of the cockpit. Her headset is tucked beside her seat. I bring it back and hand it to her. She slips in the earbuds, and I speak to the air:

“Fiya, can you connect Zyla to my sound system? Then play Transatlanticism.”

Fiya responds instantly.

“On it!”

The music begins softly, and I watch as Zyla’s green eyes light up with recognition, then wonder. We sit in silence for all seven minutes and twenty-seven seconds. When the song ends, she gently removes the earbuds.

“I can see why you like it. Thanks for sharing that with me.”

I shake my head.

“Of course I’d share it. We’re getting married, aren’t we?”

Saying it aloud like that makes it feel surreal. Childish, almost. My cheeks burn again. She giggles.

“That’s true, that’s true.”

There’s a pause. Only a few seconds.

“So... are we technically engaged now?”

Engaged. Promised to each other. My heart leaps at the word.

“I suppose we are. We kind of skipped a step, I think.”

She giggles again.

“That’s okay with me. It was my idea, after all.”

It dawns on me - she’s never going to let me forget that. That she proposed. Not me.

I groan. She laughs. And I love her laugh. It sparkles like dew in morning sunlight. Sweet like honey. Clear and flowing like a mountain stream.

Her cough, though - it’s the opposite. Like a spear driven through my chest. Bitter. Harsh. Poisonous.

My hand steadies her shoulder as her body shakes with each wracking cough. She wheezes as it fades.

“Sorry.”

“No. It’s not your fault.”

She stares at her hands. They tremble slightly.

“Am I going to be okay?”

How do I answer that? I’m not God. I can’t heal her. I can’t see the future.

“You’ll be fine,” I say softly. “We’re going to get through this. Together.”

She smiles, weak but real, and leans into me. I wrap my arms around her as the sun rises higher, casting golden light over everything we’re still fighting to keep.

We pass the rest of the time talking, watching the clouds, and simply enjoying each other’s company. I do a little maintenance on Mazel, making double sure she’ll be ready for tomorrow’s attempt. I also take a look at Zyla’s box, but it’s outside my field of expertise. It's still running fine, anyway.

As the air begins to cool, we lean against each other, watching the sun dip toward the horizon. We don’t speak. We just relax in silence, the pressure of our bodies more than enough - hand in hand, skin against skin.

My mind drifts - slowly, almost unnaturally for me. I think about the sky. About the mysteries it holds. The stories whispered into its winds. The things it hides away, waiting patiently to be discovered. Mankind has always dreamed of it, stared up in wonder, awed by its endlessness.

Zyla shifts closer, her head resting heavier against my shoulder.

And I think about the sky.