The Skies of Aika
The rolling, jagged clouds below flash distant blinks of chromatic lightning to accent the harsh, blistering sun above. As your oil-sullied boots pull your dangling feet toward the endless plummet of the Fall beneath, you exhale, gloved hand enveloping your small copper cup of frogwater. Not all in these skies are as squalid as you; but, as the winds push and pull so mercilessly, your time has not yet come. Watching as the stream of silver smoke from your crewmate's cheap cigar glides and dissipates, you come to understand something; it's time to take a stand.