Chapter 1: Into the Skies

Kelton:

The roar of the engines was deafening as I stood on the deck of the R.S.S. Tempest, my heart pounding in rhythm with the machinery around me. The air was thick with anticipation, and the metallic tang of oil and grease filled my lungs with every breath. I tried to steady my trembling hands, clutching my helmet to my chest as I watched the sky through the narrow slit of my goggles.

"Hey, Kelton!"

I turned to see Lydia Corwin, my childhood friend and one of the most skilled mechanics on the ship, striding towards me. Her auburn hair was slicked back into a tight ponytail, and her face was smudged with grease. She flashed me a lopsided grin, trying to disguise the worry in her eyes.

"Lydia," I greeted, forcing a smile. "I didn't expect to see you up here."

"Couldn't miss your first mission, could I?" she replied, punching me lightly on the shoulder. "Are you ready?"

I glanced at the row of sleek fighters lined up on the deck, their polished brass hulls glinting in the early morning light. "As ready as I'll ever be. This is what I've trained for, right?"

"Right," she said, though her voice betrayed her concern. "Just remember, you've got more than just skill on your side. Stay sharp, stay focused... and come back in one piece, okay?"

I nodded, trying to reassure her—and myself. "I'll do my best."

Before she could say more, the loudspeakers crackled to life, and Captain Arlen Bright's authoritative voice boomed across the deck. "All hands, prepare for immediate engagement. Enemy aircraft incoming from the east. Pilots, to your stations!"

This was it. My heart raced even faster as I donned my helmet and sprinted towards my fighter. Lydia gave me one last, encouraging wave before rushing back towards the engine room. I climbed into the cockpit, my hands moving almost automatically as I checked the controls and strapped myself in.

"Kelton Kopperfield, Skyhawk unit ready for launch," I reported through the communicator, my voice steadier than I felt.

"Copy that, Skyhawk," Lieutenant Marcus Flint's voice crackled back. "On my mark… three, two, one… Launch!"

The powerful engines roared to life, and with a jolt, my fighter shot off the deck and into the sky. The world below dropped away, and for a brief moment, I felt the exhilarating freedom of flight. But that feeling was quickly replaced by the tense reality of our mission as I caught sight of the enemy aircraft approaching in the distance.

"Stay in formation," Flint commanded. "We're taking the fight to them. Remember your training, and watch each other's backs."

The enemy fighters grew larger as we closed the distance, their sleek, dark forms cutting through the air like predators. My fingers tightened around the controls, my eyes locked on the approaching threat.

This was my chance to prove myself. To show the Republic of Clockshire that I was ready, that I had what it took to be a pilot. I swallowed hard, pushing down the rising tide of fear. There was no room for doubt now.

The first burst of gunfire erupted from one of the enemy fighters, and the battle was on. I maneuvered my craft sharply to the left, narrowly avoiding the deadly stream of bullets. My training kicked in, and I returned fire, my shots lighting up the sky.

"Good shot, Kelton!" Flint's voice came through my headset. "Keep it up!"

I couldn't afford to think, to second-guess myself. Every move, every shot was instinctual, a well-rehearsed dance of death. But even as I focused on the immediate threat, I couldn't shake the feeling that this battle was just the beginning of something much larger.

The roar of the engines, the crackle of gunfire, the shouts of my comrades—all of it seemed to blur together. And then, as if emerging from the chaos itself, I saw her. An enemy fighter piloted with such skill and precision that it stood out even amid the frenzied dogfight.

That must be Asher Whitlock, the infamous pilot from Valoria. I'd heard tales of her prowess, her unmatched skill in the skies. And now, here she was, a formidable foe cutting through our ranks like a blade.

Our eyes met through the glass of our cockpits for the briefest of moments, a silent acknowledgment of each other's presence.

And then, the battle truly began.