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Artwork depicting a sprawling, fantastical cityscape with a steampunk aesthetic. The layout is a wide panoramic view showcasing a dense array of intricately designed buildings with pointed spires, domes, and elaborate architectural details. The structures are predominantly dark with hints of blue and bronze, creating a moody atmosphere. In the sky, several airships float among the clouds, adding to the steampunk theme. The city is bathed in a soft, diffused light, suggesting either dawn or dusk, with a warm glow emanating from windows and streetlights. Smoke rises from chimneys, contributing to the industrial feel. The foreground features a large, ornate dome with intricate patterns, while the background reveals a vast city stretching into the distance, with towering buildings silhouetted against the sky. The overall scene is rich in detail, evoking a sense of wonder and adventure.
Elia was already late when the third airship passed.
The third one always ran quiet, and missing it meant waiting an hour or paying too
much to ride with strangers. She didn’t slow down. She crossed Saint Calderon’s
roofline instead, boots finding familiar seams in copper tiles she’d memorized as a
child.
Below, the city was changing shifts. Lamplighters halfway through their routes.
Chimneys beginning their evening work. Shopkeepers performing the soft ritual of
pretending they weren’t closing yet.
The city rewarded momentum.
Elia repaired instruments most people preferred not to acknowledge—chronometers
that drifted, navigation cores that forgot which way was down, weather vanes that
began pointing at memories instead of wind. It wasn’t heroic work. No crowds
gathered when she persuaded a stubborn gyroscope back into agreement with
gravity.
But everything depended on it.
Tonight’s call had come early. Upper Registry. Emergency. That meant something
expensive had failed inside a building that didn’t like outsiders. It also meant decent
pay, provided she didn’t leave marks.
She paused at the edge of a dome—not to admire the skyline, but to orient herself.
She read the city the way others read maps: wind off the ministry towers, river mist
in the brass air, two patrol dirigibles and a courier skiff crossing paths above Market
Row.
People heading home.
She once thought she’d leave this place. Everyone does. There are stories about
cleaner skies and cities that make sense from ground level.
She stayed.
Not out of loyalty. Out of usefulness.
The Registry would greet her with careful smiles and sealed doors. They would
describe the problem in ceremonial language. She would ask practical questions.
Eventually they would let her inside.
She would find what had slipped half a degree out of alignment and put it back.
Afterward she’d descend through stairwells and service bridges, emerge somewhere
unexpected with grease on her hands and enough money for dinner. Later, from a
quiet balcony, she’d watch airships drift across the clouds and think about nothing at
all.
That’s how this city survives.
Not through grand gestures.
Through maintenance.
A world of everyday marvels runs on people who show up when invisible systems
begin to wander—keeping impossible machinery gentle enough that everyone else
can believe it’s effortless.
If nothing interrupts, Elia will make the repair. The lights will come on. The ships will
keep flying. Children will grow up thinking this skyline was inevitable.
And tomorrow, she’ll be late again.
