CH1193 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1193: A Wind Chaser (II)

The academy was empty, just as Finkin had said. They moved through the buildings without passing a soul and stopped at a towering wall.

“The west side of the airport,” Finkin said, propping a wooden ladder against it. “Follow me.”

Good hesitated a breath, then climbed.

When he reached the top, the sight stopped him. A swollen red sun sat low over the water, the ocean shattering into fragments of gold below it, the sky awash in sheets of blue and yellow. Layers of cloud sloped down to the horizon, and beneath that horizon lay the vast, open emptiness of the airfield — the emptiness that led to the sky.

The sea breeze struck him and the afternoon’s frustration dissolved. He closed his eyes, arms stretched wide, and imagined himself gripping the control lever, waiting for takeoff.

“Fine view, isn’t it?” Finkin said from beside him. “I found this spot myself. Watch you don’t fall.”

“So what’s next?” Hinds called from below.

“We go there.” Finkin pointed to the hangar not far off. The Seagull sat parked outside it; the hangar’s near edge was barely two meters from the wall. “But we take the ladder.”

Balance training had made them confident on the wall’s narrow top. They reached their destination within fifteen minutes.

The hangar rose two or three meters above the wall, so they couldn’t climb onto the roof. But its windows were level with where they stood — they could press their faces to the glass.

“Covered planes — covered planes — there they are!” Finkin’s voice cracked with triumph.

Good looked. His chest tightened.

One bay held four biplanes, canvas removed, their bodies smooth and elegant under the hangar lights. The knowledge that he would one day operate them hit him like a physical thing.

Who cared about knights? An aerial knight who flew the sky — nothing compared to that.

Finkin leaned the ladder against the window and dusted his hands. “Technically, we haven’t stepped into the airport. So technically, no rules broken.”

Good knew it was a thin argument. He climbed through the window anyway.

The moment his feet touched the hangar floor, something settled in him. For the first time since training had begun, he felt calm.

Finkin and Hinds rushed to the nearest plane. Good walked behind them, unhurried.

“It’s metal,” Hinds breathed, touching the fuselage. “Incredible.”

“Thin as skin — look,” Finkin said, pressing his fingertip into the surface. A small dent appeared immediately. “How do they make it?”

“Easy. Don’t break it.”

“It’s bouncy, actually. Here, try — ”

Good wasn’t listening. Some pull he couldn’t name drew him past them to the front of the aircraft, to the seat on the cover of Princess Tilly’s Flight Manual: the spot where she sat while soaring above continents and sea.

He climbed in.

So this was the world through an aerial knight’s eyes.

The upper wing and both sides of the fuselage cut his vision in half, forcing him to look straight ahead and nowhere else. The cockpit smelled of leather. The instruments sat behind clear glass. The control lever and pedals were metal; the top of the lever was wrapped in soft cloth, and it came to his hand at the right angle.

He gripped it. Pushed the gear down.

The lever creaked — and pushed back. Unlike the wooden mock-up in the training room, this resisted him: a quivering steel cable, a heaviness that climbed the lever into his palm. The sensation was real. Alive.

“Good Lord, what are you doing?” Hinds’ voice cut through.

Good released the lever as though burned. “I was just — ”

Practicing?” Finkin said, delighted. “Who called us mental? Who’s sitting in the cockpit right now? I thought we agreed to just look.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t help it.”

“You won’t have broken anything — they tell us to do exactly that in training,” Finkin said. “But move fast. I want a turn.”

“Wait,” Good said, reluctant. “I only just geared down. Sit in the backseat first.”

“What about me?” Hinds protested, already climbing the wing.

A screech of metal — a lock opening.

The blood left Good’s face.

“Why would anyone be here now?” Hinds whispered.

“No time to run,” Finkin said, his voice surprisingly level. “Hide.”

But there was nowhere to hide in a hangar this size, and the cockpit held one. Before they could move, the soldiers were there.

“Who’s there?”

“Freeze!”

Three clicks. Good found himself looking up at the First Army from the ground, his cheek against the cold concrete.

A familiar figure approached through the lights. Princess Tilly Wimbledon.

“What happened?” she said. “Invaders?”

Finkin spoke before the guards could. “Your Highness, we’re sorry — we are students of the Aerial Knight Academy. Out of curiosity we came to look at the planes. Please have mercy.”

Good already knew they were in serious trouble.

Princess Tilly heard the account, then nodded expressionlessly. “I see. Under school rules: detention of no fewer than fifteen days, and disqualification from becoming aerial knights. You may choose between busboy and ground staff. Inform your officer.”

“As… as you command,” Finkin and Hinds said, their faces screwed tight.

Good’s heart sank. Then the guards began to move them toward the door — and something flared up in him, sudden and hot as a struck match.

“Your Highness.” He lifted his head. “Please. I want to be a pilot. I would do anything. I didn’t come only out of curiosity — I came because I’m lost in the training. I can’t find the feeling the Manual describes. I came to feel the actual thing.”

Tilly’s expression didn’t change. “A feeling?”

“Yes. My movements don’t match the instructions — I can follow them mechanically, but I can’t sense the wind. Or not quite that — it’s something else.” He groped for words that didn’t exist. “I can’t name it. I only know it doesn’t feel right.”

The guards murmured among themselves.

Blabbering. Nonsense. He’s annoying her.

Tilly studied him for a long moment. “You’re Good? Eagle Face told me you lead the class in every subject — first to adapt, hardest working.”

“I — ”

“So.” She cut across him without raising her voice. “What do you think of sitting in that plane? Do you think you could fly?”

Good’s hands clenched. “Your Highness. I think I can.”

“Then try it.” Tilly turned away, not looking back. “I’d planned to have you all train on real planes tomorrow anyway. But the other students are permitted to fail. You are not. Fail, and you’re expelled. Or you can take the punishment. Your choice.”

“I want to fly.”

“Very well.” A pause. “I’ll give the other two the same choice.”

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