Laurence and Ryan peered out of the window of the Windmimic as its camouflaged black body ran through the darkening sky and crossed the wretched island’s borders, its jet black, metallic nose as sharp as a swordfish. Any bird unfortunate to block its path would’ve surely been impaled. Freedom at last. In Noway, they had nothing to lose and knew nothing but famine. Now, out of the island’s borders, they knew they would feel fear for the very last time. Their destination was hundreds of miles away still- the impressionless city of Masacrik. They had no idea what it was like, but it was the only place is the Jelsker regions that hadn’t signed an exoneration treaty. The surprisingly quiet roaring of the fires fuelling the balloon of the ship was like the thrashing of the waves below. 

By early morning, the hidden ship was already crossing the borders of Jelsker’s middle island, heading East for a small town named Hazben. As a child, Ryan had heard stories of Hazben during his time at Dreitrees (a Wales-sized island South of Noway home to a beautiful camp-owned forest and three ancient, legendary trees), but he had never actually been to Hazben. The story goes like this: it used to be a historical, bustling village where if you lived there, you might just break out in to song about how much you love life one morning like you’re in a musical. That was before the cherubs came along and industrialised the whole village, just like every other town in Jelsker. “Did you know-” Ryan began, but was erupted by what sounded like a squeaky fart from up above. Little did they know that the mighty black Windmimic was slowly becoming a deflating, descending Windmimic.