The Pilot's Love Song

Let's embark on this cursed journey. This isn't just a departure; it's an elegantly disguised banishment. The world, feigning ignorance, casts us aside, worn and used, as it selfishly prospers. Just as it has always done, discarding those it no longer needs, moving forward with a clear conscience, gazing at the future. And we, the discarded, have no choice but to start anew in a penal colony, overlooked by all. This is a tale that begins at the end. A journey to the Edge of the Sky, where we don't even know if it exists. Let everything disappear.

The west wind sweeps by, and the sea surface suddenly comes alive.

Sprays rise from the lead aircraft of the aviation commissioner. This signals the three squadron leader planes waiting behind to start their engines, and as they do, ripples spread outward, lighting up twenty-four hydrogen cell stacks waiting in a fan-shaped formation behind them.

All twenty-eight tandem-seat El Alcon marine combat airships kick up the sea spray with the roar of their main wing rotors, sending myriad water droplets into the air, which scatter the sunlight and cast a pristine rainbow bridge.

Despite the sunny weather, Caruel Albus opens the throttle with a heavy heart.

The commissioner's aircraft ascends vertically first, followed by the squadron leader planes. The sea roars, sprays rise, and a thin white mist forms over the ocean.

Caruel increased the pitch. The two rotors protruding from the fuselage roared as the aircraft slowly ascended vertically. While listening to the humming of the hydrogen cell stack, he glanced back at the rear seat. His companion and adoptive sister, Ariel Albus, was looking straight at him with sparkling eyes. She was oblivious to her brother's hollow feelings and openly expressed her excitement about the journey with bright words that flowed easily from her smiling lips.

Let's go!

Caruel's mouth twisted into a grimace. Evincing a sense of weariness in his expression, he then firmly regripped the control stick.

Even if we head out, we're not getting anywhere.

He muttered softly.

We've been abandoned.

At an altitude of 1500 meters, he spat out those words and pushed the control stick forward. The control stick, similar in function to a car's steering wheel but used for three-dimensional maneuvers in a combat aircraft, was manipulated by pulling or pushing. The hydrogen cell stack whined even louder, and the rotors, which had been facing upwards, tilted forward. What was initially a lifting device now switched to propulsion. However, lift wouldn't accumulate immediately. El Alcon, dipping its nose, slid diagonally while gaining the necessary airspeed and accumulating lift on its wings before transitioning to horizontal flight.

If one looked back, the ocean below was covered with fine spray, appearing white. From within this narrow mist, the following aircraft, like ducklings, popped up one after another, switching their rotors to propulsion after achieving the necessary altitude, and began to form up in the air.

A squadron of twenty-eight seaplanes, with the chief commissioner's aircraft at the lead, formed a V-formation, flying over the deep blue ocean.

A perfectly coordinated formation flight—

Or so one would wish to say, but minor disturbances were occurring throughout the formation. The squadron leaders and other aircraft were piloted by 15-year-old students of Cadoques High School aviation department, so some disorder was inevitable. Despite numerous rehearsals for today's launch ceremony, they were still cadets and fledgling combat pilots, not yet fully adept at maneuvering their combat aircraft.

Eventually, a faint outline of land appeared ahead.

Fireworks burst forth about 7000 meters away, where the Isla airship knights' regular forces, who had advanced earlier, were circling above the launch ceremony venue.

And then—Caruel's eyes caught the sight of an island floating in the air, overwhelmingly large.

Hovering at an altitude of about 2000 meters, this massive rock formation projected its enormous outline into the landscape, casting a shadow several times its own surface area onto the ground below.

Isla!

The whisper came from the back seat. Ariel's voice, still unabashedly excited, reached him.

From now until further notice, Caruel and his companions will live here on the Flying Island, Isla.

With a top surface area of 243 square kilometers, 9 kilometers east to west, 25 kilometers north to south, and a circumference of about 70 kilometers.

Ten years ago, they succeeded in capturing this floating island, which had appeared out of nowhere, and whose destination was unknown. Thousands of wires were hooked onto Isla's surface and lower rock stratum using aircraft, tethering it 2000 meters above the ground. Since then, geological surveys, component analysis, propulsion device installation, construction of six gun emplacements, residential areas, and harbors for aerial ships have been ongoing in preparation for this day.

The extensive survey and modification work, involving hundreds of thousands of workers and tens of thousands of flying machines, concluded two years ago.

Since then, sundry political maneuvering has taken place among the three major powers across the seas, resulting in a murky intermingling of dark schemes. Finally, today, with joint technical and financial support from the three powers, they set off on a voyage to discover the Edge of the Sky.

To understand the true nature of this world.

To find the end of the Great Waterfall.

To discern what part of the myth of creation by Saint Ardista is true and what is fictional.

To discover what lies beyond the sea, whether there are continents or islands inhabited by humans other than the three known nations: Ballesteros Republic, Saikoku, and Imperial Benares. What kind of terrain lies where the Great Waterfall ends? Does the endpoint of the vast expanse of sky and sea even exist?

To answer all these questions that dwell in the minds of all living in this world, Isla, carrying Caruel and his companions, embarks on a potentially decades-long journey.

Absurd.

A murmur involuntarily escaped from Caruel's lips.

Are you still complaining by any chance?

From behind him, Ariel's incredulous voice called out.

You're so stubborn. Why so gloomy? If you don't want to go, just jump off here. Then I'll take the controls.

Ariel's words, clear and direct, came through the intercom unceremoniously. Caruel then turned his sullen face towards the back seat.

I didn't say I didn't want to. I just said it was ridiculous. I gave up on that a long time ago.

Oh, really? Hmm.

What kind of response is that? And just so you know, I'm not yielding this point. You just sit quietly behind me. Got it?

As he issued this naturally commanding order as her brother, Ariel immediately retorted by sticking out her tongue.

Hmph!

Caruel snorted and turned his gaze back to the direction they were heading.

Directly below the aircraft was already land.

Looking down, a vast expanse of wheat fields the color of fox fur filled the land.

Wheat ears waiting for harvest stretched endlessly across the coastal plains, softly undulating with the wind from the sea before bowing down all at once. It was winter wheat, sown in autumn and harvested in late spring. The shadows of the flying machines raced across the sea-like fields of wheat like wild foxes, as the sounds of fireworks and the cheers of the crowd gradually became clearer.

Soon, the formation arrived directly above the Wind Revolution Memorial Park.

Wow, amazing!

Ariel's excited voice came from the back seat.

Look, wow, this is incredible, everyone looks so happy!

Shut up.

Caruel gruffly scolded Ariel who was pointing ostentatiously at the crowd below and getting excited.

Cheers erupted from beneath Caruel's feet.

Thousands of citizens, young and old, waved their hands, sending their admiration to the formation of cadet pilots, while children reflected the color of the sky in their admiring eyes.

This was the venue for the Isla Departure Ceremony, inaugurated just last year. The ground was neatly paved with cobblestones, and amid the packed central square with its lush greenery, there were revolutionary monuments, memorials, and artificial ponds.

Leaving this park and heading northwest for about twenty kilometers along the main road leads to the capital of Ballesteros Republic, Alexandra. From Caruel's current altitude, the Cathedral of Saint Aldista, the headquarters of the official religion, could be clearly seen overpowering the surrounding buildings, while other stone structures were only vaguely visible against the horizon. Even a city of over three million people looked tiny from the sky, like a child's toy.

Hmph.

In Caruel's gaze towards Alexandra, hatred, sorrow, and a sense of inferiority intermingled. By scoffing, he vented these negative emotions, suppressing the pain within him as he smoothly entered a gentle right turn following the squadron leader's aircraft.

I wonder where dad and everyone else is. Can you see them?

Ariel's relaxed voice came from the back seat.

It's impossible to see them with so many people.

Yeah . . .

Ariel looked down somewhat sadly. Just as Caruel had said, it was impossible to make out individual faces in the crowd looking up. Among them were Ariel's father and two sisters, who had allowed her to embark on this journey.

Unfazed by the winds buffeting the aircraft, Ariel stretched her neck to look down at the ground, shouting and waving her outstretched hand.

Daaad! Sisteeers! Thanks for everything! I'll definitely, definitely, be back, so please wait for me!!