Dalia raced through Millport's winding streets, her crew close behind as they sprinted toward the repair yard. The acrid stench of burning magical lubricant grew stronger with each turn, and the plume of dark smoke rising into the evening sky guided their desperate path.

  "The crystal," Joran gasped as they ran. "If it's damaged—"

  "Don't even think it," Dalia cut him off, pushing herself faster.

  They rounded the final corner to find the repair yard in controlled chaos. Workers scrambled with fire suppression equipment, directing streams of chemical retardant toward a section of smoking machinery. Relief washed over Dalia as she realized the Gull itself wasn't ablaze—the explosion had occurred in an adjacent maintenance bay.

  Repair yard security officers formed a perimeter, keeping bystanders at a distance. Dalia flashed her captain's insignia, pushing past them with the authority of someone whose property might be at risk.

  "My ship," she demanded of the first worker she reached. "The Crimson Gull—is it damaged?"

  The woman pointed toward their docking berth. "Some debris hit your port side. Nothing catastrophic, but you'll want to check the stabilizer array. It took the brunt of it."

  Dalia didn't wait for further details, striding purposefully toward the Gull with her crew in tow. As they approached, she felt her stomach tighten. While indeed not ablaze, the ship hadn't escaped unscathed. The explosion had peppered the port hull with shrapnel, leaving ugly gouges in the already damaged plating. More concerning, the stabilizer array—which had been partially disassembled for repairs—now hung at an even more precarious angle, several key components dangling by mere cables.

  "This wasn't random," Finnian stated, examining the pattern of damage with a soldier's experienced eye. "The explosion originated there." He pointed to the maintenance bay where teams were still working to extinguish smoldering equipment. "Directly adjacent to our most vulnerable system."

  Tessa was already climbing the maintenance scaffold, her fingers tracing the extent of the new damage with professional dismay. "The harmonic dampeners are shot," she called down. "And the primary control rod is severed. This adds at least three days to our repair timeline, possibly more."

  "If they even have replacement parts," Arlo added darkly.

  Bellis appeared from the crowd of workers, her earlier professional detachment replaced by genuine concern—or at least a convincing facsimile. "Captain Sinclair! Thank the winds you're here. A catastrophic failure in the particle accelerator bay—completely unprecedented. I've already assigned a team to assess the additional damage to your vessel."

  "How convenient," Dalia replied, making no effort to hide her suspicion. "An explosion right next to my ship's most critical repair area."

  The foreman had the grace to look uncomfortable. "These things happen in repair yards. Machinery under stress, magical components—"

  "Save it," Dalia interrupted. "I want full access to your incident reports, surveillance records, and a list of everyone who had access to that bay in the past six hours."

  "That's not standard protocol for civilian captains," Bellis objected.

  "Neither is having my ship targeted for sabotage," Dalia countered. "I can involve the Territorial Authority if you prefer."

  The mention of the Authority shifted something in Bellis's demeanor—not fear exactly, but a calculated reassessment. "I'll see what I can provide. In the meantime, my team will prepare a revised repair estimate."

  "Do that." Dalia turned away, her focus returning to her ship. "Tessa, give me a complete assessment of our status. What's still functional, what's not, and what we absolutely need to get airborne in an emergency."

  As the engineer set to work, Dalia began a methodical inspection of the Gull's interior. The explosion hadn't penetrated the hull, but the impact had knocked several systems offline. Warning lights flashed on backup panels, and the familiar hum of the ship's atmospheric regulators had been replaced by an irregular, laboring rhythm.

  The inspection took her through the main deck corridor where a ceiling panel had been knocked loose by the explosion's shockwave. Dalia reached up to secure it when she noticed something odd—a hidden compartment revealed behind the displaced panel. Carefully, she reached into the space and extracted what appeared to be a waterproof document case, its metallic surface scratched but intact.

  "What have we here?" she murmured, unlatching the case.

  Inside was a collection of official papers relating to the Gull—documents that should have been in the captain's standard registry but had clearly been concealed instead. As she sorted through them, her eyes widened. Among maintenance logs and classified modification records lay the ship's official decommissioning order with Academy seals.

  The line that caught her attention made her pause in disbelief:

  Total Salvage Value Upon Decommissioning: 34,200 Credits

  Dalia stared at the figure, incredulous. Even in its current damaged state, the Gull was worth far more than that—at least three or four times as much, by her estimation. The intricate harmonic systems alone would fetch close to that price on the open market, not to mention the rare alloys used in the hull's construction or the custom navigation array.

  Most telling of all, she realized as she scanned the detailed inventory attached to the valuation, was what wasn't listed. Nowhere in the document was the Arcanite crystal mentioned—not as cargo, not as equipment, not as anything. According to these official papers, the crystal simply didn't exist, which meant technically, it was included in the decommissioning price.

  "Someone made a very clever mistake," she whispered, understanding dawning. Either through incompetence or deliberate action, the Academy had officially valued the entire ship—including its most valuable secret cargo—at a fraction of its true worth.

  She was still studying the documents when Finnian appeared in the corridor. "Captain, you need to see this."

  He led her to the cargo hold where they'd secured the crystal. The heavy doors remained sealed, but someone had attempted to override the authentication panel. Scorch marks surrounded the control interface, and tiny fragments of a disruptor tool lay scattered on the deck.

  "Amateur work," Finnian assessed. "Whoever did this lacked both proper equipment and expertise."

  "Or they wanted it to look that way," Dalia countered. "Is the crystal secure?"

  "The outer doors held. I've already stationed Arlo inside as a precaution."

  "Good." Dalia rubbed her temples, feeling the weight of compounding problems. "Gather everyone in the mess. We need to talk."

  Twenty minutes later, the crew of the Crimson Gull sat around the small mess table, faces illuminated by emergency lighting as Tessa outlined their situation.

  "The sabotage was precise but not comprehensive," she reported. "They damaged exactly what would extend our repair time without completely disabling the ship. Primary propulsion is intact, life support is functional but degraded, and the crystal remains secure."

  "They're keeping us grounded but operational," Dalia summarized. "Which fits with everything else we've seen in Millport. The repair delays, Blacklock's convenient suicide, Hayes's unusual knowledge..."

  "Someone wants us here but contained," Joran agreed, his normally melodic voice tightened with concern. "The question is why."

  Dalia placed the decommissioning documents on the table. "I found these hidden in a compartment that the explosion revealed. Look at this valuation."

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Tessa studied the figure, her engineering expertise immediately recognizing the discrepancy. "Thirty-four thousand? That's absurd. The specialized arcane integrators alone are worth nearly twenty thousand. Even as scrap, the rare metals in the hull would exceed this price."

  "Precisely," Dalia nodded. "And look what's missing from the inventory."

  Finnian scanned the document, his methodical mind quickly understanding the implication. "The crystal isn't listed."

  "Meaning it's technically included in the ship's decommissioning value," Dalia confirmed. "Whether by oversight or design, the Academy has officially valued a priceless interdimensional artifact at... nothing."

  "This is a bureaucratic gold mine," Arlo grinned, immediately grasping the opportunity. "Under Territorial salvage laws—"

  "Any captain holding provisional command of a vessel marked for decommissioning can claim ownership by compensating the original owner for the assessed salvage value," Dalia finished. "Yes, I've been thinking the same thing."

  "But surely they'd contest this," Tessa objected. "The moment they realize the crystal isn't separately accounted for—"

  "They'd have to admit it exists," Finnian interrupted. "Officially acknowledge they placed an illegal Arcanite formation aboard a supposedly decommissioned vessel. That would raise far too many questions from the Territorial Authority."

  "It's a loophole," Dalia agreed. "One that someone may have created deliberately, or that exists through remarkable incompetence. Either way, it's an opportunity."

  "To purchase the Gull—and everything aboard it—at a fraction of its true value," Joran concluded, understanding lighting his pearlescent features.

  A thoughtful silence fell over the group. Finally, Finnian voiced what they were all considering: "The bounty for Blacklock was fifty thousand credits. After repair costs, we'd still have more than enough to purchase the Gull outright."

  "And become free agents," Arlo added, excitement evident in his voice. "No longer bound to Academy authority or whatever scheme they've been running."

  "It won't be that simple," Dalia cautioned. "They won't simply let us go. Whatever they planned for the crystal and for me as its Bearer—that hasn't changed."

  "No," Tessa agreed grimly. "But it would change the power dynamic. As provisional captain, you're subject to Academy recall at any time. As owner, you'd have legal standing that even they would find difficult to circumvent."

  Dalia looked around at her crew—these people who had begun as strangers forced together by circumstance and now stood with her facing dimensional catastrophe. The realization struck her that ownership meant more than just control of the vessel; it meant responsibility for them as well.

  "I'm going to do it," she decided, resolution hardening her voice. "Transfer the credits and claim ownership before they realize what's happening."

  "They'll fight it," Finnian warned.

  "Let them try," Dalia replied. "I've had enough of being their pawn."

  The Territorial Authority communication center operated around the clock, its secure transmission equipment heavily shielded against both conventional and magical interference. Dalia stood before the main console, finalizing the transfer of credits while a certified witness from the Authority validated the transaction.

  "34,200 credits to the Aeronautical Academy War Treasury, registered as payment in full for the airship Crimson Gull, registry number AWA-2276," the clerk intoned, affixing an official seal to the document. "Transfer of ownership to Captain Dalerihana Sinclair, effective immediately. Congratulations, Captain. She's all yours."

  Dalia accepted the document, a strange mixture of emotions washing over her. The Gull had been thrust upon her as punishment, yet somehow had become home. Now it was truly hers—her responsibility, her freedom, her future. And at a price that represented perhaps a tenth of the ship's actual value, not even counting the priceless crystal.

  "The Authority has already registered the transfer in the central database," the clerk added. "The Academy will be notified automatically."

  "I imagine they will," Dalia murmured, tucking the ownership papers securely inside her jacket.

  She left the communication center to find Commander Hayes waiting in the corridor, her imposing figure backlit by the building's atmospheric lighting.

  "A bold move, Captain Sinclair," Hayes commented, falling into step beside her. "The Academy won't be pleased to lose a vessel of the Gull's caliber for such a... modest sum."

  "I didn't become a captain to please the Academy," Dalia replied evenly.

  "No, I don't imagine you did." Hayes guided them toward her private office. "I've received the preliminary report on Blacklock's death. You'll want to see this."

  Once inside the office, Hayes activated a privacy field that hummed faintly around the perimeter, preventing both conventional and magical eavesdropping. She then placed a thin folder on her desk.

  "Blacklock didn't commit suicide," she stated without preamble. "He was murdered, made to look like suicide. The medical examiner found trace evidence of a paralytic agent in his system—one that would have rendered him incapable of resistance while allowing him to remain conscious throughout."

  Dalia felt cold anger building as she scanned the report. "Who had access to his cell?"

  "That's where it gets interesting," Hayes replied, her expression grim. "The security logs show only authenticated Authority personnel entering the detention level. But the surveillance footage for the specific timeframe of his death has been corrupted—quite professionally, I might add."

  "An inside job," Dalia concluded.

  "Almost certainly. Which means my organization has been compromised." Hayes's voice remained steady, but Dalia could see the controlled fury in her eyes. "I've initiated a silent internal investigation, but until I know who's involved, we must proceed with extreme caution."

  "Why tell me this?" Dalia asked directly. "For all you know, I could be part of the conspiracy."

  Hayes smiled thinly. "If you were, Captain, you wouldn't have purchased your ship. You'd have continued playing the role of reluctant pawn while secretly advancing their agenda." She leaned forward, lowering her voice despite the privacy field. "Besides, I've seen your Academy records—the real ones, not the doctored version Caldwell created. Your expulsion was engineered specifically to place you aboard the Gull with the crystal."

  This confirmation of her suspicions sent a chill down Dalia's spine. "How deep does this go?"

  "Deeper than either of us initially believed." Hayes activated a concealed panel in her desk, revealing a holographic projection of what appeared to be communication logs. "We've intercepted fragmentary transmissions between Academy leadership and yet-unidentified contacts within the Harmonic Conclave. They reference something called 'The Convergence Protocol'—a plan to deliberately trigger controlled dimensional collapse in specific locations."

  "Controlled Severance," Joran had called it—the Traditionalists' belief that managed dimensional breakdown would lead to transcendence.

  "They need the crystal for this," Dalia stated.

  "They need a Bearer more," Hayes corrected. "The Key alone isn't sufficient. According to our intelligence, the protocol requires a specific harmonic resonance that only you seem capable of providing."

  The implications crashed down on Dalia with sickening clarity. "That's why they engineered my expulsion. Why they manipulated Ezra into assigning me to the Gull. They needed me to form a connection with the crystal."

  "Precisely. And now that you have—now that you've demonstrated the ability to control and direct its energies—you've become even more valuable to them." Hayes's expression grew grave. "Which is why the attempt on your ship was only the beginning. They won't destroy the crystal, but they will eliminate everyone around you, isolate you, until you have no choice but to cooperate."

  "They've underestimated my crew," Dalia stated with quiet confidence.

  "Perhaps. But they've also infiltrated my organization, sabotaged your ship, and eliminated Blacklock—our best lead for unraveling their network." Hayes straightened, reaching a decision. "I'm arranging secure transport for you and your crew to the research facility at Northridge. It's off the official registry, fully shielded against both conventional and harmonic detection."

  Dalia narrowed her eyes. "And why should I trust this offer?"

  "Because the alternative is waiting here for their next move," Hayes replied bluntly. "The transport leaves at dawn. Until then, I suggest you maintain the appearance of cooperation with the repair schedule."

  As Dalia left the Authority Tower, the weight of ownership papers in her jacket was now matched by the heavier burden of Hayes's revelations. The Gull was hers, but with that ownership came a target—not just on her back, but on everyone she cared about.

  The night air of Millport carried the scent of machinery and progress, the city's ever-shifting architecture grinding through its nocturnal reconfiguration. Dalia moved swiftly through the shadows in direction to the Gull, senses sharp, scanning for any sign of trouble.

  Her mind buzzed with contingency plans, each step calculated, until a familiar silhouette stepped suddenly into her path.

  Finnian stood quietly, blocking her way, his expression grim even in the faint moonlight.

  "We need to talk," he said softly, urgency clear in his tone.

  "Where are the others?" she demanded, instantly alert.

  "Taken," he replied, voice tight with controlled fury. "Territorial marshals arrived at the ship twenty minutes after you left. They had detention orders for Tessa, Arlo, Joran—and me—signed by Commander Hayes herself. Fortunately, I was out picking up some essential supplies—of the sharp and explosive variety."

  Dalia felt the blood drain from her face. "That's impossible. I just left Hayes."

  "Evidently not," Finnian countered, handing her a crumpled document bearing what appeared to be Hayes's authentic signature. "Or someone has become very good at forgery."

  As Dalia examined the detention order, a small communication device in Finnian's pocket activated, projecting a flickering image into the space between them. The face that materialized made Dalia's heart stutter with shock.

  Professor Caldwell smiled thinly from the projection, his academic robes replaced by what appeared to be a Territorial Authority uniform.

  "Captain Sinclair," he greeted her with cold satisfaction. "Congratulations on your new ownership status. Now then, shall we discuss terms for your crew's safe return?"