"Dad?" Alban asked, his voice was still slightly echoey. He was starting to shake him gently. "Dad?"

"What." Gale groaned, batting his son's hand away. He brought his arm back, covering his eyes from the creeping sun. "Be useful and shut that curtain..."

His head rolled forward, eyes still closed. "What are... you... doing here?"

"Cory said you had a fight, that you needed looking after." Alban stated as he did as he was asked. For a change, Gale noted.

"It's clotted already, 'Al', go back to work." He grumbled, he examined the gash on his hand with keen interest, he could see small reflections amongst the thickening scabs. They were welcome to stay. He suddenly lowered his arm, locking eyes with his son. "When did you start being called Al anyway?"

"When I started seeing her, Dad." Alban said simply. Gale put his head in his hand, he could feel the dried blood crack against his forhead. "She said you cut yourself, and you had a heart problem, aswell as a CPS episode…" Alban took his place on the footstool. "Not a good day…"

"She's five years younger than you Alban. Get someone your age." Gale grumbled, pulling his hand away and reaching for his whiskey bottle. He needed alcohol, it was the only thing that made sense… Or made things make sense.

"Dad. Do you need bandaging?" Alban asked flatly, taking the topic back to where it needed to be, away from his father's stinging judgement.

"No, I don't need banging." Gale grumbled, raising the broken bottle as something thudded to the floor. "You're doing enough of that already."

Alban was silent. Gale took a mouthful of the burning liquid before looking at his son curiously. He too was looking at something, fear and what looked like wonder in his eyes. It reflected back at them, like it was speaking to him.

"Dad. What is that?" Alban asked, nodding towards the object.

Gale cocked an eyebrow, and followed his son's gaze. He thought he might've dropped his pocket watch, or the bottleneck.

In his kingdom, Gale held many treasures. Things that meant a great deal to him, or to someone else. Like a warden at a great museum he was their keeper, even if he did a foul job at it…

But there was not one thing, not a single heirloom or trinket on this Earth that now held as much meaning, as much promise as the little pebble sized crystal lying softly on the floor.

"Dad?" Alban could barely find words, his father couldn't at all. He just starred, his eyes were transfixed on the small rock. Light bent in mysterious ways, it made the carpet around it glow and sparkle. It shattered the light of the still creaking sun into its component essences, scattering them unnaturally across the room again and again. The longer the light rested on it, the brighter it seemed to glow.

It did not belong...

Alban reached towards Gale's bottle of whiskey. Gale wordlessly held it out to him, both were gripped by this… thing's presence. Alban cringed as he took a large mouthful before handing it back. "Dad. Where Did you get this?"

Gale tried, he really tried.

He tried to explain this peculiar stone, yet there was nothing else that could come close to bringing about its existence. He watched as its surface began to cover with tiny cracks, each one splintering through it's cast rays of light. The facets on its surface wore away into a fine dust that scattered in place of all those colours on the stagnant air of the flat. Each spec sparkled in a new light, like each one had captured one colour for its own.

The cracks deepened, fracturing this stone to its core, yet somehow it didn't break.

"Can I?" Alban finally asked, gesturing at it. Gale couldn't do anything but nod. Alban reached for a discarded tumbler, using it to carefully scoop up the rock as if it were beyond delicate. It rang softly against the glass. Alban held it as close as to his eyes as he could, and when that wasn't enough he reached into his pocket for his glasses. Alban squinted at it, turning it every which way. He murmured theories silently, trying desperately to build some sense from this strange rock. Even now it had been worn and withered by unknown forces, it was still pure, untouched.

"That face makes you look like an idiot." Gale grumbled. Alban looked at him still shocked.

"Dad, how can you just say that?" Alban placed the broken bottle into his jacket. His father pulled out his pocket watch. "Why don't you start by telling me what this is?"

"I'll pass." He muttered, his motions were stiff as he began rocking back and forth. With a driving force downwards he got to his feet once again. Gale gritted his teeth as there was a brief pang of pain in his chest, he rubbed it, hoping the tightness would fade.

"Am I just giving this more significance than its actually worth?" Alban was once again spitting his words like venom. Part of him wished that each of them would stick into his father's back, alas Gale's skin was too thick for that. "Maybe you really are playing all of us, did you get this from the park?"

"You're the one with a multi-million quid company, why don't you find out for yourself!" Gale shouted back, He lit another cigarette as he took the last two shuffling steps to the threshold of his treasure room. He stopped, he could feel his son's eyes on him. He placed his hand back on his chest as the ache returned, and with it the sense something bad was about to come…

...and he finally found the words…

"You never needed me anyways." His words weren't harsh, they atleast weren't meant to sound harsh. The pain continued to build. He looked up at Alban, his eyes were still transfixed on him. He looked like he was expecting another firefight of words. "You can stay. Don't follow me."

Gale went into his kingdom without a further word, he swung the door shut behind him. He listened carefully, hearing his son start talking to someone, more than likely down his phone. Alban never inherited the ability to vocalise to himself as eloquently as his father could.

Gale let out a silenced gasp of pain. He leaned back as his back arched. His neck began to feel stiffer, his joints began to crack as he moved. Today was a bad day.

Through another mountain of effort he got to his chair, his throne creaked like he did.

His routine began, the only one he really had. Unabated by the presence of another he flicked on the ancient transceiver and wound the volume up. The frequencies were nought but static. The whitenoise was peaceful. Random yet constant, a beautiful chaos.

Gale's pen found paper in his massive journal. His words flowed easier than before. Small, yet meaningless events flowed together, and only on paper did he realise a pattern.

He continued to write absentmindedly, and then realization, this time, hit him like a freight train.

He dropped his pen in shock, its ink spattered across the page. His eyes were wide, like he had seen a ghost.

The mechanisms were so precise and intricate, yet their design was laid out afore him like a great schematic. He flicked back through the pages, passing over memories once desired, now dismissed.

Eventually he found it. Something he'd written so long ago the paper had begun to stain and crack. He ran his fingers around the large diagram, the same one from his abode within the city. The earth might not have turned, yet every detail was the same, right down to those rings.

"Eight doorways…" He mumbled, his pen back in his hand. He used it to point to various elements as the thoughts became words. "Eight different beams of light…"

He began to deface the intricate design with eight lines, each connecting from one ring to the City itself. He remembered the rooms behind the doors.

"Each containing their own city…" He next drew small spires in each one. he crossed out two of them. "Two broken doors, two broken Cities… Its balance is disturbed…"

He looked at his palm, he could almost see the pebble sitting there. "Something so small could cross once those links broke…"

He thought about his next move like an expert tactician. A series of moves one leading to another. For the first time, he felt as though the City was revealing a part of its nature.

"Destroy the others…" He began crossing out lines, he was imaging them as ropes holding something in place. As each one broke that something began to sway, until it could be held no more "... And then, the City can be seen by all..."

He had a plan.

"Maybe…"

For as long as he could remember that was the first day his broadcast was late.

Gale was standing on a hill now. The ocean's flawless waterline sat many feet below him. The ocean's depths continued to be revealed, bit by bit.

The greying aura seamed thicker now. Almost as if a fog had moved in, hazing away the most distant of spires, and dying the colours of the city deeper into grayscale. Shades and phantoms walked those mists, seen yet unseen. The only thing unaffected was the still beating dawn sun, it's surrounding sky was not as lucky

Even the ocean looked sick, its deep blue faded into a muted stoney grey.

Gale still couldn't hear the city's heartbeat, and in a way he was glad. He could still feel the sorrow it was calling. Its life was ending, like any approaching death, the City was scared.

Gale clenched his fists, the flight suit creaked as the gauntlets scrunched tight against one another.

His gaze was firm, like staring down an unseen enemy. His eyes began to flick back and forth. In his mind the plan's design played out. One event led to another, and carried on until that image of a populated city once more gleamed in his imagination.

It was time to begin.

Gale called out silently. His call was ignored.

Gale didn't stop though. His call found new meaning, a request, a conversation until finally it became words escaping in his voice.

"...I've done bad. I've done things I shouldn't and I know on some level I knew what I was doing and I wanted to. I pushed more people away than I care count, and I even pushed you away. But you've trusted me enough all this time I have one last thing to do…" His words were becoming passionate, his emotions sprang into each one and were projected across the draining seascape. "But I can't do it without you."

The world was still. It hadn't changed. His vision dropped to the sea beneath him. Gale felt he could give nothing more than that now. The tightness persisted in his chest.

With his head bowed down he couldn't see the object hover above him, until it got close enough that he realised there was no silence anymore.

With a beaming smile he looked up as it drifted to eclipse the sun. The Shardship's hull dripped with water like it had only just broken free of the ocean. Its crystal hull strained the light through into muted rainbows. its elements were darkened, yet somehow it still remained vibrant and willing, showing its loyalty to he that hurt it. Slowly it descended to arms reach

Gale stretched his arm out, withdrawing his gauntlet as he did so. He rested his hand on its nose once again, feeling the cracks and pits of its skin beneath his fingers. He could feel its attachment to him through it. The hum of its mystical propulsion filled him.

He waited with each breath. He was looking for something amongst all the sounds around him. He was searching for a feeling missing beneath everything else.

And as he found it, he grabbed it as hard as he could.

The Shardship's nose pulsed gently. Every time its texture changed, turning smooth and unbroken. There was hope yet.

Gale leapt from the hilltop with new abandon. His hand grabbed the control crystal from his belt as he landed, and the craft immediately followed his command. He climbed into its open canopy with strained movements. He didn't have any fear over his apparent weak condition, it was merely a sign his plan could work.

The skyline began flashing past far too quickly. The Shardship was flying with a renewed vigor, pushing itself harder, pushing itself faster. There was no darting between spires or through viaducts and causeways. There was no time.

In moments he had that spire in sight. Its eight point crown rose definitely higher than its surrounding shattered spires. It clung on. It had the power.

It had to fall...

The shardship rushed to an eventual resting flight high above the city below. The causeways were indiscernible, merely camouflaged with debris and wreckage. The eight points rose just above it. Gale eyed them carefully. The structure refused to betray its cause even now. The crown was no different than the rest of the tower, but that in itself made it unique. Gale cocked his head, he had questions for it, ones he'd get it to answer.

With his ship silhouetted against the still burning storm far beyond the city's reach he climbed onto its hull. The shardship rocked gently like a gliding bird, an elegance and grace to its flight. With careful feet he stepped out onto its wings, so he could look right at the rising beacon ahead. Its surface was cracked, a once clear surface like glass was now frosted and pitted.

Gale's eyes thinned. He examined it very carefully, trying to learn and observe what he could before the test. Yet it remained stubbornly unyielding.

He raised his hand ever so slightly past his head. Nothing.

Even higher, still nothing.

Full reach… Nothing.

He glanced over his shoulder, the ebbing cloud of light and fire remained equally unwilling to pass its secrets.

Without a word spoken Gale's flight suit spluttered to life. The shoulder blades glowed once more, albeit far dimmer. Yet it remained enough to lift him from the Shardship, arm outstretched.

Then his world erupted with light.

It was pure, there was no colour to it. It was just light, light let off by something far far more than just the City's own will. It was as if its very structure was exposed there in the sky. The light was the form of a gently swaying rope, drifting on unseen, unfathomable currents like its end had been severed. It hit his hand and illuminated the world bright enough to be akin to a star. Yet its perception, the awareness of its existence alone was unknowable. Its essence was alien, its cause truly beyond anything of comprehension.

But its purpose was clear. Gale let himself drop to the craft beneath him. He hastily directed it to the next beacon , his hand above him once again. Even now the former beacon's light was still present, a thin very fine beam nowhere as strong as it once was.

This time the light came from beyond the city as well as from the beacon itself. It flowed in both directions akin to water along a tight line. It never drifted, it never faltered. This string of light remained. The rope was fixed.

Gale removed his hand from the flow, with an inaudible clap the light flowed into the beacon uninterrupted once more, the light from the tower shot out far beyond the fog wall, fading and waning to a thin strand once again.

Gale could follow the light into the grey clouds. He could barely make out a single light like a distant star far away. His mind showed him the image on the mural once again.

The City, with lines connecting to stars…

"No…" He whispered, having to vocalise the web of thoughts and theories into one. He looked back at the tower, at the huge storm ways away.

The thread of light above him, the way one rippled. The way one was taunt.

"This City is suspended…" He muttered.

Doorways.

"By other Cities…"

He couldn't understand it, nor did he know why. The methods of how were beyond him. Yet there was a little sense he could make…

And that was that these lights, and that bridge far far away were the only things that kept the City where it was, wherever it was. The diagram was in his head again confirming that theory.

Cause and effect.

That stone came into the real world, why? Because of the fire on the very horizon he gazed at. The City felt like it dropped, why? Because of that fire. A link severed...

Gale jumped back into the Shardship as the pain in his chest increased. He took steady breaths as he flew the craft away in a relentless charge.

So if severed them all?

He continued to fly, keeping his momentum as fast as he could. The pain began to cause spots in his eyes.

The ShardShip charged into a long sideslip, encircling the stump of a long fallen tower.

" Dad are you there?" His grip on the City was fading, and yet Gale couldn't figure out why. A distant voice was calling, yet he couldn't figure out who it was.

He charged faster and faster at the tower ahead of him, aiming for just below the touch of the now shattered skywalk… At its thinnest point…

No… It was his grip on something else.

He had to check his hand to make sure he was still holding the crystal. He couldn't feel it.

The blood screamed in his ears. He felt like this was it, that there was nothing more after here.

His breath was raspy… His chest was tight… to the point of pain.

Absolute Pain.

"Thank You… For believing in me." He said, with two voices, to his shardship.

The devastation, the pain, was unbelievable.

The dream and reality mixed together, he could see himself flung from the shardship. Yet he could see his son leaning over him. Frantically speaking to someone in words he could no longer comprehend. He couldn't perceive, there was only pain and numbness.

Gale could see the falling wreckage, the tethers broke. All of them.

He couldn't tell if he hit the floor. There was only void.

Gale remembered two people, both of them standing over him. One in each world. He couldn't tell the truth from the not, the real world from the dream. Both were looking at him with panic and dread.

Both were looking upon him like upon a dead man…

His ashes faded away.