Chapter 27 – Man Made Miracles
Umbra stood beside Farah with her hands loosely folded behind her back, watching the aircraft taxi down the runway through the wide panes of reinforced glass. The afternoon light reflected off polished metal hulls and blinking signal lights, turning the whole scene into something that felt strangely ceremonial.
Farah had not moved for several minutes.
Her golden eyes were fixed on the enormous machine at the end of the runway as its engines began to whine louder, building from a hum into a trembling roar that vibrated faintly through the floor beneath their feet.
“I know you spoke of such creations,” Farah said quietly, almost reverently, “but to watch mortals fly without wings or magic is… breathtaking.”
Umbra allowed herself a small, fond smile.
“I should imagine so,” she replied. “I grew up here, in this time period, so this much is mundane for me. When one has no access to magic, innovation finds other paths. People here learned to bend physics the way mages bend mana.”
The aircraft began its sprint down the runway, faster and faster, until it seemed impossible that something so heavy could possibly leave the ground.
And then it did.
Farah inhaled sharply and held her breath as the machine lifted into the sky, climbing with steady determination into the clouds.
Umbra tilted her head slightly. “Did I ever tell you we made it into space?”
Farah turned to her so quickly that the movement almost looked like a snap of wings that were no longer there.
“Truly?” she demanded. “No jest?”
“Mhm,” Umbra said with a small nod. “There are roughly a dozen people in space at any given moment. There is a space station run by several nations that orbits the Earth. Scientists live there for months at a time.”
Farah stared at her as though she had just claimed mortals had swallowed the sun.
“They dwell… above the sky?” she asked carefully.
“Yes.”
“Would they not crash into the moon?”
Umbra let out a soft chuckle at that.
“The space station is only about four hundred kilometers above the Earth,” she said, slipping briefly into modern measurements before correcting herself. “Roughly forty leagues, if we’re being generous.”
Farah blinked.
“That is less than the distance we are to travel.”
“Indeed. The moon is much farther. About three hundred and thirty thousand kilometers. Around sixty-three thousand leagues, perhaps more. I might be a bit off. I don’t keep the exact figures memorized.”
Farah’s brows drew together in visible disbelief.
“That… that… you are tricking me,” she said slowly. “You must be.”
“I am not,” Umbra replied calmly. “My measurements may lack precision, but I tell no lie.”
Farah turned back to the sky as another aircraft ascended, its ascent cutting a white scar across the blue.
“Astonishing,” she breathed.
“And humans have landed on the moon too,” Umbra added casually.
Farah actually swayed slightly at that.
“They walked upon it?”
“Yes. Several times, though not recently. They gathered stones. Planted a flag. Took photographs.”
“This world is astounding,” Farah murmured, her voice softer now, touched with something close to humility. “I cannot comprehend it all. It makes me feel so small.”
Umbra studied her for a moment before looking out across the sprawling infrastructure beyond the runway, the highways, the terminals, the distant skyline rising in uneven clusters.
“This is a big world,” she said quietly. “This city, the one I spent nearly a third of my life in, is not even considered large by global standards. By worldwide metrics, it barely qualifies as a city. More like an oversized town.”
Farah’s eyes widened again. “But there are so many people,” she protested gently. “And it stretches so far. The lights alone must rival constellations at night.”
Umbra nodded. “There is one city, in a similar time zone but far to the north, called Tokyo. The greater metropolitan area has around forty million people.”
Farah turned to her slowly.
“Forty… million?”
“Yes. Roughly eight times the population of this entire nation.”
Farah fell silent at that, her gaze drifting back toward the departing aircraft as though recalibrating her understanding of scale itself.
“In our home,” she said after a long pause, “cities are defined by towers of light and concentrations of divine presence. Here, they are defined by… density of mortal will.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Umbra replied with a faint smile.
Farah exhaled slowly.
“They have no magic,” she said, almost to herself. “No divine mandate. And yet they pierce the heavens. They cross oceans. They touch the moon.”
Umbra’s expression softened, something like pride flickering briefly across her features.
“When humans lack miracles,” she said, “they build them.”
Farah watched another aircraft rise into the sky, and this time there was no disbelief in her expression… Only awe.
“Countess Steelblight? Countessa Steelblight?”
Both women turned at once toward the voice cutting through the ambient murmur of the terminal.
The speaker was a human man, perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties, dressed in a crisp army uniform that sat stiffly across his shoulders. His boots were polished to a shine that reflected the overhead lights, and he held himself with the particular straight-backed tension of someone who had been briefed extensively and was determined not to make a mistake.
Umbra inclined her head slightly, adjusting the fall of her coat around her shoulders.
“Yes?” she replied evenly.
Farah was still visibly distracted, her gaze drifting occasionally toward the windows as if she half expected to see another machine tear itself free of gravity. The soldier cleared his throat.
“Is the plane ready?” Umbra asked before he could continue, her tone efficient and faintly impatient.
“Yes, Countess. Please follow me.”
He turned and began walking toward a restricted access gate, swiping a badge and holding it open for them.
They followed. The narrow corridor beyond the gate led to one of the covered boarding tunnels that connected the terminal to the airfield. It had clearly not been designed with horned nobility in mind. Umbra paused at the entrance, assessing it with narrowed eyes.
Farah glanced at her. “Is something wrong?”
“It appears,” Umbra said carefully, “that modern architecture did not account for my current… silhouette.”
She attempted to step through with a crouch and was rewarded when her horn struck the top of the tunnel with a dull thunk. The soldier flinched. Umbra exhaled slowly, then bent at the waist and knees, lowering herself into an awkward half-crouch. Even then, the curved tips of her horn scraped audibly along the ceiling panels as she shuffled forward. At one point there was a sharp crack as a horn tip punctured a thin section of interior lining.
She paused. The soldier pretended very hard not to notice. When they finally emerged from the tunnel and stepped onto the open airfield, the full force of the airport struck them. The roar of engines, the grinding whine of turbines, the sharp metallic clatter of ground equipment and the smell of fuel hanging heavy in the air. For ordinary humans, it would have been loud. For them, with their heightened senses, it was overwhelming. Farah winced visibly, pressing her hands briefly over her ears.
“It is very noisy!” she shouted over the din.
Umbra straightened to her full height now that there was nothing above her to impede her horn. The wind caught the edge of her coat and tugged it sharply.
“Yes,” she agreed, raising her voice. “Humans compensate for fragility with volume.” She said with a smiled.
They continued across the tarmac, guided by the soldier who seemed increasingly aware that he was escorting beings who did not entirely belong to his world.
Ahead, one of the larger hangars stood open and inside rested a massive aircraft with a broad, thick body and four propellers mounted along its wings. Its frame was utilitarian and sturdy rather than sleek, built more for endurance than elegance. Umbra slowed slightly as recognition settled in.
“A Hercules,” she murmured. “If I am remembering correctly.”
The soldier glanced back, faintly surprised. “Yes, Countess. C-130.”
The propellers were already turning slowly, the blades blurring as they gathered speed.
Waiting near the lowered ramp stood a broad-shouldered man in flight gear. His expression was composed, but his eyes carried the alert awareness of someone who understood that today’s passengers were far outside standard protocol.
Gareth Murphy stepped forward as they approached.
“Mrs. and Mrs. Steelblight,” he said with a respectful nod.
Umbra inclined her head in return.
“Captain,” she acknowledged.
Farah offered a small, dignified bow of her own.
“This will be our ride to Hamilton?” Umbra asked.
“Yes, Mrs Steelblight,” Captain Murphy replied. “We are ready to go.”
He gestured toward the open rear ramp.
The interior of the aircraft yawned behind him. The inside was cavernous, metallic, lined with webbed seating and cargo restraints. The air inside vibrated with the deep mechanical hum of a machine preparing to challenge gravity.
Farah looked up at the immense structure, awe returning to her features.
“You trust yourselves to this?” she asked quietly.
Umbra allowed herself a faint smile.
“If something goes wrong, you can just fly away, no?” She teased in Ganymedean before walking in.
“Incouragable.” Muttered the angel before following her in.