I look at the crater. At the ash. At the flying whale.

"Does this happen often?" I ask.

Sera doesn't answer. Just looks at the sky. Red eyes. Unblinking.

"You've lived longer than me," I say. "How have you never seen this?"

"Because I don't look up," she says. "I look at the road. At the tavern. At the door. Not at the sky."

"Maybe you should."

"Maybe."

She pauses. Looks at the whale disappearing into the clouds.

"That thing," she says. "It's ancient. Older than me. Older than the port. Older than the war. I've heard stories. But I never thought I'd see it."

"Stories?"

"Whales that fly. Whales that drop fire. — She looks at me. — I thought they were just stories."

Bukh stumbles over. Drinks. Wipes his mouth.

"Okay, don't worry about it., — hic —" he mutters. "Don't fill your head with this. Let's get out of here. Away from this pile of shit."

He points at the road. At the dark. At the mountains far away.

"Anywhere but here."

I look at the ruined port. At the ash. At the crater.

"Where do we go?" I ask.

"North," Corvin says. "The old watchtower. It's still standing. It's defensible. And it's far from... this."

He points his poker at the crater.

"Far from the whale shit."