As the Zeppelin approached the capital, a knot had twisted in his stomach and a tightness constricted his chest. Waist bent dangerously over the railing, hanging halfway to death, Orion Gray watched anxiously as the walls of the city glided effortlessly beneath them. It had been anticlimactic- not that he was expecting fireworks and trumpets for the passing of a wall. Perhaps it was merely the fact he had been allowed to even pass over them.  After all, not just anyone could waltz into the capital palace complex, or rather in this case, fly. For a young man who just a week ago had been living in dank ten by ten cell, with only a small rectangle dissected by four bars that they mistakenly called a window, this felt like a dream.

A hand grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him back over the edge, setting his feet firmly back on the deck.

“I’m starting to believe you have a death wish, Orie,” a gruff looking, dark complected man in his mid-forties snorted. “I’m not going on the rack because the future Sentinel smashed like a melon after falling from an airship.”

“I wasn’t going to fall,” Orion rolled his eyes at his new adoptive guardian: Captain Ruslan Padgett of the Imperial Guard. “The benefit of being an ex-burglar is retaining your balance and reflexes.”

“Well, you’re going to need that come the start of your training,” Captain Padgett smirked, raising a skeptical brow. “Let’s see how fast you’re moving come the third day of physical conditioning.”

Smacking Orion firmly on the back, Ruslan strolled away down the deck towards the small group of Janissaries playing cards on their olive canvas packs. Orion draped his arms back over the railing, hanging from his shoulders this time instead of his waist to humor the Captain. The multistoried buildings, holding offices and flats started smaller at the edges of the capital near the walls, but grew in height as they neared the center of the city. They were arranged in organized squares-- from the air, they laid out in a checkerboard pattern, outlined by paved roads and walkways. Now well into the capital, he could also see the frames of the suspended metal bridges that led out the opposite side of the city, crossing the river whose banks defined the one edge of the city, and snaked away to the distant horizon. The towers of the palace complex loomed as the city center moved closer.

His mind drifted back to his reason for his arrival at the capital, the reason he had been released from detention and into the care of his new guardian. He still had trouble believing that he was to be the next Sentinel to the Keeper of the Graced Gift. It would have been overwhelming enough for a street kid like him to accept that he was to be responsible for the protection of a Paragon, but Verity Starling was not simply just a divine being as her mother Avadiel had been. She was also the heir to the throne, giving him another reason to feel inadequate-- the last Sentinel had been her father, the Imperator.

Now, he was supposed to protect the last member of the Starling dynasty and the living essence of magic. Sure, why not? Why wouldn’t a delicate, spoiled, arrogant half Paragon Imperatrix, who had probably never wanted for anything or been told no a day in her life, accept her first Sentinel is a street kid with a criminal record?

The ground was approaching fast, and Orion’s thoughts drifted away from the Imperatrix and his eminent duty. He rushed to meet with the rest of Ruslan’s company, and found them gathering up cards and slinging packs over their shoulders. As the ramp clanged against the ground, it could hardly be heard amongst the moving people, the shouts, the machinery, and the general chaos of the market square. Orion couldn’t settle his eyes on a single object-- so much was moving and glinting and steaming and smoking. An insect like hum drew his attention across the crowded, frenetic square, and just as he found the source of the noise, a mud splattered twincycle raced past them, splitting the crowd as pedestrians dodged out of its path, his head following it and its white leather jacketed rider all the way through the market.

“From here we walk, kiddo,” Ruslan nudged his pack against Orion’s back, pushing him towards the towering presence of the palace.

One foot in front of the other, Orion trudged towards the palace gates, towards his inevitable, inescapable fate, towards Verity Starling, Imperatrix and Keeper of the Graced Gift.

Crossing under the gates, the group entered a long, landscaped courtyard filled with fountains and statues of Imperators come to pass. At the end stood a line of people that intimidated Orion; all dressed in clothing finer than any he had ever seen, decked with jewels and crowns and medals that glistened in the sun, standing in sort of a V formation behind the Imperator. He was a tall man, with black hair and smiling blue eyes. Here among them stood the most powerful man in all four realms, and yet he was the only one amongst them who seemed friendly to Orion.

 Just behind the Imperator to each side was an older woman and man. The man suffered a receding hairline streaked with gray, standing five to six inches shorter than Ruslan, but made up for it in width that was unsuccessfully hidden by a three piece charcoal suit and a violet tie,  a silver medallion upon his chest. The woman, whose silver hair was intricately fashioned and pinned around a simple metal band with a single moonstone in the center, wore a narrow waisted dress near the same color as the man’s tie, with wispy fabric sleeves draping over her shoulder and brocaded lace. Just behind and to the left, a younger woman, perhaps in her late thirties, wearing a worried look and less sophisticated clothing than her companions, with her crisp tailored cream blouse and her hunter green knee length skirt, paired with tan leggings and brown leather boots. A handful of others were harder to see hidden behind the first row, but they all appeared to be men and women between thirty and fifty, wearing various colors of suits.

“Your Majesty, Dowager Impera, Minister Gideon, Royal cabinet,” Ruslan addressed with a bow that was more of a bob, pressing his hand against Orion’s neck forcing him to imitate the motion, “I present you Orion Adler Gray, the first Sentinel of our dear Imperatrix…” his voice trailed, his eyes darting to the woman in the cream blouse whose expression read panic. “Should I even ask where she is?”

“Right here!” a distant shout reverberated through the courtyard and halls.

The Dowager Impera took a deep, impatient sounding inhale, closed her eyes, and exhaled her breath. Orion thought it might be to keep from shouting. The footfalls got closer and louder as a young girl about Orion’s age, probably no older than fifteen, came charging up to them, one arm pumping with the movement of her stride, the other balancing a helmet on her hip.

She was wearing a white leather jacket.

Sliding to a halt just before she collided with the aggravated looking welcome party, she shoved the helmet and goggles into the hands of the young woman in the cream blouse, trading it for a crown speckled with moonstones and amethyst. Clumsily shoving it over a tangled windblown braid, she smiled wide at Orion, panting behind teeth clenched forced smile.

“Meet your charge, Orion,” Ruslan announced, placing his hand against his waist and dipping into a much deeper bow, “and, bow to Verity Emeline Starling, Imperatrix of the Known Realms and Keeper of the Graced Gift.”

Orion dared a glance at the Captain, and back at the breathless Imperatrix, believing he had misheard.This feral looking creature was the Imperatrix? His eyes darted over the mud flecked white jacket and tan riding pants, her tangled black mane, and the olive toned stripe where her goggles had protected her eyes from the sooty grime that had collected faintly on the rest of her face.

“Your… your grace…” he managed, biting back a laugh, not sure whether it was her appearance or how far it was from what he had imagined that was amusing.

As his head came back level with hers from his bow, he noticed her striking indigo eyes--a trait of her Paragon ancestry-- and it finally registered that she was indeed Verity Starling, Imperatrix and Keeper, no matter how little she actually met his preconceived notions.

“Well now,” spoke the man who Ruslan had called Minister Gideon, and Orion thought he resembled a pug with his scowling face and stout stature, “introductions are out of the way. The Imperatrix must return to her studies,” his eyes narrowed at the Imperatrix who, regardless of age, was his superior, and Orion thought he was the only person besides her grandmother that could speak to her in such a stern tone. “And, I’m sure Master Gray would like to settle into his new quarters and refresh before dinner… Captain Padgett, please escort our young Sentinel to his quarters, and we shall get to know him better at his welcome dinner later this evening.”

“Very good, Minister Gideon,” Ruslan nodded, acknowledging the command, and pushed Orion in front.

The woman in the cream blouse was already escorting the Imperatrix another direction while Ruslan was pushing him towards a grand staircase. He could not make out the words their conversation, he knew she was getting an earful from her lady.

“She hardly seems in need of a Sentinel,” Orion snorted, speaking only loud enough for Ruslan to hear.

“That’s what I thought too, kiddo,” Ruslan agreed, adjusting the bag slipping down his shoulder, “Yet, here you are. The Sisters are funny like that. You’ll see in time-- you’re here for a reason.”

“She’s a lot less…” Orion hesitated, looking back over his shoulder watching her outpace her lady as the woman nearly chased after her, searching for the right word, “... delicate than I thought she would be.”

At that, Ruslan erupted into a burst of laughter.

“Delicate,” he mused over the word. “That is true. I don’t believe that anyone has ever referred to Verity Starling as delicate.”

Orion stole another glance, pausing just before they rounded a corner putting a wall between them and the Imperatrix.

“Trust me, Orie,” Ruslan stopped, turning and giving him a solemn look. “Don’t fall in love. It’s easier that way.”

“What!? I… I was just--”

“Sure you were,” Ruslan smirked. “Now, quit leering. It’s unbecoming of a Sentinel.”

Swallowing hard, Orion, fought against the blush burning across his cheeks.