Flight of the Limpid Fairy
Under the moonlight, I stepped out of the lab and stood in the clearing, gazing up at the cliff. It looked about seven stories tall—roughly twenty meters high. With a slope nearing ninety degrees, there was no way I could climb it barehanded.
“Is there a path up there?”
[Yeah. Just go around the back. I’ll guide you.]
I checked my watch. It was three in the afternoon. I had no idea how far the detour would be, but scaling twenty meters didn’t seem like it would take long.
“Hold on. I’ll grab my bag from the entrance.”
[The path to the top starts a little farther down from here, so let’s go together.]
Reaching my bag, I pulled out the water bottle and took a few gulps. Energy returned to my body, still weary from the chase with the fairies. Carrying everything would be too heavy, so I packed only one bottle of water and a single piece of bread into the pouch.
After retracing the path for about five minutes, I turned onto a hiking trail worn smooth by cadets’ boots. How far had we climbed? Number One led me onto a slope that barely qualified as a path.
“This is really the right way?”
[Yeah. Hurry up.]
The fairy darted between the dense trees, urging me on. If only I could fly like her, I’d have arrived ages ago.
“Huff…”
I must have underestimated how long circling the cliff would take. If I wasn’t careful, the sun might set before I even opened the door and came back down.
“Still not there?”
[Almost.]
How many times had I heard that? If I hadn’t kept up with physical training, I would’ve collapsed long ago. Massaging my thighs, burning from the steep incline, I alternated between walking and resting until I finally reached the summit.
Then another problem appeared. A rickety wooden bridge with broken sections spanned the gap between cliffs. Crossing that looked more likely to send me to the afterlife than to my destination.
“Is this bridge actually safe?”
[Yeah. Our master used to cross it all the time. Even after she passed, we’ve kept maintaining it.]
Hmm. It looked precarious, but knowing the fairies had been taking care of it gave me confidence. They’d kept the decades-old Aindium in perfect condition and maintained the lab spotlessly—surely this bridge was sturdier than it appeared. Besides, after coming all this way, I couldn’t just leave without piloting the Aindium, especially one left behind by Professor Carol.
Steeling myself, I decided to cross. Just in case, I took a moment to prepare mentally.
“Hoo…”
After a deep breath, I carefully stepped onto the creaking planks. It swayed uneasily, but as long as I avoided the broken parts, I made it across safely.
At last, I reached the entrance. The massive door embedded in the ground was made of thick steel—impossible to lift with human strength.
[Don’t worry. It doesn’t open by force.]
“Then why can’t you open it?”
[You have to turn this valve. A person can do it, but the most physical force we can exert is pressing a button. Even dozens of us fairies couldn’t turn it.]
Number One pointed to a valve set a short distance from the door. Let’s see… a bit of rust. WD-40 would’ve been nice, but no cadet would carry something like that around. Then again, Kirié or Neria might.
A little rust and stiffness wasn’t going to stop my burning passion for Aindium.
“Hup!”
Putting every calorie from the pasta I’d eaten earlier into it, I heaved. The valve slowly began to turn. With a pssh of escaping compressed gas, the launch hatch of the Limpid Fairy, sealed for decades, started to open.
“Got it!”
[Good work. Let’s head down.]
Descending with Number One, my mind was filled with thoughts of Limpid. I couldn’t keep coming up here every time I wanted to sortie, so maybe I should move her to the academy grounds. No—if Alitus or the military academy found out, they might confiscate her. Better to set up a temporary shelter on Fairy’s Hill and bring in hangar materials later…
*
“Limpid! Did you miss me?”
Back in the lab, the magnificent black Nimust-class greeted me. Its matte-black armor held a restrained beauty, as if darkness itself had been carved into it. I’d been too distracted earlier to notice, but now the realization that I was the owner of such a stunning Aindium filled my chest with indescribable emotion.
[I knew you’d like her too. She’s our precious friend. Please take good care of her from now on.]
“I’ll do my best. Tell her that too.”
It was half-joking, but in the original story the fairies attached to White Fang sometimes acted like they were conversing with the Aindium. Fans generally believed fairies were support AIs that exchanged some kind of signal with their machines.
Number One, perched on my head, suddenly flew off and placed a hand on the Limpid Fairy’s breastplate.
[Lewina. Limpid says she wants to move right away.]
“Really?”
Was she actually communicating with the Aindium? The original work never went into detail about the fairies, so there was no way to know for sure. Still, if the Aindium wanted to fly, who was I to refuse?
I hurried into the cockpit and started the engine.
Vwoom—
As expected of a Nimust-class, it felt different from an Aind-class. The usual engine hum unique to Aindium was almost nonexistent. Output might be lower, but it suited the stealth and concealment properties of dark-attribute mana perfectly.
[Limpid’s taking off! Everyone, gather up!]
Everyone? At Number One’s shout, fairies began flying inside one after another. Including Number One, five fairies lined up neatly on the instrument panel.
“You’re not the only one coming with me?”
[You said you haven’t piloted much, right? We need at least this many to assist.]
“Ah… thanks.”
My pride stung a little, but there was no helping it. The fairies were uneasy about entrusting their family-like Limpid to a complete beginner like me.
I’d only flown a few times back in Karmanu, and since arriving here I hadn’t even done any practical piloting. The panel was simpler than expected—probably because it was an independently developed model—but I had no idea what any of the buttons or levers did. Simple abbreviations were labeled near each button, but they were all acronyms.
When I just sat there after starting the engine, the fairies giggled. One of them—not Number One—pointed at a button and spun in place.
[Try pressing this first.]
“This one?”
The moment I pressed the button the fairy indicated—
3… 2… 1…
LAUNCH
“Aaaaaah—!”
An enormous G-force slammed into me as the Limpid Fairy shot skyward. Several seconds later the crushing acceleration eased. My head felt fuzzy, so I slapped both cheeks with my palms to clear it.
“I’m flying…”
Normally, Aindium couldn’t fly under their own power. When the world setting was first conceived around bipedal combat robots, a few elements had been shoehorned in for convenience—one of them being the impractical aircraft. When the early setting books came out, setting enthusiasts had protested that “if even real aircraft barely fly, Aindium flying is ridiculous,” and the anime had reportedly been adjusted before airing.
Because of that setting, Aindium operating on Galaxia—aside from expeditionary forces heading to space or the space force itself—almost never flew. Even when they did, they needed massive jetpacks on their backs or were dropped from transport planes for airborne operations with parachutes.
Yet this machine, built by the father of Aindium, could apparently fly on its own. The status screen showed four wings mounted on its back. Glancing behind me, I saw translucent, ethereal wings extending from the shoulder units.
“Incredible.”
[Right?]
If the Limpid Fairy had appeared in the original story, it would’ve caused an uproar. She probably would’ve debuted alongside Lewina’s next appearance.
Finishing my pleasant daydream, I looked forward—and was met with a breathtaking sight. A deep sunset was spreading across the sea as the sun dipped below the horizon, while darkness crept across the opposite sky. Allob Island, home to the academy, was far larger than I’d imagined. The academy and the bustling district occupied only a tiny fraction of it. The rest—forests, mountains, rivers, and valleys—was perfect terrain for Aindium training.
Above, the sky displayed the intense mana magnetic field that, according to the Aindium series setting, created microscopic rifts in the air. It was the reason humanity couldn’t travel to space except via orbital elevators, and why satellites and aircraft had never developed despite technological superiority over Earth.
…But if the mana magnetic field was visible to the naked eye, wasn’t that dangerous? And the altitude kept climbing?
[Higher! Higher!]
[Hey, are you crazy? What happens if you keep mashing the booster button?]
[Why? It’s been so long—Limpid really wants to fly!]
[We have to fly in moderation! Don’t you know altitude regulations?]
[Don’t? know]
[Hey, Number Fifteen’s supposed to be on kitchen duty! Why’d you bring her along?]
[Huh? She said she wanted to ride, so I let her.]
…Something very chaotic was happening.
“Guys, guys. Shouldn’t we start heading down soon?”
[Right. If we turn while gradually lowering altitude… ah.]
Along with Number One’s short exclamation as she tried to calmly direct the situation, a massive impact struck the machine.