He had never seen Ironport.

He traveled as far as Heliport and back, but never to Ironport. And yet, he somehow knew this was Ironport.

Must be all the reading, he thought to himself as he walked down the wide and lonely bridge that connected the south side of the city, with the north.

Ironport, one of the main cities in Makina, by far the largest but least populated port where most of the trade occurred. The main part of the city rose suspended mid-air, on top of the Rhain, the river that traveled across three major cities and flowed into Coverfell, the large sea west of Makina. Narrow bridges connected the eight sections of the city, commonly called islands by the inhabitants of the hectic and metallic port. 

On the northern part of Ironport, a huge waterfall named Alma after the woman who once fell to her death from the top, fed the Rhain and gave the city its trademark cold and sweet breeze. As he reached the Island of Oil, he thought he heard something, but what could it be? A squeak? A sound akin to an old and rusty machine struggling to function properly. He turned around, trying to find the source of the sound, but found nothing, and no one else seemed to hear it. He shrugged and made his way to the other side of the island.

There are a lot of people at Ironport today, he thought, astonished at the sight of the huge crowd gathered around the small shops.

Were there really a lot of people? Sure, they were far more than he ever saw at Slatehallow, the place he called home. But since he never visited Ironport before, he couldn't really tell if these were in fact a lot of people, or if they were just the right amount.

The squeak once more, louder than before. Again, he seemed to be the only one who heard it. It made sense. How can anyone hear anything over this noise? Merchants shouting, buyers bargaining, and sellers offering, all of them trying to out-scream one another. 

Utter chaos. Controlled, perhaps, usual for those accustomed to it, which by the looks of it were everyone but him. But chaos nonetheless, boisterous and wild, loud and overwhelming. An explosion to the senses. A multitude of thunder. He wasn't enjoying his experience in Ironport.

Now, however, is as good a time as any to wonder why I'm here.

Why indeed. Was there a purpose to his visit? One doesn't just exist in a place with no clear meaning. How did he get to Ironport? What laid beyond Ironport? What laid beyond him? 

He finally reached the waterfall and stopped right at the edge, where Alma stood before she leaped to her death. He wondered what drove her to that point, how bad things were for her. And he wished he could've helped her, given her some solace against the great dispair. A weird thought, considering Alma died three hundred gears before, but a kind one at least.

The sheer force of the waterfall unnerved the ground. For a few moments, he wondered if Alma, like him, stood at the very edge, beholding the water below when the unexpected tremble of the ground made her fall. Maybe, he thought, she didn't want to die. Maybe it was an accident. His stomach turned at the thought. What a waste.

The squeak once more. This time, he knew he heard it and he turned around, determined to find the source. He walked back to the islands, following the sound of metal crashing and the smell of sweat, and melting iron. He arrived at the central bridge, connecting north and south, stopped, and looked around. 

A dormant fixture in a sea of motion. Wind smashed against his face, sweet salt caressed his skin. The waves below, so distant and calm, still felt like rhythms under his feet. Where was it? What was it? It was close, he could tell. But it eluded him still, hiding like a shadow in a barely-lit space. Did it swim on the depths below? Did it slither in the crowd around? Then it hit him. Perhaps it hovered in the sky above. He looked up to the sky and saw it.

Bird or machine? Perhaps both, and the squeak was the movement of old, rusty, and enormous wings. At first sight, the bird seemed to be falling apart. Indeed, he thought he saw a few loose cogs here and there. However, it still loomed large enough to cover at least two entire islands under the length of its battered, tired limbs. 

The crowd started to notice it too. Some looked in awe, eyes widening and jaws dropping. Others seemed anxious, confused, tightening their fists and grinding their teeth. No one moved, though. Statues on the pavement, they just looked to the skies, towards the strange visitor from above. Nature still unknown, purpose still a secret, the bird failed to react to the people below. Instead, it just kept floating, wings still batting. Squeak still squeaking.

And then it happened. Suddenly and without warning, the machine opened its long, pointy beak and a great ball of fire came out of its depths, landing on the Island of Scrap Metal. The air around turned orange, the ground roared in agony and fear, and the entire world screamed with the fury of a thousand lungs. 

Flames rapidly spread across the remains of old machines, reducing them to nothingness within seconds. Dancing flares cracked with glee as they melted everything in sight, turning the metal monster into a pool of burning debris. Men and women made their way towards the bridges and he thought he could literally see the life jumping out of them. 

The bird fired once more, this time towards the Island of Precious Stones. In the bat of an eye, two islands were down and Ironport was no more. Hell was real and fired ruled supreme. Long gone was the cold breeze of Alma. Now, the molten metal turned the port into a furnace as tiny burning particles floated around. They fluttered around his eyes and into his body, blurring his vision and clogging his lungs. 

Nearly blind and losing breathable air by the step, he joined the herd of people as they ran towards the entrance of the city. Surely, he thought, the bird will keep its focus on the city. Surely, it's not after us. Surely. Alas, he was wrong. The bird turned around and pointed its beak towards the moving crowd, releasing another ball of fire. 

He had never heard actual pain before. Blood-curdling, heart-stopping, head-spinning pain. The kind that can stop the world from turning. The kind that can bring Gods to their knees. Pain like no person should ever feel. Pain like no one ever imagined. He had never heard such pain before. He did now.

The smell of burning flesh infested the air and the heat became unbearable. The bridge collapsed, its foundations destroyed instantly. The flaming bodies fell below, balls of agony and blaze that turned the Rhain into a river of fire and blood. 

He managed to cross the bridge, the gates of the city standing only a few steps away. But even if he reached them, where could he go? Where could any of them go? How could mortal feet escape the flying inferno? How could man defeat machine?

A large woman crashed against him, and he fell to the ground, hitting his head against a small rock. Balance left him and shadows embraced him. He crawled as fast as he could, shards of hell drilling his exposed skin, flaming earth branding his every limb. Away from the incoming crowd, he crept into the bridge that led to the Island of Fabrics, crossing it with slow determination. 

The bird still floated above, attacking no more. Now, it just hovered, patiently, calmly. Squeak. Waiting for something. Squeak. Someone? Squeak. He looked around but found nothing. The city was now a wreck, the islands were scattered around the Rhain, and only he remained among the wreckage.

The answer came to him, a ball of light in the utmost darkness. Could the bird be waiting for him?

He wondered if there was something he could do. His training, tired of being neglected and forgotten, abandoned him some time in the last few gears. Attacking the bird alone was out of the question. He needed something, a knife or a gun or even a stick. Anything to actually put up a fight.

But he had nothing, and nothing remained except for fire and gore and the echoes of a thousand souls whose last breath still lingered in the air around. The bird's small head turned to him and its glowing red eyes looked directly at his, acknowledging him. Calling to him. Daring him. He rose almost involuntarily, acting not out of bravery or fear, but something else. Instinct, perhaps? No, something much stronger.

Duty.

Had the bird possessed lips, it would've certainly smiled. Its beak opened yet again and the cruel warmth emanated from its depths. He didn't even hesitate and jumped towards it just as the ball of fire came out. Hands stretched as if capable of stopping the flames, they failed magnificently and defeat's familiar touch found him again. Fire met flesh and the world around him ceased to exist, consumed by the merciless grasp of a bottomless pit. 

He failed again.

If he wanted to win, he thought as a new reality materialized around him, he needed something to fight with. Some hidden skill, some special ability. 

After all, if there ever was a timely situation to be extraordinary, surely this was one.