Alice in the Land of Steam

Chapter 1308 Did I ask you for a favor?
The whales flew across the sky, wailing and wounded, not a single part of their bodies unscathed. Hoarse cries emanated from their half-destroyed magical engines, while the shrill screams of leaking airbags sounded like desperate cries for help, yearning to return to their final resting place before death—the legendary homeland to which every whale in the deep sea ultimately returns. But the weapon's will did not originate from its own control; it was manipulated by others. Thus, when the wounded whales slowly opened their massive jaws, revealing the dark, chilling bomb bay doors, Ietta felt an indescribable fear.

Without warning, a torrential downpour of steel began.

In an instant, the distant horizon was completely engulfed by a continuous, blinding barrage of explosions. It wasn't sporadic artillery fire, but countless sparks of destruction erupting simultaneously, forming a surging, advancing wall of death. Flames soared into the sky, thick smoke billowed, and the earth trembled violently with a deafening roar. Even from a great distance, Miss Angel could clearly feel the dull, persistent throbbing beneath her feet, like the earth's painful heartbeat. Each flash of the explosion was like an invisible hammer, striking her heart heavily, causing her to involuntarily hold her breath, her small body trembling slightly.

The air no longer carried the simple scents of flowers or gunpowder, but a nauseating stench of burnt flesh, blood, and molten metal. The odor was so intense it felt like a tangible entity, pressing heavily on her chest. Ieta instinctively covered her mouth, her pure white wings tucking uneasily, the edges of her white feathers fluttering gently in the dusty wind, gathering fine ash. She heard it—a wailing and prayer more clearly and intensely than ever before, like countless tiny needles piercing the barrier of the wind and stabbing into her mind.

“Those whales…” Ieta murmured, her clear blue eyes reflecting the overwhelming shadows. Her heart clenched instinctively, not from fear of the war machines, but from a profound, indescribable sadness that seemed to emanate from their broken steel bodies, seeping into the wind and reaching her ears.

"They look so sad."

It was like the sorrow she herself had felt in the loneliness of being misunderstood by everyone—vast and silent.

“They are not whales, nor are they living creatures, Ietta.” Saint Charlotte sat quietly beside her sister, her clear eyes also fixed on the steel cloud. Her expression was calmer than Ietta's, yet she was not indifferent. Perhaps some sacred instinct bestowed upon her by royal power was stirring within her; the shepherdess could clearly sense the message carried on the wind, a more complex and piercing cry—a vortex woven from despair, madness, and a cold, desperate will.

Beneath the shadow of the whales lies a gathering place for countless vibrant lives, which are now fading away.

“So,” the girl comforted her younger sister softly but firmly, in the tone of an older sister, “weapons are not pitiful, nor should they feel sad.”

Ieta stared blankly, her gaze following the enormous silhouettes that appeared and disappeared in the smoke and clouds. She knew that Saint Charlotte was right; those were not whales at all, but old airships. They looked so bleak, with peeling hulls, exposed rivets, and rusty skeletons underneath that groaned and twisted with each flight, as if they might fall apart at any moment... completely different from the cheerful, lively, friendly, and innocent sea spirits that Miss Angel remembered.

Somehow, she stubbornly linked the two images together, and couldn't help but think of the group of whales she had encountered while still wandering. In their unimaginably long and lonely lives, they were the only creatures that actively extended kindness to the young woman and warmly invited her to embark on a journey with them. Although Ieta regretfully declined them due to various concerns, these lively and kind sea spirits still left a deep impression on her, even becoming the beginning of her longing and yearning. She admired their carefree demeanor, longed to become a part of them, and sail freely with the wind and ocean currents until the moment when nothing could bind her anymore.

She spent three months with the whales, the young woman trekking along the coastline while the whales followed closely in the sea, as if both pursuing and protecting her. Then, an unexpected storm severed their connection, and Ietta lost all contact with them. To this day, she remains unsure whether the storm was for her, and feels guilty about it. Later, she found a new home in Avignon, but she still thinks of the whales from time to time, wondering if they had safely weathered the storm, if they were still bravely moving forward amidst the raging waves, and if they had returned to their former peaceful and free lives.
She could even picture them emerging from the storm, battered and bruised, yet still laughing, leaping and frolicking joyfully across the sea. She imagined their scarred skin shimmering in the post-rain sunshine, their massive tail fins splashing out jubilant waves, their long, drawn-out cries piercing the fresh air, filled with the joy of survival and anticipation for the future. It was the most beautiful ending she could imagine in her naive mind before meeting Ling and the others, like a child's favorite fairy tale.

But the fairy tale didn't tell the girl that the wounded whales might feel anger, disappointment at their friends' sudden departure and the sea's capriciousness, or perhaps they weren't thinking anything at all, but simply reacting to the malice from the outside world with equal malice. They left the ocean they depended on for survival, soared into the high sky, and dropped burning shells; in an instant, their breaths merged with the dust, and their lives turned to wreckage.

Whales from the sea fly in the sky, while people born on earth are buried in a sea of ​​fire.

Sister Saint Charlotte said they weren't real whales, not even living creatures, so they were neither pitiful nor saddened. But do inanimate objects truly have no feelings? The angel should be the most qualified to answer this, for beneath her feet rested a lifeless whale, entirely composed of rock and mud, sculpted into its current form by Ietta's royal power. Without life, perhaps there are no feelings? Yet Ietta could still feel its heartbeat from time to time, imagine her own breath flowing through its veins, and hear its heart's whisper in the wind.

When she piloted it into the sky, it was as happy as a child who had received a new toy; when she let it play and frolic in the sea of ​​clouds, she could hear its coquettish voice, carrying a lazy sense of satisfaction; when she let it sink into the ground and return to being part of the earth, she could clearly feel its disappointment and frustration, and she had to comfort it that this was only temporary and that she would let it fly into the sky again soon, only then did it finally cheer up and regain its former liveliness.

Are these all illusions, mere delusions and hallucinations arising from my own dreams? Compared to such cold, hard notions, Miss Angel prefers to believe that every whale yearns for freedom. They neither want to harm others nor be harmed by others; they simply want to live carefree in their own world, wandering and traveling as they please, reaching their destinations, and then continuing to wander and travel until they no longer have the strength to embark on the next journey. Then, they abandon everything and swim alone to the ancient legend of the whale graveyard, the homeland they were destined to return to since birth.

Every whale is like that, whether it's in the sea, on land, or in the sky.

Saint Charlotte suddenly reached out and gently placed her hand on Ietta's trembling hand, offering silent comfort. Her gaze remained fixed on that inferno, a deep compassion in her eyes. She could perceive more clearly everything happening in that area: the flames of life were extinguished in swathes, like candles swept away by a storm; unwavering wills crumbled before indiscriminate destruction; the sky fell silently, and the earth groaned in sorrow. She saw the tide of flames, the mud and debris churned up by the shockwaves, and the figures scattered like fragile pieces of paper in the explosion. All of this had once suffocated her, but now only a sense of relief remained.

“So,” she turned to the girl beside her and asked, “Do you want to save them?”

Not only the living, but also the dead; not only the living, but also the inanimate; not only those people scattered by the wind amidst the roar of gunfire, but also that group of wounded whales. They were created as weapons, but the fate of weapons shouldn't be merely to harm others. If they were true whales, they should soar freely, wander carefree. "I—" Ieta raised her head blankly, her eyes still so lacking in confidence. She was always retreating, always fearful, always running away, but not because she lacked courage, but simply because she needed others to help her strengthen her resolve: "Can I do it?"

“Of course you can,” Saint Charlotte said softly. “You possess that kind of power. Don’t forget what Ling said before he left.”

These words indeed reminded Miss Angel of what the young man had said to her: "You have the power to protect others, so don't refuse, Ieta." He said, "I know you don't want to hurt others, but if it comes to a desperate situation, I hope you can use this power to help us achieve victory." Finally, he added, "Of course, if you still don't want to, then stay here."

"Protecting yourself is enough," he said. His smile was as warm as sunlight, making that small and sensitive heart tremble deeply.

If this is his wish...

If this is everyone's wish...

If this is my wish...

“Don’t be afraid, Ieta.” At that moment, Saint Charlotte gently hugged her and whispered in her ear, “I’ll always be with you.”

These words, like the most powerful tide, surged irresistibly into the sea of ​​memories, instantly breaching all the dams of hesitation. The angel quietly raised her hand, wiping her eyes where her sister couldn't see, then nodded vigorously: "If...if that's the case, I want to try...no, please let me try, Sister Xia! I will, I definitely will..."

What will definitely happen? She didn't say clearly, but perhaps it wasn't the right time to make any overly arbitrary promises; it was enough to just do her best. So, before she could finish speaking, Saint Charlotte released her embrace, stood up, and walked to the side, giving the white-haired girl space. With a smile, she said, "Then I'll leave it to you, Ietta."

"Please..." This wasn't the first time Miss Angel had felt the weight of expectation from others. Long ago, when she arrived in a barren land devoid of life, seeing the numb expressions and sorrowful faces of the people, she promised to bring them happiness. And so, expectant eyes were fixed on her. The eldest village chief, on behalf of the entire village, solemnly uttered the words, "Please." Rewinding time, seven hundred years later, to punish herself for a momentary mistake, she sat for countless years in a deep valley tower, until a sudden disaster struck her former homeland. A young man with short silver hair and pale gold eyes, clearly concerned about everything yet feigning indifference, asked himself if he still missed the past, if he still remembered the faces of those people, if he wanted to save their hope remaining on this land. If the answer to all the questions was yes, then "Please," he uttered those four words, transporting the girl back to yesterday in a daze.

Every scene in the world is similar; the difference is that time does not cycle, but moves forward.

So today, it's Ietta's turn to say those words.

She slowly crouched down, six soft wings gently covering her body below the shoulders. The pure white wings formed a warm, protective cocoon, tenderly enveloping her small body and the ground beneath her. She pressed her tiny palms to the earth, as if feeling someone's heartbeat and an overwhelming sense of joy. A smile involuntarily crept onto her lips. The distant sky was tinged with a sickly dark red and iron gray, and massive clouds of smoke were slowly rising, obscuring the sunlight. But none of this could stop a great wind from bringing renewal and change to this battlefield.

and so.

"please."

The angel whispered to the earth beneath her feet and the magnificent life nurtured within it: "Whale, please fly."

Many years later, historians described the story with awe: "People were astonished to hear a long and resonant whale cry coming from the depths of the Evernight Woods. Then the world turned upside down, and a gigantic divine beast blotted out the sun, becoming invisible. But where did that whale come from? Why did it fly out from the ground? Was it even real? To this day, no one can answer these questions. Perhaps it can be considered a mystery that will never be solved."

Give me some cats