No confession just yet, guys ;3 We've still got a ways to go.

—You're Pulling my Leg(iana)—

The wind is bracing this far up, the massive airship making its way across inky blue. You've never been aboard one, but this was smooth sailing compared to the ship ride to the New World. The landscape unfurls like a giant map below you and, though you feel the slightest bit dizzy, your excitement keeps your eyes trained on the ground.

You'll finally be entering the Rotten Vale and get that much closer to tracking the Elder Dragon.

The Third Fleet Master joins you on the deck in her usual garb. She's unusually talkative, but you chalk it up to her interest in the previously inaccessible region. Mostly you listen and wonder: why are you so happy here? With her.

When she questions your Handler's absence, guilt settles heavily in the pit of your stomach. You try to play it off, but you can tell by the way almond shaped eyes narrow that she's picked up on your discomfort.

Why tell her anything? She's never been so forward with you. With that in mind, there's a bit more bite in your tone than intended and she frowns.

The silence that falls between you is tense, until finally she says, "I'll try to be more forthcoming."

A test is in order. But what can you ask? You comb your memory and finally settle on the most glaring thing that comes up: since is she a hunter?

She laughs softly. "Once a hunter, always a hunter, I suppose. Before I took up the scholar's mantle, I too had roamed the New World in search of dangerous beasts."

So what happened? Your question must have reflected on your expression because she shakes her head.

"That is a story for another time."

It's a start...

That's not actually the most pressing question on your mind, you remember. You ask her why she had gone out of her way to be so accommodating to you during your time in the Research Base and she looks away. "Tch. Does there need to be a reason?"

You give her a hard look, and she relents.

"Perhaps I saw some of myself in you. Perhaps..."

Something large hurtles past and the ship lurches, causing you both to stumble. Before you can regain your footing, a flock of Wingdrakes follows, many of the stupid creatures smashing into the ship rather than veering around it. In the resulting chaos, you catch hold of the railing, but the Third Fleet Master isn't so fortunate; your heart is in your throat as she drops like a stone.

There's no time to think as you dive over the side.

The added weight of your armor and weapon makes you fall more quickly than she does, but she's still not quite within reach as you spearhead downwards. A Wyvern with an impressive wingspan blusters by you, leaving particles of frost on your hair and eyelashes, but you don't have time to admire the hunting Legiana as the wind whistles past and your fingers grasp futility at the Third Fleet Master. Her eyes are wide, but she doesn't flail or scream. Her lips move, but you can't hear over the roar of the air current.

If only you could fall faster. Or perhaps... Slow her descent?

It's risky, but you don't have time to think of a plan B. You meet a dark gaze purposefully as you line up your slinger with the open air just over her shoulder and understanding passes between you. She nods, her sleeves and hair billowing about, and when you launch the grappling attachment, she catches hold of the rope. It reels back in with torturous slowness and the moment she's within range, you grab her and pull her to you.

Success. Your racing heart threatens to explode as she throws her arms around your neck, buy you're not out of the woods yet.

You whistle shrilly to attract the Wingdrakes, hoping that will be enough to grab their attention, despite the looming threat of the predatory Legiana. A few of them break away from the flock, flapping purposefully towards you, and you hold your breath.

You only have one shot at this.

You launch the grappling hook attachment again, praying fervently that it will catch. When it does and the line goes taut you nearly cry, you're so elated. A high-pitched screech makes your blood run cold and you realize, as you're dragged quickly through the air and you tighten your grip on the Third Fleet Master, that you've managed to snag the elegant Flying Wyvern.

The Legiana wheels around and, for a tense moment, you're not sure how things will pan out. The air is her domain and neither of you would survive a fall from this height. When the monster begins her descent, the Third Fleet Master goes limp in your arms. Perhaps things had been too stimulating for her.

Either way, you descend into the Rotten Vale in style.

...

You set up camp while you wait for the airship captain to pinpoint your location based on the SOS flare you shot off moments before. By the time you've finished, the raven-haired beauty stirs.

You fill her in on what happened after she lost consciousness and she doesn't seem to hear you as wrinkles her nose.

"Good heavens, it stinks."

What did she expect from a place called the Rotten Vale?

The Third Fleet Captain joins you around the fire and waves a sleeve in front of her face, though that likely won't help much. She's favouring her hands; you realize with a pang, likely from your haphazard rescue earlier. When you apologize and express your concern, she laughs—really laughs at you.

You're not sure you understand the joke, but her genuine mirth is infectious and you smile.

"Have you always been the gallant hero type?" she asks when she finally calms down.

Only very recently, apparently.

She smirks at the admission, and you quickly busy yourself with picking herbs to make her a healing poultice. Don't let her get to you. Don't let her walk all over you again.

"Hey..."

You still, looking up questioningly, and she stoops beside you. She clasps your hands in hers and, though her expression briefly reflects the discomfort that must have caused, there's warmth in dark eyes.

"I didn't thank you properly for saving me, so... Thank you."

Any time, you assure her—and you mean it.