Collaboration between artist Snowbunnie42 and authors Lucyrne, Lunar-resonance, and L0chn3ss. Story based on Snowbunnie42's art, check it out on tumblr!

Chapter 1

When Lord Soul Evans looked back on his brief summers spent in Death City, the floating jewel of the empire, he remembered the crooked buildings, the winding streets, and constant feeling of impending adventure. What he didn't recall was the goddamn wind.

Death City was among the first societies to lift off the ground and colonize the sky. After several decades migrating up and down the Nevada desert, it had established itself as both a leader of industry and culture. His parents had gladly sent their reclusive second son to Death City in the hopes that some of that prestige would inspire his art. Instead, he spent those summers escaping his rooms and exploring the city's dirty corridors with his neighbor's rascal daughter, Maka Albarn.

But now his parents were dead, his brother in debt, and his artist career nonexistent. Maybe this time whatever magic that propelled Death City residents like Maka to grit their teeth and create their own success would actually rub off on him.

Soul had only just stepped off the zeppelin that delivered him to the Death City airstrip when his hat was carried off his head by a sudden gust of wind. Breezes didn't exist at this altitude, just strong gusts that felt like a punch to the stomach. Because Death City floated above a desert, the wind usually carried sand.

Other passengers shielded their eyes and squawked as they tried to control their billowing skirts. Soul's hat was carried upward before falling at the feet of the only person on the airstrip who wasn't clucking at the impropriety of it all.

Maka Albarn, shielded by a parasol and unperturbed by the wind, bent low to pick up his hat. This was not the raggedy girl he remembered. Miss Albarn was an heiress now, and in an amber gown cinched at the waist and decorated with authentic gears, she looked the part. She was an image of calm, a desert flower blooming in the midst of a sandstorm. If not for the sand blowing in his face, Soul might have opened his mouth in shock.

"You can always tell an Earth Child," Maka said cooly, wind and sand frantically beating against her parasol. "They always lose their hats on their first day." She held out his cap, and he took it. Had Maka not been wearing white gloves, his fingertips would have certainly grazed her hand.

Soul thought the gears stitched into Maka's skirts were purely a staple in Death City fashion, but when the wind blustered again, he saw that they actually served to weigh down her petticoats. The parasol helped keep her yellow lady's hat from lifting off her head and blowing away. You can always tell a Death Child, he thought with a smirk.

The wind died down and Soul wiped the sand from his eyes, the two old friends embraced. To a random observer, the gesture may have appeared overly familiar, maybe even scandalous. But to them, nothing less than a tight hug would do for lifelong friends reunited once again.

After Soul stopped visiting Death City in his youth, they diligently wrote letters to each other. Their communication waxed and waned like the cycle of the moon, but it became more constant after Spirit Albarn came into his wealth.

But still, writing to someone was much different from seeing them face to face. Maka wasn't a scrappy girl with splotches of oil streaked across her nose. She was a lady now, a self-made business woman and inventor.

"I didn't squeeze into a corset today just so I could chat with you," Maka said. "We have business to do and a garden party to attend. Your things will be sent to your room at my Papa's estate. Now come, we don't have a moment to lose!"

As children, Soul used to contrive flimsy excuses to unload half of his monthly allowance on his poorer friend. A couple coins for escorting him to the supermarket. A few more for writing up the grocery list. A dozen for carrying his bags. Maka knew what he was doing, but she wasn't in a position to refuse the money.

He wondered now if Maka's offer to accept him as a partner to finish her newest invention was her way of paying him back.

By signing on as co-inventor of Maka's 'Pegasus' project, Soul would (hopefully) share the profits when it was finished and save his family from ruination. His title would help entice the Death City elite to invest in Maka's creation, but at the end of the day Soul was the one who had nothing to lose and everything to gain, not Maka. The tables had truly turned.

After a short cab ride, they arrived at the so-called garden party. Like most Death City gardens, the event actually took place within a large atrium. Residents of the floating city quickly learned that high altitude winds and temperatures weren't kind to flora or fauna, so the wealthy housed their flowers in extravagant, solar-powered greenhouses.

Channeling sunlight into a small space was good for plants, but not for party guests. Ladies furiously whipped out their fans to cool their sweaty faces. The feathers on their tall hats drooped from the heat. Men dabbed their foreheads with their handkerchiefs and struggled to conceal sweat stains blooming at their armpits. Soul, too, silently lamented that his blue jacket would never smell right again.

Soul was no stranger to parties or gossip, but as the less illustrious Evans brother, he had never been at the center of either. Not five minutes in this garden party, Soul overheard someone gossiping about him for the first time with his own ears.

"The Albarn heiress is certainly setting her sights high," said a woman whose defining feature was her remarkable feathered hat. "The Evanses are blue bloods, you know. Not too wealthy anymore, but good blood is priceless."

"It seems like a smart match to me," another said. "The Albarn upstarts will get their title, the Evanses can keep theirs. I'm surprised it's taken so long for Miss Albarn-"

Soul reluctantly stopped eavesdropping on that intriguing line of thought when Maka touched his shoulder, seemingly oblivious to the conversation happening mere feet from them.

"Look over there," she whispered, taking his arm and nodding towards a back corner of the greenhouse. "That's Lord Neville Featherstone, our host. He has a reputation for making good investments. I'm sure if we got him on board, others would follow."

Featherstone was a ridiculous looking man who carried himself with a dignified air. Soul figured he was one of those eccentric philanthropists people only put up with because everything they touched spat money. Exactly the sort of person they needed to desperately woo.

"We better get over there," Soul said, but just as the two partners made their approach, someone else took hold of Maka's arm and pulled her away. It was another woman, a blonde middle-aged woman with wavy blonde hair and a clockwork eyepatch. Maka willingly fell into easy conversation with the woman, leaving Soul on his own. Since when did she become a natural schmoozer? Probably around the same age she started wearing corsets instead of men's shirts, he figured.

Elsewhere in the room, Featherstone's companions moved away from him. This was Soul's shot. Mustering every shred of a memory he had of his beleaguered preteen etiquette tutor, he put his shoulders back and advanced.

As the party host, Featherstone was more than happy to speak to talk to complete stranger. They clasped hands and made their introductions.

When questioned about his profession, Soul said, "I've actually only just arrived here in Death City to pursue a new career. Perhaps you have heard already, but Miss Albarn and I are working on a new invention. I'm actually from-"

"Well, what's it for?" Featherstone asked with a cock of his head. "Your invention? What exactly is its function?"

This was exactly the kind of question Soul really needed Maka to answer. In her letters, Maka very carefully described the various parts she needed Soul to help build. She never got around to explaining the big picture. Or if she did, Soul had skimmed over it to get to what he wanted to read more quickly, namely Maka's meandering updates about her life, her questions that he would answer in his response, and her signature 'Forever your friend, Maka.'

But he couldn't just stand there gaping. This was their only shot to get Featherstone's financial support. "The Pegasus project is Maka's opus," Soul explained, glancing over his shoulder. "It would be a discredit to her genius to hear of it from anyone else's lips. I can introduce her to you."

"But I thought-Oh I see! This is marvelous," Featherstone said, clapping his hands together. "I don't think I've ever seen anything like it. A couple going into business together?"

For a single moment, Soul allowed his mask to slip off to register shock and confusion. While the gossips insinuating that Maka and Soul were an item was odd, he had brushed them off as exactly that-gossip. Nosey women clutching at straws so they could have something to complain about over scones. Featherstone was a businessman who never dealt in hearsay or fiction. That made his mistake more real and serious.

"I've always held a soft spot for romance," Featherstone continued, wistful. "So how long have the two of you been in, hehe, business?"

Determined to set the record straight and frantic not to fail, Soul's mouth started moving before his thoughts could catch up. "We first became engaged in-"

"Engaged! That's wonderful!" Soul's cheeks turned beet red, and he stood shell-shocked as Featherstone removed his chequebook from his pocket. "I always trust my instincts," Featherstone said as he scribbled his signature. He clasped the cheque in Soul's hands. "Don't let me down!" Featherstone spotted someone else over Soul's shoulder.

The rest of the party passed by in a daze. Soul wandered from table to table, trailing behind Maka, discussing only the weather and the wind with other partygoers as Featherstone

"You did amazing!" she exclaimed. "You hardly even spoke to him before he took out his checkbook. What did you say? How did you do it?"

"Funny thing about that," Soul said. "I told a lie."

"That's alright. This is business. We'd never get anywhere without a few lies to grease the wheels."

"That's the problem," Soul said. "I didn't say we were strictly business partners. I might have implied that our relationship was less professional bytellinghimweareengaged."