The Flying Machine was grounded. Its 'wings' were pulled up and none of its propellers turned.

The Hoverhafts patrolled around with thicker garments under their light armor and no propellers attached to their backs. They wrapped scarves around their necks, ears, and head instead of helmets, and pulled it up to their noses to fight the chill of winter. Their eyes were peeled for any thieves and bandits aiming to take advantage of their vulnerable airship that they considered their home.

Non-combatant crew members stayed within the ship, making sure that the interior of the ship was kept warm. They all walked around, stretching their bodies and rubbing their hands. Some of them burped endlessly, just to provide the unsuspecting fellow crew member a chuckle in the dark and snowy day. There was just something inherently funny about burps for this particular crew.

Propeller Knight paced back and forth in his plant room, periodically looking out where his love had been before he departed for a quick battle. Out of his window was a clear day. There was just howling wind, but it was not snowing anymore.

No sign of a storm.

He inhaled deeply to attempt to fight the growing pang of anxiety about his love's whereabouts.

He mostly remembered how exactly Phantom Striker wore his cape. The flowing blue cape, always warm with magic and soft with love, was tied over his left shoulder. He always let it cover the right side of his body. He didn't exactly do that to hide anything on his body. His weapon would appear to materialize out of thin air before fights.

The spiky helmet had not yet been placed on his head, and his messy hair could be seen. The captain smiled to that. Some nights, he combed the stormbringer's hair and braided it. Sometimes he thought of putting a flower on his hair to make him feel more free to enjoy himself.

The captain glanced upon one of his potted flower bushes. He knelt and smiled at the lovely plant, one of the buds blooming despite the winter. He closed his eyes and cupped his face with one hand, his elbow resting on his knee.

Maybe a chrysanthemum would do the trick. They rarely survive the winter.

He recalled the tone of his voice, what had happened in the outside, and what they had been doing. He had been mixing his soup that morning when Phantom Striker had politely tapped on his shoulder.

"I have heard of an aspiring wanderer." He had spoken softly, yet the captain could tell he was excited. "He utilizes the power of the earth, and he claims to be a strong warrior."

"And you want to fight this one?" Propeller Knight had replied. "Can't you have some warm soup before you go?"

Both of them had looked out at the dark early morning sky. Small flakes of snow had been delicately falling down from the clouds. There had been a short silence, before the captain spoke once more.

"Why don't you warm yourself up before you go out?" He had gestured to his bowl of soup. "We have lots of soup."

"I do not need it." The warrior paused for a moment before

"Well… I just really want you to be safe. Can you promise me that? Please?"

He had pulled his lover in an embrace with his left arm, transferring the warmth of his cape to his partner. "I promise that, and I shall return before the evening. I love you."

Then they shared one small kiss, before Striker turned to leave.

Propeller Knight opened his eyes to see the blooming flowers inside his greenhouse. Beautiful things in a myriad of colors were there, and in his mind he thought of fairies gracing the lush foliage of green with their presence, and they created these blooms to be their houses in which they rest during the night. Within the roses, the fairies of love and friendship rest. Inside the bluebell's petals resided the benevolent spirits of generosity. Tulips housed the passionate fairies. Those were just an example. And these mythical but lovely creatures often changed their colors to let their emotions reign supreme.

He stood up, glancing down at the potted flower bushes with wistfulness. As he walked out, he thought of his lover, his everything, and thought that maybe Phantom Striker would be happy with a bouquet of chrysanthemums.

The grasp of anxiety tightened around the man once again. Where is he? It's been so long, and twilight will come soon. He breathed in and out, thinking of his strength and inability to break promises he made.

"He'll come back soon." He spoke to himself under his breath, and walked to the direction of the deck. Propeller Knight passed by his Hoverhafts, all laughing (and burping) as they patrolled their respective hallways. He greeted them, and he would watch as their eyes lit up with more joy as they greet him back. Some of them were born into the service. Some of them were rescued. All of them respected him.

Some of the children of his crew members ran in the corridors, giggling. When he turned to look, he saw their thick clothes partially covered in snow. Their boots were slightly muddy, and so part of him was sorry for the poor people who would need to clean the mud and dirt. They stopped when they saw him, and immediately bolted in his direction. One of the smaller children, a five-year old boy, came first and immediately wrapped his arms around his right leg. He chuckled. This particular boy was the son of one of his soldiers, and unfortunately his mother had died in childbirth. He had come to view Propeller Knight as a parental figure. His playmates followed, and the captain could recognize them all. There was the six-year old daughter of a cook and a maidservant. There was the ten-year old boy they had found wandering and crying in a desolate village a few years ago, holding a sleeping baby in his arms, with the embers from the fire that razed the huts still smouldering. With the boy was a four-year old girl-his sister.

"Captain!" They cheered, glancing up at him, the hope and joy in their eyes a sight to be treasured.

"Children, what did I say about bringing muddy boots in the ship?"

"That we shouldn't bring them into the ship and leave them by the cargo bay!"

"Exactly."

They paused, pouting as they realized.

"I'm sorry." "I'm sorry too." "Hug."

"It's alright, children. Clean after yourselves and help out here." Propeller Knight tousled the blond hair of the young boy still latched onto his leg.

"I love you, captain!" The little boy looked up and hugged his leg a little tighter before letting go and running off with the other children. Propeller Knight grinned to himself as these cute little kids went off to fetch mops. Pure little angels giggling and enjoying the fact that they could do something before they go to the play room.

A small crackling sound disturbed his thoughts, and when he turned, a bright figure formed. There was a brief flash of light and he arrived, the minute sparks of lightning dissipating as the Phantom Striker emerged.

To Propeller Knight's horror, he was contained head (spike) to toe with earth, and even his warm magic cape wasn't spared from it. He was still standing upright, but from the heavy heaving in his breath and his wobbly gait favoring the right leg, something worse had clearly happened.

"Don't walk on your own!" He rushed to catch his beloved, and immediately had his dirtied arm wrap around his shoulder.

"A cruel fighter…" Phantom Striker half-growled, half-mumbled, and leaned into his supporting pillar. "He is a deceitful, sorry excuse of a human being. The way the earth moved… it was as if it was flowing, like water. The earth caught my left leg and twisted it, intending to break it."

"It'll be fine, you're here now. Don't think of anything else. Let's go, get you cleaned up, and have your foot checked."

"I do not need to be tended to by medicine. My magic is enough for me."

"But- fine. You still need to rest, you know. Sleep in the bed, too, and don't go out for a while. Please? I'm worried about you, mon cher."

Phantom Striker couldn't resist the pleading look in his eyes, and nodded.