CHAPTER 159: SO THAT’S HOW IT’S FUELED

The Apache’s rotors gradually slowed as Inigo guided the helicopter down toward a narrow plateau nestled between ridges. It wasn’t ideal—steep drop-offs lined either side and rocky outcrops dotted the uneven ground—but it was the only suitable place for miles. The low hum of the machine’s turbine engines faded as he eased the craft down, skids touching the surface with a muted clank.

Lyra braced herself against the frame, watching the terrain rise to meet them. Her knuckles were still white from gripping the console’s edge. Flying was one thing—this was something else entirely.

With a hiss, the canopy popped open, releasing a gust of warm air that carried the scent of singed oil, scorched metal, and wilderness pine.

"We’re out?" she asked, glancing over.

"Nearly," Inigo replied, stepping down from the cockpit. "Fuel’s below reserve. Can’t push it further."

He moved with practiced familiarity, already activating the maintenance interface tucked beneath the right landing skid. Lyra followed, eyes scanning the strange contraption’s underbelly, watching the landing gear compress against the uneven rock.

"You said this thing doesn’t run on magic," she muttered.

"It doesn’t." He gave her a small grin. "But it might as well be."

He swiped open his system panel, invisible to her, and navigated the Freedom Shop. A dozen fuel types appeared, but he narrowed it quickly.

Item: JP-8 Military Aviation Fuel

Type: Kerosene-Based Turbine Fuel

Volume: 500 liters

Price: 8,000 Tokens

Status: Purchase?

[Remaining Balance: 1,245,633 Tokens]

Inigo confirmed with a mental command.

A pulse of blue light shimmered beside the Apache’s rear stabilizer, and with a soft hum, a modular fuel container materialized—shaped perfectly to dock with the onboard intake valve. He turned to Lyra, who stared slack-jawed.

"Was that... summoning?"

"You could call it that. I call it buying," Inigo said, crouching and attaching the container’s nozzle. "This fuel doesn’t exist in your world, so I have to bring it in when needed."

"You just... called it out of the air?"

"No. I paid for it."

He clicked the valve into place and flicked a switch on the container. The hum of liquid flowing through reinforced tubing filled the clearing.

Lyra approached the tank with cautious reverence, then pointed at the gauges on the side of the Apache.

"What does this all mean?"

"Pressure, temperature, fuel level, exhaust output, and turbine cycles." Inigo wiped sweat from his brow. "It’s like watching a heart beat, but mechanical."

She peered at the interface again. "So this machine—your ’Apache’—it drinks fire?"

"In a way. The fuel combusts inside the turbine engines. That turns rotors. The blades cut air, generate lift."

She glanced upward, tracing the blade’s arc in her mind.

"Like wings?"

"Better," he said. "Because wings don’t roar like this."

He tapped the side of the fuselage affectionately.

Lyra nodded slowly, as though placing it within a mental framework. "And these controls... they’re like spell gestures?"

"Sure," he smiled. "Except every spell here is mechanical, repeatable, and deadly."

She blinked. "Deadly like your thunder-lance?"

"The Hydra rocket pods?" He chuckled. "Yeah. Among other things."

The fuel tank beeped. Fully transferred.

He detached the nozzle, sealed the cap, and watched the container vanish into light particles—auto-despawn after delivery use.

"That never gets old," he muttered.

They both stood there for a moment, listening to the wind rattle through distant trees. The sound of birds had returned. The dragon’s reign was over, at least for now.

Lyra’s voice came softly. "Your world... it made all this?"

"It took us centuries. Wars. Mistakes. A lot of lives lost. But yeah. We made machines like this to fight battles too big for swords."

She stared into the cockpit.

"It’s overwhelming."

"You’ll get used to it."

"No," she said. "But I’ll learn. If you’ll teach me."

He turned to her, surprised by the seriousness in her eyes.

"You want to learn how to fly this?"

"Not yet," she said with a smile. "But someday."

He nodded. "I’ll hold you to that."

They spent the next few minutes running diagnostic checks. The HUD blinked green across all key systems. Turbines read steady. Ammunition slightly depleted, but still combat-ready. The Apache was a monster—and it was hungry, but operational.

Lyra took a step closer to the pilot seat. She placed her hand on the edge of the cockpit and peered in again.

"There’s more to this than just weapons, isn’t there?"

Inigo smiled faintly. "Yeah. There’s freedom."

Silence passed between them. Then a soft growl rumbled in Lyra’s stomach.

Inigo glanced at her.

"Hungry?"

She blushed. "I didn’t eat during the ceremony."

He opened a side compartment and pulled out a vacuum-packed ration bar. "Not the best, but it’s food."

She took it, inspecting the strange foil wrap before peeling it open. "It smells... salty?"

"Soy and meat blend. High protein. Keeps soldiers alive when there’s nothing else."

She bit into it, chewing slowly. "It’s... edible."

He laughed. "That’s the highest compliment it’s ever gotten."

They ate in silence, seated on a pair of rocks overlooking the burned valley below. From here, the trail of scorched earth left behind by the dragon was plain to see—blackened treelines, ash-covered craters, the twisted remains of a mountain she’d crashed into.

"It’s a reminder," Inigo said, finishing his bar. "That power without direction... only leaves ruin."

Lyra glanced sideways. "Then what gives your power direction?"

He looked down at his hands, calloused from a world long gone.

"You."

She blinked.

"I don’t belong here. But you keep me grounded," he said. "Remind me what’s worth protecting."

Her fingers brushed his for a moment before she looked away, cheeks reddening.

"...You’re still weird."

He grinned. "Takes one to know one."

The Apache let out a soft chime—fuel systems fully pressurized, ready for takeoff.

He stood, dusting himself off.

"Time to move," he said. "There’s still a lot of sky left."

Lyra stood too. "Where are we going?"

He looked west, toward distant spires of smoke and glints of steel in the far valleys.

"Wherever the next problem is."

She smirked. "So... everywhere?"

"Pretty much."

He climbed into the cockpit, offered her a hand, and helped her up.

As the rotors spun to life again, the clearing became a blur of dust and sound. The plateau trembled under the renewed force of blades slicing air.

This time, Lyra didn’t flinch.