I spent an evening with my friends, Ben and Peter. We had no real plans, and the conversation was interspersed with symptoms of introspection. At long last I spat out the bitter subject that was on my mind.

“I can’t be an engineer.”

This was met with silence and immediate attention. Peter spoke up first.

“Why not?”

“It’s the life, all that is required. Five years of training, and the best I can do is end up designing machines for other men to build.” The same machines that had killed my dream of becoming a flying messenger, that were destroying my home as I knew it. I didn’t say these things, but my friends already knew.

“What will you do then?” Ben queried. Knowing him as well as I did, I could almost see the gears working in his mind, then I cringed at the illustration.

“I’m going to join the messenger service.”

“Kal, the messenger service is finished.” Ben squinted at me. "What would you do anyway?

“It’s not finished.” I stated resolutely, unable to let go of my dream. “I’m going to Rhindar.”