Chapter 95: The Zeppelin's Ascent

　　The salt-stained shore and the fisherman's fire were memories now, swallowed by the vast, inland silence of the northern Barrens. Kaelen traveled for days, the landscape shifting subtly from coastal scrub to the familiar, golden plains. His path was deliberate, aimed toward a landmark that stood out against the endless sky: the towering, skeletal framework of the goblin zeppelin tower, a nexus of Horde travel perched on the edge of the world.

　　As he drew nearer, the air began to change. The clean scents of grass and earth were tainted by the acrid smell of coal smoke, hot oil, and the sharp, chemical tang of goblin engineering. The silence was shattered by a cacophony of industrial noise—the hiss of steam, the clang of metal on metal, and the guttural shouts of orcish crewmen.

　　The tower itself was a marvel of chaotic ambition. A massive, wooden structure reinforced with bolted steel plates, it reached claw-like into the sky. A colossal, inflated zeppelin was moored to its apex, its envelope patched in a dozen places, its gondola a labyrinth of pipes, valves, and exposed machinery. It was a vessel that defied the sea, promising passage through the air itself.

　　Kaelen approached the base of the tower, a bustling, muddy yard filled with crates, caged animals, and a motley assortment of travelers—orc soldiers, troll hunters, tauren druids, and a handful of goblins overseeing the chaotic loading process. His arrival caused a momentary lull in the activity. A massive orc overseer, his face scarred and his armor stained with grease, stepped forward, holding a heavy ledger.

　　"Destination?" the orc grunted, his voice barely audible over the din. He did not look surprised by Kaelen's appearance; in the Horde, strangeness was commonplace.

　　Kaelen had no voice to answer. He simply stood, his gaze fixed on the zeppelin rocking gently in the wind high above.

　　The overseer followed his gaze, then looked back at him, a flicker of understanding in his hard eyes. "Tirisfal," he stated, not a question. It was the only logical destination for a creature of his kind—the Horde's stronghold in the Eastern Kingdoms. He made a note in his ledger. "Loading bay. Now." He pointed a thick finger toward a ramp leading into the belly of the gondola.

　　There were no questions of motive, no demands for payment. He was Horde, in form if not in allegiance, and that was passport enough. Kaelen moved with the flow of cargo and creatures up the creaking ramp. The interior of the gondola was a dim, noisy cave smelling of oil, damp wood, and the musky scent of its living cargo. He found a space near the rear, away from the clusters of talking travelers, and settled onto the rough planking.

　　The loading continued with frantic efficiency. Finally, with a deafening blast from a steam horn, the mooring lines were cast off. A deep, resonant hum vibrated through the entire structure as the powerful engines engaged. Kaelen felt a lurch, then a strange, lifting sensation in his gut. He moved to a small, grimy porthole.

　　The ground fell away. The Horde outpost shrank to a toy-like cluster of buildings, the Barrens flattening into a sea of gold and green. The world expanded in a way he had never experienced. He saw the curve of the land, the distant smudge of Ashenvale's forests, the glint of rivers like silver threads. It was the perspective of the mountain peak, but mobile, dynamic. He was leaving Kalimdor not by its edges, but from its very heart, rising above it.

　　The zeppelin turned, its nose pointing east, across the endless blue expanse of the Great Sea. Kalimdor dwindled behind them, a continent of memory and experience. Ahead, there was only water and sky, the horizon a sharp, unwavering line.

　　The other passengers talked, laughed, or slept, but Kaelen remained at the porthole, watching the world fall away. He was suspended between two lands, between the past and the future. The chronicle of Kalimdor was complete, a volume closed and stored within him. Now, a new, blank page awaited across the sea, in the ancient, war-torn lands of the Eastern Kingdoms. The zeppelin's engines thrummed, a steady heartbeat carrying him toward the next chapter of his endless journey. He was a witness in motion, and the story was far from over.