We hadn’t even started getting forward momentum and the ship already started bobbing and weaving due to the air streams above the city. I grabbed onto the railing and looked over to the captain. She glanced at me and before I had a chance to say anything she spouted:
"We’ve still got another 120 metres before cruising altitude. Sit tight and don’t puke overboard, that’s rude. Use the bucket."
The first part answered my question. I wasn’t feeling air sick though, or at least I didn’t think I was, but I’m assuming it was a common preemptive follow up to any question at this time.

Before heading out of the city limits we had to hit the allocated ceiling appropriate for outbound vessels. There was a great view of the harbour plus the rest of the city and cliche as it may sound, I was able to see my home from here. Mom and dad gave me heartfelt goodbyes, but found it too hard to follow me all the way to the docks. A cab from the institute was instead sent to pick me and my luggage up so we had our fond hugs and farewells at the front door. I do know they are incredibly worried about my journey, but they made a huge effort to keep the parting vibes on the light hearted side. Dad was the one holding back the tears, but faced the house so that the neighbours wouldn’t see him. I knew I was going to miss them immensely, but I didn’t expect those feelings to correlate with every metre gained.

Our first destination was Port Heron about 3 days travel from here. We were going to pick up a few more guests along with getting a few more adjustments for the Sophia. I headed back to my cabin to make sure everything was secured. I took the bucket with me, just in case.