By the next afternoon, Vireos loomed on the horizon.
The isle cut a striking shape against the sky—sleek and angular, its triangular form tapering into a long, pointed base that extended downward like the blade of a suspended dagger. Structures clung to its underside—towers and columns built along the descending spine, their forms precise and angular, reinforced with wind-bracing supports and glinting anchor lines.
Even from afar, Vireos stood apart from the isles they'd seen before. Where Windmere was quiet and rustic, Vireos gleamed with order and design, even the advancement Ardyn had seen in Caldrith Vale felt overshadowed here. Wind turbines turned in synchronized rhythm, their slender blades catching the sun in silver flashes. Smaller buildings lined the edges, constructed from polished stone and reinforced steel, their walls fitted with lightglass windows.
As the Loria eased into position along the underside of Vireos, a glass-enclosed bridge extended toward it—seamless, sleek, and slightly arched. It pressed gently against the ship's side with a quiet hiss, locking into place like a skybound port.
As the team disembarked, a uniformed attendant waited at the far end and motioned for them to follow.
Beyond the bridge was the Aerohall proper. A vast, circular structure built into the underside of the isle, its frame cradled against the vertical rock wall and reinforced by Aerolith-powered gravity balancers.
"This level houses all semifinalist teams," the attendant explained as they walked. "Each team has been assigned a wing. Room pairings are pre-arranged—two per space. These are your keys."
Ardyn glanced at his. Room 114-B. Assigned with Pimri.
"Yes!" Pimri grinned. "West-facing. Let's go."
Their room was clean and compact. Two beds, smooth walls, and a floor-to-ceiling glass panel that opened to a full view of the clouds below.
Pimri dropped his bag and immediately sprawled on a bed. "Okay. This is worth every bruise I got in the last match."
Ardyn walked to the window and pressed his hand lightly against the glass. It didn't feel cold—just smooth and impossibly thin, like standing against the edge of the sky.
"Hey, Pimri," Ardyn said, glancing over at him sprawled across the bed. "Remember when you told me we could die in the next rounds?"
Pimri groaned and threw an arm over his face. "Oh, good winds of north, south, east, and west—really? You bring that up now, when I'm finally relaxing?"
Ardyn let out a short laugh.
"But yes," Pimri muttered, sitting up with a sigh.
"So… what kind of games are we up against?" Ardyn asked.
"The prelims were mostly sports—race, tag, goal-based matches," Pimri said, waving his hand vaguely. "Stuff meant to test coordination and style."
He leaned forward, expression shifting slightly. "Semis to finals, though? They're different. Every year's unique, but one thing's constant: it starts involving real combat."
Ardyn frowned. "So we really might die."
"Man!" Pimri flopped backward again. "Please, don't talk."
* * *
That night, after dinner, the Windmere team gathered once more. A waiting attendant led them through a quiet corridor and into a wide, glass-paneled lift. The platform hummed to life, rising steadily through the isle's spine and carrying them up—past the understructure and into the heart of Vireos itself.
Above, the lift opened directly into the Vireos Sky Arena.
The main hall was massive, with vaulted ceilings and tiered seating that curled around the arena floor like the bowl of a coliseum. The upper levels were already filled with skyfolk—spectators, sponsors, and Council watchers all gathered to witness the semifinal draw.
Windmere was the last to arrive. The other three teams were already seated in their respective sections.
As Ardyn followed the others to their row, he glanced across the arena floor, taking in the teams.
As Ardyn followed the others to their row, he glanced across the arena floor, taking in the teams.
Kael leaned back as he sat down beside him, eyes scanning the opposing sections. "Those are Dravon," he said, nodding toward a group clad in moss-green uniforms. "Known for aerial combat. Precision flight, aggressive formations."
"Merciless team," Doma added from Ardyn's other side. "Last Skytest, one of their opponents died during a match."
Ardyn's gaze shifted to the group in matte-grey and pale violet. "That's Cindralune, right?" he said, spotting Elari Duskmere among them.
"Yeah," Kael nodded. "One of them taunted you and Mirae back at Savoring Rock."
Ardyn remembered Mirae's lie, and the warning behind it. "Then that must be Vireos," he said, pointing at the team in white and orange.
"Correct," Kael replied. "Most advanced in Galegear tech. They've won Skytest once or twice, if I remember right."
Doma leaned back. "So who do you want to compete with?"
Kael gave a small pause, considering. "Tough call. They're all strong. But if I had to pick... probably Vireos or Dravon."
"So Cindralune's the toughest?" Ardyn asked.
Kael gave a quiet snort of agreement. "Cindralune's players are versatile. Most of them can switch roles—Striker, Skyrunner, Windguard, even Aethermender."
"All-rounders," Doma added.
"Exactly. That kind of flexibility makes them unpredictable."
"Whoa," Ardyn muttered.
"Yep," Kael said. "We're the underdogs, no doubt about that."
The lights dimmed slightly. A hush passed over the arena—followed by a wave of cheers as a figure stepped onto the central stage, holding a voicecaster in one hand.
"Good evening, skyfolk!" the announcer's voice boomed, amplified across the dome.
"Are you all excited for the match-up?!"
The crowd roared in response, a swell of wind and voices rising through the hall.
"Most of you already know the names—but let me introduce this year's Skytest semifinalists!"
A spotlight flared as the announcer raised his free hand.
"First team, the dreaded air-combatants from the northern isle."
"Dravon!"
The crowd erupted as the screens above lit up with each member's stats, flashing beside their stern, wind-worn portraits. The Dravon team stood, fists raised high in silent unison.
"Second team—this group has kept surprising the Skytest since day one. The rising underdogs from the southern edge."
"Windmere!"
Another wave of cheers echoed through the arena. As the Windmere profiles lit up on the display, the team rose. Some bowing, some waving awkwardly, a few just offering small nods toward the crowd.
"Third team—undefeated, three-time champions, and your two-time consecutive title holders. Hailing from the north."
"Cindralune!"
The response was powerful but not quite as loud—laced more with awe than excitement. The Cindralune members stood calmly. A few nodded to the crowd. One or two crossed their arms. None smiled.
"And last—but absolutely not least—the tactical titans, the masters of gear and glide. From your very own central isle."
"Vireos!"
The arena burst. The loudest cheer yet filled the air as the hometown team's profiles blazed across the arena walls. The Vireos players rose with showmanship—some waving broadly, others cupping their hands to their ears, urging the crowd louder with practiced flair.
As the cheers began to fade, the announcer lifted the voicecaster once more.
"And now… to announce the first match-up!"
A pause. The arena leaned in.
"Dravon versus… Windmere!"
The crowd erupted again as the bracket lit up across the central screen—bold letters flashing the confirmed pairing.
"I think you got what you wished for," Doma said, leaning slightly past Ardyn to glance at Kael.
Kael gave a slow nod, eyes fixed on the screen. "Let's hope it doesn't bite us."
"And of course, the second match-up," the announcer called out, his voice rising above the fading cheers.
"Vireos versus Cindralune!"
Another round of noise surged through the stands as the second bracket appeared overhead, completing the semifinals chart.
With the match-ups revealed, the announcer stepped off the stage. Lights shifted again as music swelled, and a troupe of dancers emerged onto the floor, their movements weaving through wind and light—a swirling intermission while the arena buzzed with rising anticipation.
As the night wore on, the rest of the program slipped by in a blur of light and sound. When it finally drew to a close, the arena lights brightened again and the crowd began to disperse, voices rising in a wave of fading excitement.
The Windmere team rose with the rest, filing out of the arena with the flow of competitors and spectators. They moved toward the glass lift that would bring them back below, quiet now, the energy of the announcements still hanging in the air.
Ardyn walked near the middle of the group, half-lost in thought, when he heard footsteps quicken behind him.
"Hey," Mirae said softly as she fell into step beside him.
Ardyn glanced at her.
"There's free time tomorrow morning," she said, voice low so only he could hear. "Meet me at the Aerohall lift. Six sharp."
"Why?" he asked.
"This is a good chance," she murmured. "Vireos might have better records, better archives. Libraries, maybe even Council documents. You know what I'm talking about."
Ardyn gave a small nod.
At that, Mirae moved ahead again, falling into place beside Ava like the conversation had never happened.
As they neared the lift platform, a soft mechanical chime sounded—and the glass doors ahead slid closed. Behind them, the Dravon team stood within the lift, eyes locked on Windmere as they descended. None of them smiled. One of them tilted his head, almost like a silent challenge.
Ardyn's chest tightened slightly. His heart beat faster.