The wind tore at Nyra's cloak as she hung to the edge of Cassian's glider, the lowest island shrinking beneath her like a broken toy. Every pulse of her Skymark echoed through her veins, a rhythmic reminder that she was no longer just a street rat from Calemyr—she was a girl the sky itself seemed to claim.
Above her, the upper islands loomed like jagged crowns piercing the clouds. Sunlight glinted off their crystalline spires and golden bridges. Ships carved from steel and Skywood drifted lazily between them, their sails shimmering with enchanted runes. It was breathtaking… and terrifying. Nyra's stomach churned.
"This… this is impossible," she whispered. "I've never seen anything like it."
Cassian didn't answer immediately. His glider dipped and swooped through a corridor of floating ruins, navigating with the precision of someone born to the upper skies. "Impossible? That's exactly what they want you to think," he said at last, his voice low, almost intimate. "The upper islands thrive on fear, myths, and control. Only the powerful—or the cunning—survive here."
Nyra's eyes followed the skyline. The largest of the islands, the citadel of Aetherion, was surrounded by towers and bridges she could barely comprehend. From below, it looked untouchable. And yet, Cassian navigated toward it as if it were a back alley in Calemyr.
"Why are we going there?" she asked, gripping the edge of the glider.
"Because someone must explain the rules," he said, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "And because your Skymark… it won't stay hidden for long. Others are already hunting it."
Nyra flinched. "Others?"
Cassian didn't answer immediately. Instead, he gestured to a small, silver sphere floating beside him. It shimmered, almost alive. "Meet Thalen," he said. "He's… complicated, but he'll help you understand the upper islands better than I can."
The sphere hummed and expanded into a semi-solid form: a creature shaped like a fox, but made entirely of liquid light, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Hello," it said in a soft, melodic tone that made Nyra's stomach twist in both wonder and unease.
"Uh…" Nyra stammered. "Hello?"
Thalen tilted his head, fox-like ears flicking. "Do not be afraid, child. I am your guide, your warning, and occasionally, your annoyance. The upper islands do not welcome the unmarked, or those with ancient power. You have both."
Nyra swallowed, clutching her wrist. Her Skymark pulsed in response to the creature, as though recognizing a kinship. "I don't… understand," she admitted. "Why me? Why now?"
Cassian's glider shifted, banking sharply to avoid a patrol of Skywardens sweeping below. "Because the world is bigger than you know. And because power—like your Skymark—chooses its wielder. You didn't ask for this. But now, you have to survive it."
They landed on a landing platform high above the clouds, guarded by armored Skywardens with runes glowing faintly on their skin. The air was thin and crisp, carrying the scent of ozone and magic. Nyra's heart thumped in her chest as she stepped off the glider, her legs shaky but determined.
"Stay close," Cassian said, his hand brushing her shoulder briefly. The contact was fleeting, but it sent a spark through her chest that had nothing to do with the wind.
The citadel gates opened automatically, revealing a bustling city of spires, bridges, and people whose Skymarks pulsed openly—some faint, some bright, some terrifying. Nyra realized she was surrounded by power she could barely comprehend. And she was being watched.
A tall woman with platinum hair and a staff carved from silver and obsidian approached them. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, lingered on Nyra's mark. "Cassian," she said, her tone formal. "And… you brought her."
Cassian inclined his head slightly. "She has no choice."
The woman's gaze hardened. "Choice is a luxury few survive here. Name's Seraphine. You will report to her for orientation, and Nyra Vale… you will learn fast—or the skies will claim you."
Nyra swallowed. Orientation? She had survived the slums, evaded enforcers, and faced the awakening of her Skymark… but this? This was a different level of danger.
Seraphine led them through the city, pointing out towers where Skywardens trained, markets where Skymarks were traded, and shadowed alleys where whispers of rebellion flickered. Every face Nyra passed seemed to judge her, measure her, and mark her as something… unusual.
Finally, they reached a vast chamber where other Skymark users were gathered. Some were teens like her, some adults, all radiating power that made the air hum. A boy with silver hair and an arrogant smirk leaned against the wall, his mark blazing like a small sun on his arm. "So this is the new girl," he said, voice dripping with mockery. "Cassian actually brought someone worth… watching?"
Nyra's stomach tightened. She could feel her pulse matching the rhythm of her Skymark, as though it recognized a rival, a threat, and maybe… something else.
Cassian's eyes narrowed, and the tension in the room thickened. Nyra realized, with a cold twist of fear and excitement, that she had entered a world far more dangerous—and far more alive—than the slums of Calemyr.
And the first rule of surviving here was simple: trust no one.