Chapter 19 – First Steps on the Second Ring
Kellan stepped off the shimmering platform and onto the soil of the Second Ring. His boots sank slightly into amber grass that felt springy underfoot, and he inhaled a breath of air that was startlingly crisp and thin. Above him arched a sky split by lavender and turquoise hues, two brilliant stellar orbs hanging like twin suns on the horizon. The light cast bizarre dual shadows at his feet. In every direction, he saw fragments of land adrift in the air: floating islands of various sizes, some trailing vines and waterfalls that spilled into empty space. It was a world untethered from the ground he once knew, and the sight stole his breath. Kellan's heart pounded with a mix of awe and vertigo.
Bramble pressed close to Kellan's leg, the dog's ears perked and nose twitching. The border collie mix let out a soft whine—whether in wonder or worry, Kellan couldn't tell. He reached down to ruffle the thick fur between Bramble's ears, hoping to reassure them both. "We made it, buddy," he murmured. His voice sounded oddly muted in the vast open air. After the claustrophobic forests and caves of Tier-1, this endless expanse was both liberating and disorienting.
A towering rune-monolith stood a few paces ahead, precisely where the Ascension platform had delivered them. The structure was carved from dark stone veined with glowing teal lines that pulsed in a slow rhythm. Ancient glyphs—different from those in Tier-1—shimmered along its surface. As Kellan stepped closer, these glyphs rearranged themselves, forming words in a language he could almost read. The monolith hummed, recognizing his presence.
"Welcome, honored daughter of winds," a gentle voice resonated from the monolith, speaking in the common tongue but with an archaic accent. Kellan blinked in confusion, unsure if he'd heard correctly. Daughter? He instinctively glanced around, but there was no one else present. The monolith's swirling script glowed brighter as the voice continued, "Second Ring orientation initializing… Calibrating new ascendant's credentials."
Kellan cleared his throat, stepping fully into the monolith's circular dais. "Um, I think there's been a mistake," he said hesitantly, eyeing the floating script. "I'm not a—" He stopped short, realizing he was addressing a chunk of stone. The monolith likely had no ability to converse beyond its scripted tutorial, and indeed it ignored his protest.
The monolith emitted a series of soft chimes as if acknowledging his presence. Lines of luminescent text scrolled in the air before Kellan's eyes, syncing seamlessly with the voice.
Tier-1 Ascension Complete.Initializing Tier-2 Tutorial...
"Honored ascendant," the monolith intoned, its voice reverberating in Kellan's chest. "You have entered the Second Ring, domain of open skies and ancient legacies. Please accept the following provisions bestowed upon you by the Matriarch's Grace."
At that, a compartment in the base of the monolith slid open without a sound. Within lay several items neatly arranged. Kellan stepped forward and gingerly retrieved them, his fingers tingling with excitement and caution. There was a folded cloak of silvery-grey fabric that glimmered with a faint opalescence. As he lifted it, he realized it was incredibly light—almost weightless. Next, he picked up a small crystalline shard etched with map-like markings. It glowed faintly at his touch, and he guessed this was the sky-map shard the orientation mentioned. Lastly, a pouch of translucent material sat at the back. Kellan opened it and found dozens of tiny faceted crystals inside, each the size of a pebble, glowing with inner light—crystal motes, a new currency or resource for this tier.
Kellan's HUD flared gently as each item registered. A text prompt appeared in the corner of his vision, and he focused on it.
New Item Acquired: Zephyrcloak – A lightweight cloak woven from glide-fabric, reduces fall speed.
New Item Acquired: Sky-Map Shard – Map data for Lower Second Ring uploaded.
Currency Acquired: 100 Crystal Motes – Tier-2 standard exchange units.
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. These were his Tier-1 completion rewards, finally delivered. The cloak, in particular, intrigued him. Kellan swept it around his shoulders, fastening it with the simple clasp at its neck. It settled into place, surprisingly warm and snug despite its gossamer lightness. Immediately, a subtle sensation of buoyancy washed over him, as if gravity's pull had eased just a fraction. Bramble sniffed at the cloak's hem and sneezed, making Kellan chuckle. "Yeah, it's a bit fancy, isn't it?" he whispered.
Above the monolith, a holographic display shimmered to life, projecting a faint three-dimensional layout of the surrounding area. New HUD elements blinked and then stabilized. In the upper right of his vision, Kellan noticed a small compass rose with a double-layered circle beneath it—the vertical minimap. The map showed not just ground terrain but a stack of contours representing different altitudes, tiny blips indicating floating islands above and chasms below. At the edges of his peripheral vision, a thin curved bar appeared, tinted blue and labeled O2; an oxygen meter, he realized. It was currently full, but seeing it at all drove home that parts of this world might extend into thin atmosphere where breathing could become a challenge.
Another icon flashed briefly—a pair of scales or perhaps a stylized handshake—then minimized. He frowned slightly, focusing on it, and a tool-tip popped up: Reputation Meter: Factions of the Second Ring. It listed entries like Sky-Wardens, Flux Cartel, and Free Folk, each with an empty bar or a neutral notation. So, Tier-2 would involve navigating not only monsters and environment, but people and politics. Kellan had expected as much after seeing those distant cities from below, but seeing the system confirm it made his stomach flutter with nerves and anticipation.
The monolith's voice continued its tutorial speech, oblivious to his momentary distraction. "Traverse with courage. The skies of the Second Ring offer new opportunities and new dangers. Uphold the Matriarch's honor and you shall prosper. May the winds guide you, daughter of the realm." The monolith's glow began to fade, its purpose evidently fulfilled. Kellan managed a wry smile at the repeated mistake of his identity. If this world wants to think I'm some kind of honorary daughter, so be it, he thought, amused. I'll take whatever help I can get.
He gave a polite half-bow toward the ancient pillar. "Thank you," he said softly. The monolith powered down to a steady idle glow, and silence fell once more, broken only by a distant rush of wind between hovering islands.
With their immediate orientation complete and new gear in hand, it was time to move. Kellan cast one more glance at the Ascension platform—a disk of light and stone that had brought them here, now dim and dormant. There was no going back the way they came. Ahead, the unknown beckoned.
"Stay close, Bramble," Kellan said, stepping off the small rise where the monolith stood. The dog needed no urging; Bramble was already padding ahead a few steps, nose quivering as he sniffed the strange scents carried on the cool breeze. Together, they ventured away from the platform, into the wilds of the Second Ring.
They hadn't gone far when Bramble suddenly halted, one paw raised. The dog's ears tilted forward and he let out a low 'woof' under his breath. Kellan listened. In the distance, beyond a line of strange feather-leafed bushes, he could make out faint voices and a rhythmic clanking sound, like wood and metal in motion. People—actual people. His pulse quickened at the realization. After weeks in Tier-1 with only Bramble and occasional animal allies for company, the prospect of human contact was both thrilling and daunting. Who would they be? Fellow challengers? Or natives of this sky-land?
Kellan moved cautiously, parting the bushes to peer through. What he saw made his jaw drop slightly: a caravan winding its way along a narrow trail on the plateau below. A line of six-legged creatures akin to large goats or small oxen—each fitted with a peculiar balloon-like sack on either side of their saddles—plodded along, carrying packs and crates. Walking alongside them were several figures. Kellan counted at least five people: two wore practical leather-and-cloth garb, walking near the front and back of the caravan with long prods—likely herders or guards. Three others were in the center, one of whom immediately commanded attention.
She was tall and poised, clad in a coat of midnight blue that billowed behind her in the breeze. Even from a distance, Kellan could see intricate silver patterns adorning the coat—something between a uniform and ceremonial wear. A hood of sheer material was thrown back to reveal her face: sharp features, bronze complexion, and hair cropped short except for a long braid at her temple woven with metallic beads. In her hand she carried a slender staff that glimmered with embedded crystals. The way the others deferred to her left little doubt: this was the leader.
Flanking her were two men in elaborate robes of teal and gold, each carrying a long bundle or scroll case. They hovered close to the woman, gesturing occasionally to the path ahead or to instruments they carried. Attendants, perhaps advisors or navigators. This truly was an intelligent NPC group—likely locals of the Second Ring, going about their business.
Bramble glanced up at Kellan and wagged his tail, oblivious to the significance of the scene but clearly sensing Kellan's interest. "Looks like we're not alone up here," Kellan whispered. He had to decide how to approach. For a moment, old instincts from Tier-1 urged caution—observe from afar, ensure they weren't hostile. But the memory of lonely nights and the promise of knowledge these people might hold pushed him forward.
He stepped out from the brush, Bramble at his side, and raised one hand in greeting as he approached the trail. "Hello there!" he called, trying to strike a friendly tone. At the sound of his voice, the caravan came to an abrupt halt. The two herders at front and rear reacted swiftly—one woman at the front drew a short, curved blade from her belt, while the man at the back hastened forward to shield the robed figures. The animals snorted, balloon-sacks puffing out as if sensing tension.
Kellan realized too late that suddenly appearing might have spooked them. He stopped a respectful distance away—about a dozen paces—and kept his hands visible and empty. Bramble pressed against his calf, head low but curious.
The woman in the blue coat—clearly the Mist-Captain, by her commanding presence—stepped forward, motioning subtly for the others to hold. Her eyes, a pale grey, fixed on Kellan, then flicked down to Bramble and back up. When she spoke, her voice was low and firm. "State your business, traveler." She looked him over, taking in his leather armor and gear, and her brow furrowed slightly as if something about his appearance puzzled her.
Kellan realized he must cut an unusual figure: a man, armed and apparently alone, on a wild path. And he wore the Zephyrcloak, whose silvery material glinted in the daylight—a cloak likely recognized as an ascendant's prize. News of challengers reaching higher tiers might not be everyday, but he suspected this wasn't the first time someone from below had surfaced here.
He decided honesty was the best path. He bowed briefly—an awkward tilt of his shoulders, hoping it was an acceptable gesture—and offered a smile. "Greetings. My name is Kellan. I've only just arrived in the Second Ring—"
Before he could continue, one of the robed men stepped closer to the Mist-Captain and whispered urgently, though not so low that Kellan couldn't catch a few words: "...unescorted male...dangerous or ignorant...". The woman's expression remained unreadable, but her eyes narrowed a touch at her attendant's words.
Kellan pressed on, trying to show friendly intent. "I mean no harm. In fact, I was hoping to find safe passage or directions to the nearest settlement. If I could accompany your caravan—"
Suddenly remembering something akin to protocol, Kellan extended his right hand as he stepped forward, intending to offer a handshake to seal his request. It was a reflex from his own culture—a gesture of goodwill. But the effect on the caravan was immediate and perplexing. The Mist-Captain's attendants gasped; the woman herself arched an eyebrow in evident surprise. The front guard woman actually sheathed her blade and covered a grin, while the male attendant coughed and looked pointedly away, cheeks flushing.
Kellan froze, hand still mid-air, realizing he'd committed some kind of gaffe. The Mist-Captain regarded him with a mix of amusement and scrutiny. Her lips twitched as if fighting a smirk. "Bold," she commented dryly, letting the word hang. Kellan felt heat rise to his face. He quickly withdrew his hand, unsure what he had done wrong but positive it was something significant.
"I— I apologize if I offended," he stammered. "Where I come from, that gesture is a greeting. I didn't mean—"
The Mist-Captain waved it off, and to his relief, she chuckled—a warm, throaty sound. "No lasting harm done. It's not often we meet a newcomer unversed in our ways." She studied him again, and Kellan could almost see her reassessing the situation: a lone male stranger, clearly foreign to their customs, yet carrying himself with the confidence of a fighter. And there was Bramble at his side, the dog sitting obediently but alertly, which perhaps signified he was a trained companion animal—more evidence that Kellan was a capable traveler.
"I am Mist-Captain Alera," she introduced herself finally, inclining her head. The beads in her braid clinked softly. "These are my attendants and caravan hands." She gestured to the robed men and the others. The attendants still looked at Kellan with a mixture of curiosity and caution, but at least the tension in the air had ebbed.
Kellan exhaled slowly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mist-Captain Alera." He refrained from offering his hand again and instead placed his palm over his heart, hoping that conveyed respect. The captain's faint smile suggested it was acceptable.
Alera studied him a moment longer. "You say you just arrived. From the realm below, I take it?"
Kellan nodded. "Yes. From the First Ring... or Tier-1 as we called it. Until yesterday, I'd never seen a place like this." He glanced upward at the drifting islands casting moving patches of shadow on the golden grassland. "I'm on my way to find civilization here. To learn... well, everything I can. I have a lot to catch up on."
At this admission, one of the attendants—a slender man with amber eyes and a scholarly air—gave a tiny, incredulous laugh before taming it into a polite cough. Alera shot him a sideways look; perhaps it was unusual to hear such blunt humility from a male stranger.
Kellan straightened. "I may be new, but I can handle myself. I survived the trials of the lower land and I've fought all manner of beasts." He gently laid a hand on Bramble's back. "We have. If you're traveling to a settlement, perhaps I could accompany your caravan at least part of the way. In exchange, I can serve as an extra scout or guard. I noticed your people watching the skies—" he gestured to one of the herders, who indeed kept glancing up at the islands overhead— "so I suspect there's danger about. I'd be glad to help keep an eye out."
Mist-Captain Alera's expression shifted into one of consideration. "Generous offer." She tapped a finger against the crystal in her staff thoughtfully. "We travel to the Gilded Canopy Market—it's the nearest trade hub east of here. Our path runs under a gantlet of floating isles where the winds can be treacherous." She paused, then admitted, "And yes, there have been sightings of rogue elementals lately. Zephyr sprites, to be specific."
At the name, Kellan's HUD subtly highlighted a term in his peripheral view: Bestiary Entry Updated: Zephyr Sprite. He filed that away, keeping his gaze on Alera.
"The sprites have been harrying caravans, especially at choke points where the trail narrows," Alera continued. "We lost a pack beast to them last week on our way out. So far, we've been lucky with no further attacks today, but I'd rather not push that luck."
Kellan nodded resolutely. "Understood. If they attack, I'll do everything I can to help fend them off."
One of the caravan guards, the woman with the blade, studied Kellan's lean but muscular frame doubtfully. "Pardon, Captain," she interjected, her tone respectful. "But are we sure he can fight? He has no wings, no sky-gear… and he's a man. Perhaps he'd be better kept in the middle of the group, for his safety." The emphasis on 'his safety' wasn't lost on Kellan, and he had to fight not to bristle. He reminded himself: different world, different norms. In their eyes, a male combatant might be as unusual as a talking dog.
Before he could respond, Alera gave a light laugh. "Oh, I've a feeling he'll surprise us, Sari. He reached this ring on his own, after all." She met Kellan's eyes. "I will accept your offer, Kellan of the First Ring. You may scout ahead of us by, say, thirty paces. Keep to the trail and watch for any movement above or ahead. Bramble, is it?" She regarded the dog, who tilted his head at the sound of his name. "If he's trained to warn you of threats, all the better."
"He is," Kellan affirmed. "Bramble can sense things I sometimes miss." He gave Bramble a proud scratch behind the ears. The dog's tail thumped once in agreement.
Alera nodded. "Good. Consider yourself under caravan employ until we reach the Market. I'll make sure you get a scout's share of any reward or spoils, fair and square." She then added kindly, "And don't worry, we'll guide you on some basic etiquette as we go, so you don't accidentally proposition the wrong matron with an ill-timed handshake." She winked, and Kellan felt his cheeks warm again, though he managed a rueful grin. The jab was gentle, the acceptance genuine.
With that, the tension fully broke. The caravan members relaxed, weapons lowered. The guard Sari gave Kellan a curt nod—perhaps not convinced of his prowess yet, but at least no longer seeing him as a threat. The robed attendants whispered to each other as they passed Kellan, curiosity plain on their faces. One of them—a young man with freckles—offered him a shy smile of encouragement as he went by, clearly fascinated by the newcomer.
Kellan fell into position a short distance ahead of the front-most caravan beast. The animal regarded him with big, placid eyes, and Kellan noted the 'balloons' attached to its sides were actually flotation bladders. Perhaps they helped lighten the creature's load or keep it from falling off narrow mountain paths. Ingenious, he thought.
"Forward," Alera called out, and the caravan resumed motion. The gentle clank of wooden wheels and soft thuds of hooves on earth filled the air once more. Kellan adjusted his grip on his spear—Stormpiercer, lovingly hand-forged back in Tier-1—and scanned the horizon and sky as he walked. It felt good to have a clear purpose and human voices behind him.
The morning passed in a steady march. Kellan kept his position ahead, eyes roving across the landscape and upward. The trail snaked through rolling highlands dappled with light from the two bright orbs overhead. Occasionally, one of the floating islands drifted low enough to cast a massive shadow, plunging them into twilight for a minute or two before it passed. During one such interlude, a young attendant—the freckled man from earlier—trotted up to walk near Kellan.
"Mind some company?" the attendant asked, offering a friendly smile. He carried a slender rod capped with a spinning anemometer, evidently some kind of wind-reading instrument. Up close, Kellan noted the man couldn't be much older than himself. He had the wiry build of a scholar rather than a warrior.
"Not at all," Kellan replied. "I appreciate it. It's nice to talk while on the road for a change." He gave a quick grin. "I'm used to traveling with only Bramble here for conversation." At the mention of his name, Bramble wagged his tail and sniffed at the newcomer's boots.
The attendant chuckled and slowed his pace to let Bramble inspect him. "Hello, Bramble. My name is Aaro," he introduced himself to both dog and man. "I'm one of Mist-Captain Alera's navigators. I chart the winds and keep track of our position relative to the sky currents." He lifted the rod slightly by way of explanation.
"Kellan," Kellan reintroduced, since he'd only given his name to Alera before. They shook— or rather, Aaro looked like he almost offered a hand, then thought better of it and gave a polite nod instead. Kellan remembered the handshake issue and returned the nod gratefully.
"Good to meet you properly," Aaro said. He then lowered his voice conspiratorially. "And, if I may say, welcome to the Second Ring. It's not every day someone new comes up from below. There's talk among us that the last ascendant was over five years ago." His eyes shone with curiosity.
Five years? Kellan hadn't realized how rare ascending might be. He felt a weight on that statement—if challengers from below were that infrequent, he might well be a novelty. "I appreciate the welcome. I'm definitely feeling like a fish out of water so far," Kellan confessed. "Thanks for bearing with my mistakes back there. I really didn't know about... handshakes. Where I come from it's just courtesy."
Aaro laughed softly. "I figured as much. Here, a grasp of hands has a rather, ah, intimate connotation. Usually only lovers or close kin do it in private. So when you offered that to the Captain in front of everyone…" He shook his head, eyes dancing with amusement. "Well, you made quite the bold first impression. Some of the guards thought you were propositioning her most scandalously."
Kellan groaned in embarrassment, rubbing his palm over his face. "Wonderful. Starting off great, aren't I."
"Don't worry," Aaro said kindly. "Captain Alera is not easily offended and has a sense of humor. If anything, I think she finds your ignorance endearing." He cleared his throat. "Still, perhaps it's best I give you a quick rundown of a few basic etiquette points, at least for our caravan's culture. I'd hate for you to accidentally ask someone to marry you by ordering a drink incorrectly at the market."
Kellan chuckled. "I would appreciate that, Aaro." As they walked, Aaro shared a few quick tips: male travelers usually kept a certain demure reserve among strangers, eye contact should be brief when speaking to a woman of significantly higher rank, and indeed, bargaining customs were somewhat inverted—one compliments the goods and offers a high price first out of respect, then the seller courteously lowers it to a fair middle ground. Kellan absorbed this information, bemused but grateful. It was like learning the social rules of a foreign country—one he would have to navigate to survive, just as surely as he had learned the hunting grounds and predators of Tier-1.
As midday approached, the caravan reached a narrow pass flanked by spires of rock. Above, a cluster of small islands floated unusually low, their undersides covered in dangling roots and trickling streams that rained down sporadic drizzles. Alera called a short break in the shadow of these rocks, allowing the beasts to rest and drink from a pool formed by the waterfall. Kellan took the opportunity to nibble on some dried meat from his pack and share a bit with Bramble. The air was cooler here, with droplets misting around them.
Despite the serene moment, Kellan felt a prickle of unease. The passage ahead, continuing under the hanging islands, looked dim and constricted. Cold air funneled through, and the perpetual breeze that had been at their back all morning died down to a whisper, as if holding its breath.
"This stretch is where we must be most vigilant," Alera announced quietly as the group prepared to move on. The guards and attendants all took up more alert stances. Sari loosened her curved blade in its sheath; another guard readied a compact crossbow, scanning the cliffs above. The attendants muttered charms or checked devices—Aaro flicked the anemometer rod, frowning at its readings.
Kellan slid an arrow from his quiver and held it ready alongside his bow as he resumed his scout position. Bramble trotted a few paces ahead now, nose working the air. Kellan trusted the dog's instincts more than anything. Something had the fur along Bramble's spine standing up.
They advanced into the pass. Overhead, the suspended islands creaked softly as occasional clods of earth dislodged and pattered down. Each drip of water and scrape of hoof on stone echoed. Kellan's eyes darted among the crags and overhead; every shadow could be a threat or nothing at all. His heart thumped steadily, adrenaline building.
A sudden gust of wind surged through the pass, kicking up dust and grit. It was out of place—there had been no sign of a gale a second before. Bramble stopped and let out a sharp bark, staring upward to the left. Kellan followed his gaze but saw only the underside of one of the floating isles, about fifty feet above. A trickle of pebbles cascaded from it, as if something had disturbed the soil up there... or knocked it loose.
"Eyes up!" Kellan shouted back to the caravan, intuition flaring. No sooner had the words left his mouth than a high-pitched, airy chittering echoed between the rocks. From above, a swirling shape peeled away from the floating island's bottom. Then another, and a third from behind a rocky spur to their right.
They appeared as twisting funnels of cloud and wind, each about the size of a person. Within the translucent swirl of each sprite glinted two pinpricks of light—eyes, hatefully bright. Zephyr Sprites. They descended upon the caravan like swooping hawks, spitting blasts of wind that whipped at clothes and skin.
The lead sprite let out a shrill, whistling shriek and dove toward Kellan, perhaps drawn by the fact he was at the front. Kellan threw himself to the side as a funnel of wind roared past, stirring up a spray of gravel where he'd stood. He rolled to a knee and loosed his readied arrow toward the attacker. The arrow disappeared into the whirlwind body of the sprite. For a heartbeat Kellan saw the creature's outline flicker, its form destabilized, but then it re-coalesced, the arrow spinning out uselessly on the other side. Ordinary arrows might slow these things, but not kill them, he realized.
Behind him, the caravan was under attack from the other sprites. One swooped low over the pack animals, slashing at them with tendrils of concentrated air. One beast bellowed in pain as a cut opened along its flank. Sari sprang in, slashing her blade through the air; it met nothing solid, but the sprite hissed and darted back, avoiding the cold steel. The second guard loosed a crossbow bolt that managed to graze the third sprite, tearing away a swirl of its ethereal essence.
Bramble was barking furiously, dancing just out of reach of a sprite that had fixated on him. The elemental whipped a mini-tornado around the dog, trying to catch him in a vortex. Bramble crouched low, ears flat, teeth bared, and at the last second darted aside as the vortex touched down, only to leap and snap his jaws at what looked like empty air. Amazingly, the sprite shrieked—Bramble's teeth had found purchase on something amidst the wind, some invisible core perhaps, however briefly.
Kellan realized they needed a different approach. These elementals were barely tangible—perhaps striking at their core was the only way. His mind flashed back to what worked against the ghostly wolves: lightning and brute force. He had no time to rig anything fancy, but he did have muscle and steel.
The sprite he'd shot was wheeling around for another pass at him. Kellan dropped his bow, gripping Stormpiercer in both hands. The spear's bronze head crackled faintly; a residual charge still lingered from its enchantment, though whether enough to matter he didn't know. He planted his feet as the whirlwind creature howled towards him. At the last second, Kellan sidestepped the rush of wind and slashed with the spear in a broad arc. The tip bit into something solid amid that cyclone—a small, dense form within the swirl. With a sound like shattering glass, the Zephyr Sprite burst apart, a spray of sparkling mist raining down. Kellan staggered at the sudden lack of resistance, nearly losing his balance. Where the sprite had been, a few crystal motes chimed to the ground, twinkling. He didn't have a chance to retrieve them yet, but a quick glance at his HUD confirmed their presence as loot.
A triumphant bark from Bramble signaled that the dog had harried his opponent off for the moment; the sprite he'd bitten was circling warily above, out of reach and clearly vexed. But another shriek snapped Kellan's attention around: one of the sprites had dived straight into the caravan's center.
Aaro cried out as the elemental enveloped him in a funnel. "Help—!" his shout was cut off, turning into a gasp as the whirlwind lifted him off his feet. The young man's instruments clattered to the ground. In seconds, the sprite had pulled Aaro eight, ten feet into the air, his robe flapping wildly as he flailed.
Kellan didn't hesitate. He sprinted and leapt, kicking off from a boulder to gain height. One—his boots left the earth. Two—he stretched upward, arms extended. Three—his fingers brushed the end of Aaro's trailing sash. Four—Kellan closed his fist around the fabric, gripping it tight. Five—the full weight of Aaro yanked on his arm, threatening to pull Kellan off the ground completely. He snarled with effort, muscles straining. Six—with a surge, Kellan planted his feet back on the rocky ground, anchoring himself and Aaro like a living tether.
The Zephyr Sprite struggled above, its winds howling as it tried to snatch its prize free. Aaro swung in midair, one arm desperately clinging to Kellan's hand now as well. "Hold on, I've got you!" Kellan gritted out, though he felt his boots skidding. Another guard raced in—a broad-shouldered older woman—and grabbed Aaro's other arm, adding her weight to counter the pull.
"Captain!" Kellan shouted. He could see Alera out of the corner of his eye, but she was already in motion. The Mist-Captain planted her crystal staff into the ground and thrust her free hand upward. She whispered a quick incantation, voice cutting through the chaos: "By the sky's blade, be severed!"
A lance of crackling blue energy shot from her palm, spearing the whirling column that held Aaro. The sprite gave a keening wail as the magic bolt ripped through it. In a puff of vapor, the elemental lost cohesion and exploded into a burst of cool air. Freed from its grasp, Aaro dropped like a stone. Kellan and the guard braced and caught him, the three of them collapsing in a heap but otherwise unharmed.
The last remaining sprite—the one Bramble had bitten—screeched at the loss of its kin. Rather than attacking again, it retreated, zipping upward and away into the crevices of the floating isles above. Its eerie chittering echoed and then faded, gone with the wind.
For a moment, the pass was silent save for heavy breathing and the nervous lowing of the pack animals. Kellan rose to his feet, heart hammering, and offered Aaro a hand up. The navigator was trembling, eyes wide. He accepted Kellan's hand wordlessly, gratitude all over his face as he stood. Realizing they were actually clasping hands, Kellan released quickly, but Aaro did not seem scandalized at the breach of etiquette—nearly being carried off by a monster has a way of rearranging priorities.
"Th-thank you," Aaro managed, voice shaking.
Kellan nodded, clapping him reassuringly on the shoulder (figuring that was a safer gesture). "Of course. You alright?"
Aaro nodded rapidly. "Yes...thanks to you."
Around them, the others were gathering themselves. Sari was already tending to the wounded pack animal, applying a salve to the cut on its flank. The other guard retrieved crossbow bolts and kept an eye on the sky in case the sprite returned with friends.
Bramble trotted to Kellan's side, panting but unharmed. Kellan knelt and ruffled his fur. "Good boy," he praised softly. Bramble gave a short, prideful bark, then lifted his muzzle to the air. He inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring, and closed his eyes as if focusing on some distant scent.
Kellan's HUD pinged with a gentle chime. A translucent message appeared:
Party Bond Skill Unlocked: Wind-Nose
Bramble can now detect and track air currents and wind-borne scents with uncanny precision.
So that's what the dog was doing—sensing the direction of the swirling winds, perhaps even smelling the strange magic of the sprites. Kellan allowed himself a grin. They'd earned a new ability together, and not a moment too soon in this sky-bound land.
Alera approached the group, giving orders in a brisk but calm manner. "Everyone alright? Check each other. Sari, status of the hurt bramblejack?"
"It's a shallow cut, Captain," Sari replied, patting the flank of the stocky six-legged creature (so these pack beasts were called bramblejacks, Kellan noted). "She'll be fine. Salve is on and it's already clotting."
Alera nodded, then turned to Kellan, a keen light in her eyes. "That was quick thinking, ascendant. Well done." She then looked to her attendants and guards. "Well done, all. No casualties, minimal injuries. That's a victory in my book."
Kellan exhaled, the adrenaline ebbing and fatigue creeping in. He bent to pick up the crystal motes dropped by the felled sprite, pocketing them. Each felt cool and tingling to the touch. When he looked up, he found Alera still observing him appraisingly. The Mist-Captain tapped her chin. "Color me impressed, Kellan. You and your companion fight as one. Our caravan owes you a debt for Aaro's life and possibly more."
He shook his head. "I'm just glad I was here. You all would have managed, I'm sure—"
"Perhaps," Alera allowed, glancing at the charred mark on the ground where her lightning spell struck. "But an extra pair of hands and eyes never hurts. Particularly skilled ones."
Kellan felt a flush of pride at the praise. For someone starved of human company for so long, the warm words meant a great deal.
"Shall we press on, Captain?" one of the male attendants asked nervously, glancing upward. "Before they regroup?"
"Yes, but cautiously," Alera agreed. She gestured down the trail. "This pass should open up to the canopy forests soon. Let's reach more open ground by nightfall. Move out."
As the caravan carefully reformed and resumed their journey, Alera fell into step beside Kellan at the front, ostensibly to lead the way through the rest of the pass. She gave him a sidelong smile. "You truly are full of surprises, Kellan. And you handle yourself well despite our...cultural differences." A hint of laughter laced her tone at that last part.
He chuckled. "I'm learning as fast as I can, Mist-Captain."
"I can see that. Keep it up and you'll fit in well enough at the Market." Her gaze drifted to Bramble, who was trotting ahead sniffing at the air, as if proud to demonstrate his new wind-scouting ability. "That hound of yours, he's something special."
"I think so too," Kellan agreed, scratching Bramble's back as they walked. "I'd not be here without him."
Alera nodded thoughtfully, then her eyes fixed on the Zephyrcloak draped around Kellan. "That cloak... I knew it. You're wearing Initiate's gear from the Pillar, aren't you? It has that gleam. So it's true: the Pillar still grants boons to those who ascend. Many folk doubted, since so few live to tell."
Kellan remembered that locals might have their own terms. Pillar likely meant the obelisk or monolith. He tapped the cloak's edge. "Yes. This was in fact a reward given when I arrived. It does seem to break my fall a bit."
"Keep it close," Alera advised. "Second Ring can be unforgiving to those who fall." She pointed upward with her staff. Through a gap between two floating isles, Kellan glimpsed a sprawling shape in the distance—a titanic tree or structure. "We'll be at the Market by tomorrow. Tonight, we camp under friendly skies. You've earned a rest and a drink around our fire, I'd say."
They made camp as dusk fell in a sheltered hollow where a massive, fallen tree trunk provided a windbreak. The twin suns dipped below the horizon one after the other, painting the sky first gold, then a deep indigo. Kellan watched in fascination as the heavens unveiled unfamiliar stars and nebula-like streaks of color across the night. A broad disc—perhaps a moon or some distant world—glowed softly green among the stars. Everything here was alien and magnificent.
The caravan set a small fire, careful to shield its light with a ring of stones. The bramblejack pack beasts were tethered and fed, and a watch rotation was established. Despite the excitement of the day, an easy camaraderie settled over the group as they ate their evening meal—spiced root stew and smoked sky-eel meat, a fare Kellan had never tasted but found hearty enough. He offered some of his own dried meats from Tier-1, and the caravan members eagerly sampled the exotic fare from the Lowlands, as they called it, marveling at the rich taste of land-beast venison and wild herbs.
Kellan found himself sitting beside the fire between Aaro and Sari. Bramble dozed at his feet, exhausted from the day's exertions, yet the dog's ears twitched at every strange night sound. The group exchanged stories in the firelight. Under the gentle prodding of Alera and the others, Kellan spoke of his journey on the First Ring—albeit carefully omitting the more personal, otherworldly details. He described the primal forests, the ruinous Lexicon Nodes he had discovered, and the creatures he fought: spectral wolves under strange moons, and the great Alpha wolf-spirit that guarded his final trial. He recounted it humbly, but the caravan listened with rapt attention.
"So you were entirely alone down there?" one of the male attendants asked in wonder.
"Not alone. I had Bramble," Kellan replied, smiling down at his sleeping companion. "And eventually, we found friends of a sort." He told them about how in the final days he forged an uneasy peace with a fierce cougar and rallied other beasts to survive a cataclysmic flood as the Tier shifted. He explained how he chose cooperation over conquest when possible, which seemed to surprise and impress some listeners.
"Mercy and wit, not just strength. The hallmark of a true guardian," Alera said quietly, eyes reflecting the fire. Kellan flushed slightly at the compliment and turned the conversation back to the Second Ring.
He was eager to learn about this new world. Aaro obliged by describing the Gilded Canopy Market ahead: a city built into the crowns of giant trees, where airships dock and gliders sail between golden foliage. Others chimed in with their own tidbits: how the Market is famous for its biweekly sky-fairs, where merchants and tinkerers gather from all corners of the Second Ring; how one must try the candied skyfruit and cloud ale; and warnings to mind one's pockets in the bustling bazaar, especially around the sly Flux traders.
At the mention of Flux traders, Alera's expression soured subtly, and Kellan noted it. "Who are they?" he asked.
Sari answered with a slight sneer in her voice, "Smugglers and black-market peddlers, mostly. The Flux Cartel deals in forbidden tech and unstable relics siphoned from the beacons and portals. They'll sell you a fake wind charm as soon as look at you." She glanced at Alera. "They're also rumored to be behind some of the troubles with our Beacons, begging the Captain's pardon for speaking out of turn."
Alera sighed. "No need, Sari. You're not wrong. The Sky-Wardens—the peacekeepers—have been at odds with the Flux Cartel for years. Recently, malfunctions in the Lexicon Beacons have been happening too often to be natural. Some suspect the Cartel is tinkering with them to create chaos, maybe to control passage between rings or profit off repairs. It's one of those things travelers like us keep an ear out for." She gave Kellan a meaningful look. "At the Market, you'll likely hear whispers of it yourself. Keep your guard up around anyone who promises easy power or riches... especially if they note that you're an ascendant."
Kellan filed that away, appreciating the warning. It struck him that Alera was treating him almost like an equal now, or at least a valued colleague rather than a strange obligation. He had earned a measure of respect here. A subtle chime sounded and he glanced at the corner of his vision: his Reputation meter for "Free Folk Travelers" ticked up to a small positive notch. A minor detail, but it made him smile.
As the night deepened, one of the older attendants produced a slender stringed instrument, akin to a lyre, and began plucking a gentle melody. The others quieted, and soon a few joined in song. They sang a sky-ballad about the Dawn Mother who hung the stars and raised the floating isles with her own hands. The tune was wistful and lilting. Kellan closed his eyes to listen; the music seemed to echo in his chest. He hadn't realized how much he missed such moments—simple human closeness, the comfort of voices in the dark. Bramble snored softly now, his head on Kellan's boot, utterly at peace.
Kellan watched the firelight dance in the eyes of his new companions as they sang and laughed softly between verses. He felt a swell of contentment, and at the same time, a pang of homesickness for something he couldn't quite name. Perhaps it was for his old world, or perhaps just for connection itself. Here he was, a stranger in almost every way—gender, origin, role—yet they had welcomed him around their fire. The confusion of navigating their customs remained, but with Aaro's help and everyone's good-natured corrections, he was beginning to find his footing. In their faces he saw acceptance and curiosity, and that gave him hope.
After the ballad ended, Alera stood and stretched. "We rise with first light," she announced. "Market's only a half-day from here if the weather holds. Rest well, everyone." The caravan members began to turn in, curling up in bedrolls near the embers or taking first watch at the camp's perimeter.
Kellan lay on his back beneath a canopy of unfamiliar stars, Bramble curled beside him for warmth. He pulled the Zephyrcloak tighter around his shoulders. The fabric seemed to gently radiate the day's stored warmth, warding off the night chill. As he stared up, he saw one of the floating isles drifting overhead, covered in bioluminescent flora that twinkled like a second sky. He marveled at it all—this beautiful, bizarre world above the world.
He thought of the challenges yet to come. The mention of Lexicon Beacons and factions brewing trouble was a reminder that Tier-2 would not be just a leisurely exploration of wonders. There were stakes here, perhaps higher than ever. But tonight, he allowed himself to simply breathe and be present in this moment of peace.
Kellan closed his eyes, listening to the soft rustle of leaves and the distant call of a nocturnal bird echoing through the canopy. Surrounded by allies (if only temporary), with the loyal weight of Bramble against his side, he felt something he had almost forgotten: hopeful, and human. Tomorrow would bring new trials, but for now, he belonged to the fellowship of the living once more, under the wide sky of the Second Ring.
Chapter 20 – The Gilded Canopy Market
Kellan woke to the rustle of the caravan packing up at dawn. By mid-morning, true to Alera's prediction, they began to sight signs of civilization ahead: plumes of chimney smoke rising above the trees and the distant clamor of activity. The narrow trail broadened into a well-trodden road of packed earth winding between colossal tree trunks. These trees were unlike any Kellan had seen—each one was as wide as a house and soared hundreds of feet high, their canopies interwoven to form a natural platform far above. Sunlight filtered through in golden shafts, illuminating platforms and rope bridges that crisscrossed between branches.
At last, the Gilded Canopy Market lay before them. It wasn't a single city built on ground, but rather a vast network of structures perched in the titanic trees and on floating wooden decks suspended among the branches. A patchwork of balloons, propellers, and pulley-lifts moved goods and people from ground level to the lofty marketplaces above. Colorful banners and streamers flapped in the breeze, giving the whole place a festive, carnival air despite its everyday bustle. Kellan could hear a constant din of voices, hammers, and music drifting down. It was overwhelming and thrilling all at once.
Alera halted the caravan at a clearing that seemed to serve as a ground-level staging area. "We'll unload here and take the lifts up," she instructed her team. She turned to Kellan, who was craning his neck up at the wonders overhead. "This is where we part ways, for now."
Kellan felt a pang of bittersweet emotion. In just a day, he'd grown comfortable in Alera's crew. "Thank you, Mist-Captain, for everything. I would probably still be wandering lost out there if not for your caravan."
Alera gave him a genuine smile and extended her forearm in a warrior's clasp. Kellan carefully mirrored the gesture, gripping her forearm as she gripped his—apparently a safe form of contact. "You earned your keep and then some, Kellan. We don't forget our friends. Seek us out anytime—you'll find Sky-herder caravans welcome you as one of our own."
One of the attendants handed Kellan a small wooden token emblazoned with a swirling cloud insignia. Alera explained, "A marker of introduction. Show that at the Trade Guild and they'll give you a fair rate for your goods. Consider it part of your scout's reward."
Kellan accepted it gratefully, bowing his head. "I appreciate that. And I won't forget your kindness." Bramble wagged his tail as Alera knelt briefly to pat his head. The Mist-Captain then oversaw her people guiding the bramblejacks toward a large freight lift platform at the base of a tree.
Before stepping away, Alera added quietly to Kellan, "One more thing—keep your wits about you up there. The Market's wondrous, but it can be a jungle of its own kind. Not everyone will be as patient with your... learning curve as we were. If you ever need help, the Sky-Wardens have a station near the central aviary. They're the law here. Mention my name and they'll assist."
Kellan nodded solemnly. "Understood. Thank you."
With farewells said, Kellan and Bramble made their way toward a smaller lift designated for passengers. It was essentially a large wooden platform suspended by thick ropes that disappeared upward into the foliage. A group of travelers and locals, laden with baskets and bags, were already boarding. Many were women of various ages and species—Kellan noted a pair of tall, elegant elven-like figures with opalescent feathers in place of hair, chatting amiably; a stout dwarven lady puffing on a pipe; and even a chattering clutch of what looked like humanoid raccoon folk carrying crates. Among them were a few men, but they tended to stand quietly at the sides or follow in the wake of female companions.
As Kellan stepped onto the lift with Bramble at his heel, he felt the weight of several curious gazes. His gear, his male presence unaccompanied by any woman, and the dog—especially the dog—drew whispers. He overheard snatches: "...a groundlander, see the cloak?..." "...and he's by himself? Odd..." "...what kind of animal is that? So fluffy!" The last comment made him grin; Bramble was indeed fluffier than the sleek-furred creatures common here.
One of the lift operators, an elderly man with mechanical prosthetic legs, gave Bramble a friendly scratch behind the ears and tossed him a strip of dried fish. "First time topside, lad?" he asked Kellan kindly while securing the ropes.
"First time," Kellan confirmed. The operator chuckled, "Hold on then. The first ride's always a thrill." With a lurch and the groan of pulleys, the lift began to ascend, carrying them up along the gargantuan tree trunk.
The ground fell away, and soon they were rising through layers of broad gold-green leaves. Kellan's stomach fluttered—not only at the slight sway of the lift, but at the sheer height and new perspective. Bramble braced himself between Kellan's legs, ears perked as he peered over the edge, but he stayed quiet and brave.
When the platform reached the top, it clicked into place at a busy canopy-level dock. The scene that greeted Kellan took his breath away. They stood now at the heart of the treetop city. Wooden walkways and woven vine bridges spanned between enormous boughs. Homes and shops were built into hollows and on platforms, festooned with hanging lanterns. Everywhere, people moved about their business—bustling market stalls, street performers on corners, and artisans hammering or tinkering away at open-air workshops. Overhead, a patchwork of canvases and dirigibles floated, some stationary as additional terraces, others gently cruising in the air. The smell of sweet fried dough mingled with engine oil and blooming flowers.
Kellan stepped off the lift and a wave of sound hit him: hawkers advertising wares, clanking from a smithy, laughter of children chasing each other between stalls. Bramble sneezed at the assault of scents and sounds, pressing closer to Kellan's calf for reassurance. Kellan took a deep breath, steadying himself. Focus. He needed to take care of essentials: trade his goods for equipment, gather information, and find guidance on mastering the skies.
He consulted the wooden token Alera gave him. On the other side of the cloud insignia was etched an address of sorts. After asking a friendly-looking passerby (a middle-aged woman balancing a basket of glowing mushrooms on her hip) for directions, he learned it pointed to a trading house near the central market.
As he navigated the lively streets, Kellan noticed more signs of the matriarchal norms Aaro had warned him of. A pair of armor-clad female guards in Sky-Warden uniforms strode importantly through the crowd, while a male assistant hurried behind them carrying a clipboard of documents. Shopkeepers, whether dwarf, human, or otherwise, were predominantly women, often with quiet men aiding in the back. Kellan made sure to walk respectfully and keep any accidental stares to himself. Still, he drew stares of his own. A few young women giggled behind their hands as he passed, and an elderly grandmotherly type even patted his cheek in passing, mumbling something about "what a brave boy, be careful up here, dear." It was both amusing and slightly disconcerting.
At last, he found the trade hall—a bustling emporium under a vast canvas pavilion. Within, traders and adventurers haggled over all manner of curios. Kellan approached a counter where a sharp-eyed merchant woman was polishing a set of brass altimeters. He produced Alera's token and the items he hoped to trade. "Mist-Captain Alera's caravan sent me. I have some Tier-1 artifacts to barter," he explained.
The merchant's eyes widened at the sight of the sizable curved wolf fang and the faintly glowing core fragment Kellan laid out. "From the lower lands, you say? Interesting. We don't see many of these." She picked up the fang, examining the serrated edge. "Quality trophy… and this core fragment – white and yellow fused? Likely from a Lexicon Node, if I'm not mistaken." She looked at Kellan with newfound respect. "You've been busy down there."
Kellan smiled modestly. "I've had my share of adventures."
They got down to bargaining. Kellan explained he was looking for a glider harness – a lightweight rig that would allow him to catch the Ring's famed updrafts – and any crafting schematics for advanced alloys or fabrics that could help him make or maintain equipment here. The merchant, who introduced herself as Maribeth, had just the items: a well-crafted glider harness of stitched canvas and spring-steel struts, and a set of parchment schematics for "Windforged Alloy" and "Glide-silk Weave."
"Now, these are high-end goods," Maribeth said, laying them out. The harness was a marvel: a vest-like apparatus with folded wing spars that could deploy on command. Brass filigree gears and locking joints gleamed at the shoulder points. "Light as a feather but sturdy. Made by the Featherfall Workshop. And these schematics," she tapped the rolled parchments, "come from a Skysmith of great renown. You won't find them cheap."
Kellan knew little of the going rates and briefly panicked at the thought of mis-stepping. He recalled Aaro's tips: Start high with praise. He cleared his throat. "They look exquisite – truly top quality," he began earnestly. "I wouldn't insult you by undervaluing them. For the harness and schematics together, along with maybe a couple coils of glide-fabric and a small tool kit, I could offer…" he hesitated, trying to gauge. He had 100 crystal motes from the monolith plus a handful picked up from the sprite, and these rare items to trade. "How about this fang, the core fragment, and 80 crystal motes?"
Maribeth raised her eyebrows. A silence hung between them for a moment. Kellan worried he'd gone too high – what if that was an absurd overpayment? But then the merchant's painted lips twitched into a smile. "Well now," she said with a delighted chuckle, "either you really want these goods or you're new to our customs and overshot. Possibly both. But you've made my day with such a respectful offer, son."
Kellan felt his ears burn. He almost had said something lower first by habit; at the last second he'd remembered and overcompensated. Still, it seemed to be working in his favor. Maribeth pretended to consider deeply. "Hmm, the fang and core are certainly valuable... The motes, though, that's a hefty sum. It might be too much, truly. I'd feel guilty taking advantage of a newcomer so." She flashed him a wink. "Let's say the fang, the core, and 50 motes. And I'll throw in the fabric and toolkit as requested."
Kellan quickly nodded, nearly sighing in relief. "Agreed. Thank you." He counted out the crystalline motes from his pouch – they shimmered like little prisms as he handed them over. The merchant carefully stowed the fang and core fragment, clearly pleased with the exchange.
Transaction complete, Kellan slung the glider harness over his shoulders, buckling it across his chest. It fit snugly, and despite the metal frames folded against his back, it was remarkably light. Maribeth showed him the pull-cord mechanism at the waist. "A quick tug and the wings will deploy. Best not to do it indoors," she warned with a grin. She handed him the rolled schematics and a neat bundle of silvery fabric and tools. "Safe flying, dear. And do come back if you have more exotic goods. Always happy to trade with one of Alera's recommendations."
As Kellan stepped away from the stall, he felt a surge of accomplishment. He had a glider harness – one step closer to conquering the skies of Tier-2. His HUD blinked subtly, noting new data:
Crafting Branch Unlocked: Advanced Alloys & Textiles.
The schematics must have triggered his interface. A quick glance showed new recipes filed under his crafting tab, including the windforged alloy and glide-silk, which promised stronger, lighter equipment once he gathered the right materials.
Eventually, with Bramble's belly full and the crowd moving on, Kellan refocused on his next goal: glider training.
On the way toward the western edge of the city, Kellan passed a bulletin board near a Sky-Warden outpost. A crisp poster depicted a stern woman's face beneath the caption 'WANTED – Flux Cartel Saboteur.' It listed bounties for information on recent beacon tamperings. Kellan felt a jolt of affirmation: the Beacon issue was known and clearly being taken seriously by authorities. He remembered Alera's warning and realized he was stepping right into the center of this brewing conflict. Pulling his cloak a bit tighter, he carried on, even more determined to help set things right.
He had the gear, but strapping on wings didn't mean he knew how to use them proficiently. The stakes of a wrong move up here were painfully high—one misstep could send him plummeting to the distant ground below.
He recalled overhearing at the lift platform earlier that the Market had a Glider Guild training area near the western edge of the city, by the aviary spire. He headed in that direction, feeling both anxious and excited at the prospect of learning to fly for real.
The path led him to a sprawling wooden deck that jutted out from the main tree platform, overlooking open sky. A series of tall poles with windsocks and flags marked the area, and a few people were present adjusting straps or inspecting glider wings. Off to one side, a lean figure in a leather flight jacket was instructing a pair of young apprentices. Even before Kellan heard her voice, he noticed her commanding presence and the easy confidence in her stance. Cyran. He intuited this might be the instructor he was looking for.
Kellan edged closer, catching a snippet of the instruction. The woman was demonstrating how to catch a thermal updraft by watching the movement of a windsock and feeling the temperature in the air. The two apprentices, teenage girls judging by their stature and unsure footing, listened intently.
The instructor noticed Kellan lingering and called out without looking his way, "If you're here to train, take a seat for a moment, I'll be right with you." Her tone was brisk but not unkind. Kellan obeyed, not wanting to interrupt. He sat on a bench near a coil of ropes, Bramble settling at his feet.
Up close, he took in the instructor's features: Cyran was of medium height, lithe and wind-tanned. A pair of flight goggles rested atop her short, windswept auburn hair. She wore a fitted leather jacket with multiple straps and buckles—likely housing various tools or spare parts—and knee-high boots with grappling spurs. There was a smattering of scars on her forearms, visible when she gestured, hinting at a life of daring scrapes. What struck Kellan most was the spark in her dark eyes—a mix of sharp intelligence and playful daring.
After concluding her lesson and sending the apprentices off to practice gliding from a low platform (supervised by another guild member), Cyran approached Kellan. "You don't look like my usual student," she commented, one eyebrow arched. Her eyes flicked over his gear and then to his face. "Unless the Guild's started admitting groundlander boys with second-hand harnesses." Her tone was teasing.
Kellan stood, not sure if he should be formal or casual. He decided on respectful but straightforward. "Name's Kellan. And yes, I'm freshly arrived from the ground—Tier-1. Got this harness today and looking to learn how not to kill myself using it." He offered a small grin.
Cyran let out a short laugh. "Honest, I like that. I'm Cyran, head instructor of the Featherfall Flight Academy." She did something then that caught Kellan off guard: she extended her hand in greeting, palm open. Kellan's brain hiccuped—was this a test or was she adopting his cultural norm? He gingerly reached out and clasped her hand in a quick shake.
She smirked as they released. "Relax. I spent some time down in a patriarchal enclave on the Third Ring during an exchange program. I know a handshake when I see one." Her smirk softened into a friendly smile. "And I also heard about an outlander raising eyebrows in the market. Word travels fast in a place like this. By dusk everyone hears the gossip. A male ascendant, flying solo." Cyran gave a low whistle. "Color me intrigued."
Kellan rubbed the back of his neck, a bit flustered. "I didn't realize I was that interesting. I've just been trying to get by."
"Humility too. You are a rare bird," Cyran mused. She then nodded at Bramble, who watched her intently. "And this must be the famous food thief?"
"Bramble," Kellan introduced. On cue, Bramble wagged his tail and sniffed at Cyran's boots. She crouched and held out her hand. Bramble gave it a tentative lick, accepting her. Cyran chuckled and ruffled the fur on his head. "Good boy. You've got guts; I saw you going after those sprites from atop a tree earlier."
Kellan blinked. "You saw that fight?"
"Glimpses," Cyran said. "I was scouting an air route not far off. By the time I arrived, you folks had finished the fight and were moving on. But not often do I see someone handle sprites without a glider or a sorcerer. It made an impression. Then I heard the rest: newcomer with a dog, tagging along with Mist-Captain Alera." She stood back up, looking Kellan over anew. "So here you are, a day later at my field. Looking to spread your wings?"
"Exactly," Kellan said. "I know survival on the ground, but up here the rules are different. I'd appreciate any training you can give. I learn fast."
Cyran tapped her chin, circling him once as if evaluating his physique and gear like a drill sergeant. "You're fit, clearly. That's good; gliding can be taxing. Center of gravity… we might need to adjust those straps a bit tighter." Without warning she tugged on one of the harness straps across his chest, then crouched to adjust a buckle near his ribs, pulling it snug. Kellan felt his face warm at the sudden closeness, but Cyran was all business.
She gave the wing deployment cord a brief inspection. "Looks like a solid make. Featherfall's design, I can tell. You chose well or someone advised you well."
"I got lucky in trade," Kellan said. "A recommendation from Captain Alera opened the door."
"That'll do it. Alera's name carries weight." Cyran stepped back and placed her hands on her hips. "Alright, grounder. I can crash-course you through the basics. Normally we train people for weeks before solo flights, but something tells me you don't have that luxury." She glanced to the west, where through gaps in the canopy one could see the glimmer of an immense spire far off in the sky. Kellan realized it wasn't a building, but a beam of light or energy, faintly flickering.
"Is that—?" he began.
"The Lexicon Beacon, yes," Cyran answered, expression turning serious. "Or at least one of them. The western Beacon. It's been acting up for days, and in the last hour it's gotten worse. See that flicker? It shouldn't be doing that."
Now that she pointed it out, Kellan saw that the distant Beacon—like a pillar of pale light connecting earth to sky—wavered erratically, sometimes dimming. Each time it dimmed, a subtle tremor seemed to rattle through the platforms beneath his feet, as if the very air pressure changed. Other people on the deck noticed; some looked worried.
"What happens if it fails completely?" Kellan asked.
Cyran grimaced. "The Beacons keep the floating isles stable. If one goes fully dark, chunks of land that rely on its energy could drop right out of the sky, or drift into dangerous collision courses. Not to mention it might stall the Sky-Gate from opening at the Ring's edge—if you care about that sort of thing." She eyed him, as if guessing he did.
Kellan's heart quickened. The Sky-Gate… that had to be the way onward to Tier-3 eventually. If the Beacons needed to be fixed to unlock it, this was very much his business. "Can it be repaired?"
"Yes, but it's tricky," Cyran said, already moving to a rack on the deck and pulling out a compact satchel which she slung across her shoulders. "The Beacon has an access node on a mini-isle, unattached to the main landmasses. It's not a place easy to reach without flying. The Sky-Wardens normally handle maintenance, but they're stretched thin and political bull over whose jurisdiction this is has slowed them down. I for one am not keen on waiting while the bureaucrats twiddle their thumbs. I was gearing up to go stabilize it myself."
She flashed Kellan a daring grin. "And now you show up, Mr. Survived-Tier-One, offering to help. Seems my luck's in."
Kellan stood straighter. "I was going to volunteer anyway, honestly. I heard rumors and... well, I'm invested in the Beacons for my own reasons. If you're heading there, you have my aid." He paused, then added wryly, "Assuming I don't plummet to my death en route."
Cyran laughed, a bright confident sound. "Stick with me and that won't happen. We'll do a quick training run right now—enough to get you there and back." She glanced at Bramble, who had been quietly watching their exchange. "What about him? The isles are no place for a dog without wings."
Bramble tilted his head at Cyran, as if indignantly understanding her doubt. Kellan chuckled. "If we had some sort of harness or sling, I could carry him when we glide. I'm not leaving him behind."
Cyran drummed her fingers on her satchel, thinking. "I might have something." She jogged to a storage chest near a roost where several folded gliders lay. Rummaging, she came back with a leather sling contraption with buckles. "We use this for carrying cargo or sometimes small injured skycrests. Could rig it for your friend."
As she and Kellan modified the sling to fit Bramble snugly against Kellan's chest or back as needed, Cyran kept up a stream of instructions: how to distribute weight, how Bramble should curl in when descending. Bramble, for his part, accepted the odd contraption patiently as Kellan fitted it around him like a comfortable belly band with loops.
"Alright, partner," Cyran said, tightening her own harness and snapping her goggles over her eyes. "Lesson one: Controlled Descent. We're going to take a short leap from that lower platform—" she pointed to a platform jutting maybe twenty feet out over a cushion of thick, springy canopy leaves "—and glide down to that landing net below." She indicated a safety net strung between branches a short distance down, presumably to catch newbies who faltered.
Kellan strapped Bramble to his front securely, the dog's paws sticking out comfortably, then followed Cyran to the take-off point. His stomach did a flip as he peered over; it wasn't a high drop, but it still made his instincts yell don't jump off perfectly good solid ground!
"Focus on me, Kellan," Cyran said calmly, putting a hand on his shoulder. Through the tinted goggles her eyes were steady. "When you jump, count to two, then pull your cord. The wings will do the rest, but you need to keep your core balanced. Lean into the direction you want to turn, gentle movements. Keep your knees bent for landing." She gave Bramble a quick pat. "And you, furry one, just hold tight, okay?"
Bramble licked her cheek, making her laugh. "I'll take that as a yes."
"Ready," Kellan exhaled, heart pounding.
Cyran stepped off gracefully and vanished over the edge. A second later Kellan saw her glider wings catch the air and swoop in a smooth arc toward the net below. She hovered there, circling back and gesturing for him to follow.
Kellan inhaled sharply and took his leap. For an eternal heartbeat, he was in free fall. One—air rushed past his ears, Bramble's weight pressed against his chest. Two—he yanked the cord. A sharp whump sounded as the canvas wings unfurled from his back, jolting him upright. His stomach lurched as the glider caught the air, turning his plunge into a glide.
He was gliding. Actually gliding!
Kellan whooped in astonished delight. The platform he'd jumped from was now above and behind him. He was moving forward through the air, not falling, coasting on an invisible roadway of wind. Bramble barked in excitement, paws scrabbling at the air as if running on an unseen ground.
"Good!" Cyran's voice carried on the wind from below and ahead. "Now angle your wrists left—gentle—"
Kellan followed her example, shifting his weight and adjusting the tension on the harness. Sure enough, he began to turn, shakily at first, then more surely. He and Bramble made a wide, wobbly circle, then started descending toward the net. As the ground (or rather, net) neared, Kellan bent his knees and prepared to roll. They hit the net with a bounce. He tumbled, Bramble rolling with him, and came to a stop safely entangled but unhurt.
Cyran was there in a flash, helping detangle man and dog from the net. Her grin was beaming. "Not bad for a first jump! I've seen people puke the first time, but you two look ready for more."
Kellan's cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. The adrenaline rush was intoxicating. "Let's do it again," he said, laughing. Bramble barked in agreement, as if to say that was a great deal of fun.
They practiced a few more short glides, each time from a higher starting point and with more maneuvering. Cyran was a patient and enthusiastic teacher, peppering instructions with light humor. When Kellan misjudged an approach and landed askew in a pile of leaves, she quipped, "At least you found a soft spot to nap!" When Bramble instinctively tried to lean out to chase a passing sparrow mid-glide, she hollered, "Keep your co-pilot in check or he'll bail out for a bird snack!" prompting Kellan to secure Bramble's harness tighter and both of them to share a breathless laugh.
By the end of the crash course, Kellan's arms were tired and his legs ached from multiple landings, but he felt far more confident with the glider than he would have thought possible in an afternoon. Bramble too had gotten the hang of staying still in the sling until touchdown, though he clearly enjoyed the rides.
As they climbed back up to the main platform for a rest, the sun was dipping low, casting an orange glow across the treetops. The Beacon in the west pulsed weakly, as if reminding them of their next task. Cyran drank deeply from a water flask and offered it to Kellan. He took a grateful swig, the cool water soothing his dry throat.
"You're a natural, Kellan," Cyran said, pushing her goggles up on her forehead. There was a flush of exertion on her cheeks and a twinkle in her eye as she regarded him. "Grounder or not, you've got the instincts. With a few more days you'd fly as well as anyone born to it."
"Unfortunately, we probably don't have days," Kellan replied, glancing at the faltering Beacon-light.
"No. We don't." Cyran's face grew resolute. "We need to go tonight. Right now, actually. The winds are calmer at dusk and we can't risk that thing failing overnight." She tightened a strap on her harness and checked the contents of her satchel. "I have some beacon stabilization tools here. I've studied how they work in theory, though I've never had to fix one."
Kellan flexed his hands, shaking out nerves. "I can't say I have either. But I've solved a few ancient puzzles in my time." He patted the hilt of his short sword and double-checked Stormpiercer strapped to his back, beneath the folded glider wings. "And if something's guarding it, we'll handle that too."
Cyran met his eyes, and for a moment, Kellan felt a spark pass between them—excitement, fear, hope, all mixed together. She offered her hand again, this time not as a test or joke, but in earnest camaraderie. "Partners, then?"
He took her hand without hesitation. "Partners." Bramble barked, demanding inclusion. Kellan chuckled and added, "Trio?"
"Right, partners in crime, all three," Cyran amended with a grin, giving Bramble a playful scratch.
They walked to the edge of the launch platform, the world beyond painted in the deep purples of impending night. Cyran pointed out a faintly glowing speck in the distance – the mini-isle where the Beacon's access node was. It looked tiny from here, a mere floating rock amid the void.
"Stay close to me during the flight," Cyran instructed. "We'll likely have to navigate some unpredictable currents near the Beacon. And there might be... surprises."
Kellan nodded. He stepped forward, Bramble secure in his sling, and felt Cyran's presence warm and steady at his side. The wind picked up around them, rustling the canopy leaves and tugging at their clothes. It was a good wind, a carrying wind. Kellan felt fear and exhilaration do battle in his chest. But with Cyran beside him and Bramble with him, he had faith.
"On three?" Cyran asked, flashing that daredevil smile of hers.
Kellan smiled back. "On three."
Together, they counted: "One… Two… Three!" and leapt into the dusk, wings snapping open as they embarked into the updrafts toward the Beacon's distant light.