The afternoon sun hung low over Brimthorn, casting long shadows across the narrow stretch of rocky isle. A gentle breeze stirred the tattered flags strung between the crooked homes, carrying the faint hum of the rusted turbine atop the mechanic shop and the clatter of tools from inside.
Ardyn crouched beside his glider, fingers steady as he tightened the last of the control wires. The sleek frame, crafted from lightweight timber and reinforced with metal braces, caught the soft glow of the fading sun. He ran a careful hand over the wing's surface, scanning for any sign of wear or damage.
He turned, eyes drifting back toward the mechanic shop where the familiar creak of the doorframe met his gaze. He hoped his grandfather would step out, maybe offer a word of caution—or farewell.
But the doorway remained empty.
With a hesitant breath, Ardyn stepped inside. Amid scattered tools and half-finished gadgets, Maren sat hunched over a delicate mechanism, fingers deftly adjusting tiny gears. The soft clink of metal on metal filled the silence.
"Pops, I'm going now," Ardyn said quietly, breaking the stillness.
Maren didn't look up.
Ardyn's voice softened. "Pops… goodbye, then."
Still no response. Just the quiet tick of Maren's tools and the faint hum of the turbine outside.
Outside, the glider waited patiently, its polished wings stretching toward the open sky. Ardyn moved quickly now, checking the straps, tightening the harness, running his hands over the controls one last time.
He stepped toward the edge of Brimthorn—the narrow precipice where the rocky isle sloped sharply down into the endless clouds below.
Taking a deep breath, Ardyn sprinted forward, feeling the wind catch beneath the wings. The glider lifted smoothly, skimming past the weathered rocky edges and the scattered homes clinging to Brimthorn's rugged side.
Around him, the patchwork of rooftops and windmills gradually receded, fading into the mist that drifted between the lower isles below. Ahead stretched the vast sky lanes, and far off in the distance, the shimmering outline of the Windmere Proper—the heart of the Cirrans' realm—beckoned.
The wind held steady, cradling Ardyn's glider in a smooth current that curved gently through the open sky. The wooden frame hummed softly, the wings flexing with each subtle shift of the breeze.
He banked slightly to the left, gliding past a long, narrow isle where rows of sun-bleached laundry danced between crooked chimneys. Children on a rooftop pointed up as he passed overhead, their laughter carried faintly on the wind.
Farther ahead, he skimmed the edge of a misty green isle draped in hanging vines and rust-colored moss, its surface thick with towering trees that swayed like slow-moving fans. A flock of shimmerwings burst upward as he passed, their silver wings flashing in the light.
Brimthorn was long behind him now. The open air stretched wide around him, dotted with drifting isles—some no larger than a sailboat, others bustling with homes, gardens, or strange antennae that clicked and spun in the breeze. He felt light. Untethered. Like he belonged up here more than anywhere else.
And still, the central isle waited ahead, its white spires catching the sunlight like the glint of a drawn blade.
The wind shifted slightly, and as Ardyn adjusted the rudder, the vast silhouette of Windmere Proper rose steadily ahead—no longer a distant glimmer but a looming presence against the sky. Unlike Brimthorn and the scattered outer isles, this one stretched wide and layered, its tiered platforms stacked like a great floating citadel.
Dozens of air-docks jutted from its lower edges, teeming with gliders, sky skiffs, and cargo rigs tethered like resting birds. Smoke drifted up from forges and food stalls near the base, while higher terraces shimmered with glass-roofed conservatories, marble council towers, and woven-silk banners fluttering between pillars.
A sprawling market tier stretched along one mid-level ledge—bursting with color and motion. Aerial produce from garden isles hung in bunches beside baskets of glinting Aerolith fragments, brass parts, and sky spices wrapped in velvet sachets. Street performers balanced on wind stilts, their songs echoing across the open air, while windwrights tuned their gliders in open bays nearby.
Ardyn angled the glider downward as the designated arrival tier came into view—a wide, stone-lined platform jutting out from the lower half of Windmere Proper like a massive outstretched hand. Dozens of marked lanes guided incoming gliders to land in neat rows, while colorful wind flags snapped along the edge to signal safe approach conditions.
His landing was smooth, the glider's frame creaking softly as its wheels touched down on the padded skystone strips that lined the platform. All around, others were arriving—messengers, traders, and a few official-looking crafts with gleaming hulls and insignias etched into their wings.
Two uniformed Windmere Sentinels stood at a checkpoint ahead, their silver-blue cloaks rippling in the breeze. A short line had already formed, with each pilot presenting a stamped identification slip or seal of entry. One guard scanned tokens with a hand-held reader that buzzed faintly, while the other jotted notes on a hovering slate.
Ardyn pulled his worn satchel closer and joined the queue, heart tapping a little faster now that he was truly here—on Windmere Proper, surrounded by strangers and official eyes.
When his turn came, one of the Windmere Sentinels held out a gloved hand. "Identification."
Ardyn nodded and reached into his satchel, pulling out a folded slip of parchment and a small brass tag engraved with his name and isle of origin.
"I was summoned," he added, offering the sealed letter from the Cirrans.
The guard took both items, eyes scanning the letterhead before exchanging a look with his partner. The second sentinel tapped the letter with a reader crystal, which blinked once in confirmation.
"Proceed," the first said, handing everything back with a curt nod. "They're expecting you at the Skyrink Arena. North lift will take you there."
Ardyn nodded, tucked the letter safely away, and followed the guard's gesture toward the north lift.
* * *
Sedge Trannick rushed forward through open air, his boots cutting smooth, sharp arcs across the invisible currents. The twin Aeroliths embedded in his Galegear boots thrummed with each step, pushing bursts of wind beneath him, while smaller stabilizers at his elbows flared to help him twist and bank. A compact unit in his gauntlet pulsed, ready—charged. Even his helmet hummed faintly, syncing his breath with the gear's rhythm.
Twelve feet ahead, Pimri Veil darted ahead in a low flight posture, his own boots flashing as he rode the air like a practiced blade dancer. A Skyrunner's grace—fast and fluid.
Sedge narrowed his eyes and thrust his right hand forward with force. Wind cracked like a whip from the gauntlet's Aerolith, a concentrated blast racing toward Pimri.
In an instant, Pimri jerked his knees up and kicked outward, splitting his legs mid-air. The sonic burst screamed past just beneath him, close enough to ripple his coat.
"Whoohohoo!" Pimri let out, voice tight with adrenaline, half a laugh, half-wince. "You almost got me, Sedge!"
From far off to Sedge's left, a voice rose sharp above the wind. "Sedge, this is a practice, that's a lethal strike!" Ava Quenlor called out, the team's Aethermender, skimming through the air with precision.
Sedge eased his pace, letting her close the distance. The hum of his boots quieted slightly as he turned just enough to glance her way, still grinning beneath his helmet.
"The better," he said, smirking, "if I hit him, you could practice your healing thing."
At the center of the practice arena, Kael Norrin, another Striker, hovered mid-air, boots flaring with short bursts of gale-force wind as he surged forward. Both his hands punched in swift succession, each strike from his Galegear gauntlets releasing sharp blasts of compressed air that whistled with force.
Across from him, Doma Harreck—the team's Windguard—met each blow head-on. His own gauntlets flared with defensive bursts, redirecting the incoming gusts with practiced ease. Each collision sent a clap of compressed wind echoing across the dome, like rolling thunder trapped in steel.
Around them, the Skyrink Arena training chamber stretched wide and high, its open-air dome latticed with reinforced arch-beams and Aerolith-charged pylons. Below the airborne fighters, a wide circular gap opened to the sky, ringed with shimmering safety nets that caught light like woven glass.
A sharp whistle pierced through the roar of wind and clashing Galegear, slicing cleanly across the arena.
From the side benches, Captain Seris Dahn's voice rang out, steady and commanding. "Alright, everyone—let's call it for now. Take five."
Beside him, Roe Tiruel shifted slightly, one hand wrapped in a thick bandage, the other resting lightly on his knee. His gaze followed the fighters with quiet intensity, despite the injury.
"Do you think the kid will show up?" Seris asked, glancing at Roe as he sat down beside him.
"The sentinel just messaged me," Roe replied, "he's almost here."
"You think he could fill your role?" Seris pressed.
"Let's see," Roe said with a shrug. "But I have a feeling this kid is something else."
He raised his right leg and rested his boot on the railing in front of him. "Might be time for me to retire," he added with a quiet laugh. "Better to have an all-young Cirrans team this year. We're not that fast anymore."
Captain Seris smiled and tapped Roe on the shoulder.
Just then, Pimri hovered up in front of the railing and butted in. "Is the rumor true?" he asked eagerly.
"The newbie synced with an Aerolith on the first try?" Pimri added, eyes wide.
The rest of the team soon gathered nearby.
"It's true," Roe confirmed. "His name is Ardyn."
"Huh, maybe just dumb luck," Sedge scoffed. "Most of us took nearly a year to sync, and he did it on his first try?"
"Even Kael—the prodigy—took two months," Doma's deep voice chimed in.
"That's exactly why we called for him," Captain Seris said firmly. "We'll put him to the test and see if he can handle the Galegear again."
"And speaking of..." Ava chimed in, eyes narrowing as she pointed toward the other side of the arena. "I think he's here."
All eyes followed her gaze to the door that just swung open.
Roe pushed himself up from the bench, his injured arm carefully cradled in a sling. He raised his free hand and waved, calling out, "Right here, kid!"
Ardyn approached the team hesitantly, his steps light and uncertain, like a shadow trying not to draw too much attention. His eyes flicked between the familiar faces and the unknown, feeling the weight of all their gazes.
Roe stepped forward, offering a warm smile. "Nice to see you again, Ardyn, and thank you for responding."
He gestured toward the group, introducing them one by one. "This is Captain Seris Danh, our coach. Kael Norrin and Sedge Trannick, our Strikers."
Kael gave a curt nod, eyes sharp and focused, while Sedge smirked but said nothing.
"Pimri Veil, Skyrunner." Pimri hovered forward slightly, a friendly grin breaking across his face as he saluted Ardyn.
"Doma Harreck, Windguard." Doma gave a firm nod, his expression serious but not unkind.
"And Ava Quenlor, our Aethermender." Ava waved warmly, her soft blue-glowing Aeroliths pulsing faintly as she smiled encouragingly.
Ardyn returned their gestures shyly, feeling both the weight of their scrutiny and the thread of welcome in their eyes.
"Nice to meet you all," Ardyn said with a nod. "My name is Ardyn, from Brimthorn Isle."
"Nice to meet you, Ardyn," Captain Seris replied, his voice calm but firm. "Roe told us the story—your bravery, and the rather peculiar… maybe even special way you pulled off that rescue."
He continued, "And since Roe is currently injured…" Seris glanced at Roe's bandaged arm, "…and none of the Cirran apprentices have been able to sync with their Aeroliths, we'd like to offer you a position on the Windmere Cirran team as Roe's replacement."
Seris paused for a beat, then added, "That is… if you're still able to sync with the Aerolith."
Ardyn nodded once, eyes steady. "I'll try," he said softly.
Roe reached down beside the bench, pulling a worn canvas bag from beneath it. He unzipped it and drew out a pair of sleek Galegear boots, their embedded Aeroliths still faintly pulsing.
"Since you synced with my Aeroliths," Roe said, "you can try mine again."
With a casual motion, he tossed the boots toward Ardyn.
Ardyn caught one cleanly—but the other slipped past his grasp and hit the floor with a metallic thud. He quickly bent to scoop it up, the tips of his ears flushing. Maybe it was nerves, or just the weight of all those eyes on him—but for a second, his hands didn't feel like his own.
"Oh no, with that clumsiness… I have a feeling he'll fail," Sedge muttered under his breath, just loud enough for the others to hear.
Ava shot him a look and jabbed her elbow sharply into his side. "Shut up, Sedge," she said without missing a beat.
"Just kidding," Sedge replied with a smirk, flashing a grin in Ardyn's direction.
Everyone suddenly fell silent as they watched Ardyn slip the boots on. The moment his fingers brushed the Aeroliths embedded in the Galegear, both stones lit up with a vivid, pulsing glow—brighter than before, steady and alive in his grip.
The team exchanged glances, eyebrows raised, a ripple of disbelief passing between them.
Pimri let out a low whistle. "Man… it's true."
"Okay, Ardyn…" Roe said gently. "Just focus. Like what you did yesterday. Try to lift up."
Ardyn gave a small nod and stepped into position. He extended his arms wide, mimicking the motion he'd made the day before—the stance that somehow triggered everything.
From nearby, Sedge exhaled through his nose, the sound half-laugh, half-scoff, but he said nothing.
Seconds passed. Then more. The Aeroliths pulsed faintly, but Ardyn remained grounded—no lift, no gust, not even a tremble of air beneath him.
Slowly, Ardyn lowered his hands. "Sorry," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "I can no longer do it."
He crouched down quickly, unstrapping the boots with fumbling fingers, and began removing them—his movements sharp and clumsy, the heat of embarrassment rising in his cheeks as silence thickened around him.
"Maybe you're just pressured, Ardyn," Captain Seris said gently. "You can try again later, after some rest. We're not in a hurry."
But Ardyn was already unstrapping the boots, fast and quiet. "Sorry, Captain," he muttered. "I think this is not for me."
He walked toward Roe and held the boots out with both hands. The Aeroliths embedded in them had gone dim, lifeless. "Thank you for the invitation, sir."
"Told you he'd fail," Sedge muttered under his breath.
"Stop it, Sedge!" Seris snapped. "It's not funny."
Ardyn didn't react. He stood there, still, eyes downcast—shoulders tight.
Then a faint sound rose. A soft, steady hum.
Ava turned her head. "Wait… what's that?"
"Man—your bag is glowing," Pimri said, pointing toward Ardyn's satchel on his back.
The humming deepened—vibrating in the air, sharp with tension.
And then—
BOOM.
A pulse of wind and light erupted from the satchel, flinging dust and air across the arena. The team hit the ground in scattered flares of motion.
Ardyn hadn't moved. He stood there—the bag now radiating a bright red light.