The Sky Isles of Lioaratheia

Stillness settled over the rooftop of the Corith Inn. Below, the quiet murmur of the city drifted upward—faint laughter from the tavern, the creak of cables strung between towers, the distant churn of airships docked near the cliffside. But up here, above it all, the world felt suspended.

 Ardyn sat cross-legged near the edge, elbows on his knees, the wind combing gently through his brown hair. The night air was cooler in Corith than in Windmere, sharp with altitude and the scent of wild pine. It should've cleared his head.

 But it didn't.

 He had told himself he wasn't nervous. That he didn't care what tomorrow's challenge would be. That it didn't matter if the others still saw him as the last-minute addition.

 He closed his eyes. Breathed in. Breathed out.

 "The wind listens," his mother used to say, her voice laced with gentle laughter.

 "And not just listens. It whispers."

 His father always nodded in agreement, adding with a wink, "You just have to learn how to listen back."

 They were among the few in Windmere who believed that wind wasn't just weather or force—but something deeper. Alive, in a way most had forgotten.

 Ardyn used to believe it too.

 Back when he was younger—before the air shook their world.

 Before the Airquake that shattered the sky routes and tore their airship from the skies. His parents had been on a return flight from a trade summit in the eastern isles—a routine trip, one they had taken dozens of times.

 But that day, the winds turned violent. No warning. No chance to correct.

 The ship never made it back.

 His grandfather never spoke of them anymore.

 "Wind is nothing but accident waiting to happen," he'd muttered once. "It doesn't listen. It kills."

 And maybe, after all these years, Ardyn had started to believe him.

 He hadn't whispered to the wind in a long time.

 He closed his eyes, ready to speak. A strange tension hummed at the edge of his awareness—Like something had leaned in to listen. Just for a moment.

 Then a door creaked open behind him, and the rooftop hush broke. Pimri's voice echoed from below.

 "Food's gonna get cold, man!"

 Ardyn gave the sky one last glance, then turned away from the wind and followed Pimri's voice back down.

* * *

The dining hall was simple but lively—stone walls, long tables, and the soft clatter of plates and cutlery echoing under dim lantern light. Wind drifted in from narrow vents, stirring the scent of stew and grilled root vegetables.

 The Windmere team was gathered near the far end, half-eaten meals in front of them and the mood noticeably lighter than it had been all day.

 "Ard, man, you really keep on surprising us!" Pimri said around a mouthful of food, pointing his spoon like it was part of the story. "You, standing up to Thorne Revic like that? That was killer!"

 A few of the others laughed, Doma thumping the table.

 "Didn't think you had it in you," Sedge added, grinning. "Caldrith's star boy gets his ego bruised by Windmere's novice?"

 The teasing was real, but so was the shift in tone—something like respect curling at the edges of their voices.

 "But I didn't really expect they'd match us with Caldrith Vale," Kael said, his voice quieter.

 The laughter faded. A few glances passed around the table.

 "Do we even have a chance of winning?" Sedge asked, the question landing heavier than he intended.

 "Not the attitude I'm expecting," Captain Seris chimed in as he approached, a calm firmness in his voice.

 He rested a hand on the back of a chair, scanning the group. "I've already seen how well you've bonded this year. Every one of you has grown into stronger players. And Ardyn—our newest member—has, as you said, kept surprising us."

 He paused, letting the words settle.

 "So let's keep surprising them. And hope for the best."

 A quiet beat passed. Then someone nodded. Another gave a crooked grin. A few straightened in their seats.

 "Let's win this tomorrow!" Roe declared, raising his glass.

 The others followed suit, mugs and cups clinking together with a scattered chorus of agreement.

 "For Windmere!"

* * *

Inside the platform lift, the Windmere team stood in silence. Bronze mesh and reinforced plates lined the walls, which hummed faintly as they ascended. From beyond the metal, the muffled roar of the crowd seeped through—dull thuds of drums, a low tide of cheers swelling and fading like distant thunder.

 No one spoke. Each tick upward pressed heavier into their chests.

 Minutes passed.

 Then, with a soft jolt, the lift halted. A hiss of pressurized steam followed, and the doors split open with a sudden, metallic slide.

 Sound hit them like a wave.

 The crowd erupted in full force—an explosion of noise and color pouring into the chamber.

 The team stepped out of the lift onto a wide platform, its edge exposed to open air and held aloft by thick, anchor-like arms bolted into the arena walls.

 Above, the great dome of the Sky Arena had peeled open like an iris, revealing the pale stretch of morning sky. Light spilled down onto the circular expanse, where rows upon rows of elevated benches curved around the vast interior. Every seat seemed filled—spectators leaning forward, flags waving, their cheers cascading like waves.

 But it wasn't the crowd that drew Ardyn's gaze.

 It was the center.

 Where a stadium floor might've been, there was none. Just a massive, gaping void—the open belly of the arena. Far below, webbed safety nets shimmered like spider silk, swaying ever so slightly. Suspended across the vertical gap were clusters of floating structures. They pulsed with soft energy and unfamiliar mechanisms—part obstacle, part battleground.

 From their platform, Ardyn glanced across the void.

 Another platform mirrored theirs on the opposite side.

 And there stood Caldrith Vale's team—already in formation, still as statues.

 Cirran staff moved in with practiced urgency—engineers, Aerolith calibrators cradling instruments that blinked with pale light, and medics carrying light packs slung over one shoulder. They wove around the Windmere team, checking locks, Galegear sync levels, and shoulder plates, their words short and efficient over the rising din.

 One calibrator gave a nod and a quick thumbs-up before stepping back.

 Then a low, resonant hum filled the air.

 From beneath the open gap, a sleek, disk-shaped platform ascended—rising on a cushion of compressed air until it hovered between the two team platforms. Upon it stood a figure in flowing cobalt robes, the edges of his coat rippling with the lift's movement. A long-handled voicecaster extended from his wrist to his mouth.

 A surge of energy. Cheers bubbling at first, then rising into a full-blown roar. Flags whipped through the air, chants broke out in waves, and the dome shook with the weight of anticipation.

 The match was about to begin.

 "Skyfolks, welcome to Skytest!" the announcer's voice boomed across the arena, amplified by the hovering platform's voicecaster.

 "Today's match features Caldrith Vale versus Windmere, competing in this round's Skyshard game!"

 The announcer's voice dipped, dramatic, as the vast opening above the arena began to close—like metal petals sliding inward with a low, resonant churn until the dome sealed overhead. Shadows stretched across the circular expanse, and for a breath, the Sky Arena held still.

 Then—light.

 Dozens of embedded luminor beams ignited along the inner curve of the dome, flooding the arena in cool brilliance. Spotlights snapped into motion, sweeping over the crowd before converging on the center of the floating field.

 All eyes turned downward, to the hollow space where the match would unfold.

 "This is a team battle to score by flying the Hovergem through the opposing team's goal ring. There are no restrictions on who may carry the Hovergem, no time limits, and full contact is allowed. The first team to score five goals—wins the match!"

 "As you all may see, hazard zones are active: Updraft Columns, Downward Funnels, Aether Storm Pockets, and Drifting Debris—each one adding an extra layer of chaos and challenge to the skies."

 A high chime rang out from the hovering announcer platform, drawing a wave of attention as the spotlight above tightened.

 "Sky Isles of Lioratheia—let's meet our players for today's Skytest match!" the announcer bellowed, voice booming over the massive dome. "First up—Windmere!"

 A sweeping beam of light cut across the platform where the Windmere team stood.

 "Representing Windmere—Kael Norrin, Sedge Trannick, Doma Harreck, Pimri Veil, Ava Quenlor, and their newest Skyrunner, Ardyn Cale! A lineup with speed, grit, and something to prove!"

 Across the arena, the light swept to the opposing platform.

 "And facing them—Caldrith Vale's elite six: Thorne Revic, Brant Coil, Maro Venn, Solmi Dae, Ren Varas, and Durn Harren! One of the fiercest squads ever to take the Skytest!"

 The crowd roared as spotlights spun wildly overhead, the dome pulsing with noise.

 "So, Skyfolks… are you ready!?"

 The stadium roared in reply, deafening and wild.

 "Then let the Skytest begin!"

 With that final word, the announcer's platform began to descend, vanishing into the misty chasm below—and a split second later, the Hovergem shot upward from the depths, streaking past in a blaze of light and wind.

 For a split second, Ardyn stood frozen—blinking, breath caught. The rest of the team had already launched off the platform, soaring into open sky.

 He drew a sharp breath and sprang after them, boots flaring to life with Aerolith glow.

 Above the yawning chasm, the Hovergem was falling fast—a brilliant streak tumbling through open air. Ardyn's eyes tracked it, but Pimri was already there, cutting through the sky like a bolt. He reached out—just as Ren Varas, Caldrith Vale's Skyrunner, slammed into him from the side with brutal precision.

 Pimri spun out with a frustrated shout as Ren snatched the Hovergem mid-air and shot upward. Before Ren could gain distance, Kael, Sedge, and Doma surged toward him in formation, forcing him into a tight evasive loop.

 But Ren didn't hesitate. With a quick glance to his upper left, he twisted in the air and hurled the Hovergem toward a waiting figure streaking across the field—

 Thorne Revic.

 The Vale captain caught the gem with one hand, tucked it against his side, and accelerated straight toward Windmere's goal ring.

 Ava veered to intercept him, but Thorne was too fast, trailing vapor and sparks behind him.

 "Ardyn! Don't let him near the ring!" Ava shouted.

 Ardyn's heart slammed in his chest. He pivoted sharply and dove, wind tearing at his face, pressure building in his limbs. Thorne's eyes flicked up mid-flight, catching sight of him with a smug edge in his gaze.

 They neared the goal ring—a glowing arc suspended midair—when Ardyn finally caught up, just below him.

 But Thorne was already leaping upward, using an invisible sky-step for height. With ruthless timing, he kicked down—his boot slamming into Ardyn's back.

 Pain exploded through Ardyn's spine as the world spun. He tumbled headfirst toward the nets far below, vision blurring, wind howling in his ears.

 He gritted his teeth. Fought the disorientation. Fought the fall.

 Just above the netting, he twisted his body, boots flaring again—and steadied.

 The crowd erupted.

 A piercing tone rang through the air.

 "Goal! One point for Caldrith Vale!"

 Ardyn ascended, boots pulsing with light, his face drawn tight with dismay.

 Doma drifted over and gave his shoulder a firm tap. "It's okay, Ardyn."

 "You alright?" Ava asked, hovering just beside him. "That was a hard hit."

 "I'm fine," he said, though the ache in his back disagreed.

 A flare of energy sparked nearby as Kael coasted into view, one hand cradling the Hovergem.

 "Gem's ours," he said, eyes sweeping the air around them. "Offense time. Focus up—support each other."

 They drifted into formation, eyes locked ahead, hearts pounding in sync. A hush settled over the arena—crowd leaning in, the air taut with anticipation as the Windmere team waited for the signal to start.

 Then came the signal: a sharp, buzzing pulse that echoed through the dome.

 Kael surged forward the instant it sounded, a burst of Aerolith glow streaking behind him. The rest of the Windmere team scattered in sync—fanning wide, climbing high, diving low—each movement a ripple in the air.

 From across the arena, Caldrith Vale reacted just as fast. Two of their strikers shot forward like arrows, closing the gap with aggressive speed, while others circled back to shield their ring.

 Kael banked left, drawing a defender with him, then flicked the Hovergem sideways just before impact. Pimri caught it mid-turn, only to hurl it upward as Brant Coil lunged from below. Sedge caught the soaring pass, arcing around an updraft column before flipping it backward toward Kael again.

 The gem moved like a pulse of light between them—tight passes, sharp cuts—each one keeping the Vale defenders just off-balance.

 They were nearly on the opponent's ring—just a breath away. Pimri had the Hovergem tucked close, weaving through hazard zones with sharp, practiced turns. Ardyn flew parallel, the nearest teammate in range.

 But two defenders—Maro and Brant—were closing in fast.

 Pimri didn't hesitate. He flung the Hovergem toward Ardyn with a quick snap of his arm.

 At that exact moment, Ardyn skimmed past an Updraft Column.

 The sudden burst of vertical wind caught him off-guard, pitching him upward just enough to throw off his reach. His hand swiped a fraction too high—the Hovergem slipped past his fingers.

 He twisted in the air, trying to recover—but Thorne was already there.

 Like a streak through clear sky, he intercepted the gem mid-spin and rocketed toward Windmere's side.

 The Windmere team pivoted fast, with Sedge nearly catching up—closing from above, reaching—

 But Thorne banked hard into a spiral and dropped into a narrow funnel, twisting just beyond reach. Then, with a sudden burst of force, he hurled the Hovergem toward the goal— the shard darted like a bullet through the air. A pulse of light flared as it passed the ring.

 "Goal! Two points for Caldrith Vale!"

 "Ardyn, focus!" Kael shouted, his face tight with dismay.

 Ardyn lowered his head, both hands on his forehead as he gave it a frustrated shake.

 Just then, Thorne drifted past him and muttered, "Synced in one try, lost in one game."

 The rest of the Caldrith Vale team followed, some flashing smirks, others wearing thinly veiled grins.

 The Windmere team regrouped, but their stance had changed—shoulders hunched slightly, eyes less certain, movements dulled by frustration. What once felt like unity now carried the weight of hesitation.

 The signal blared.

 They launched, but not with the same sharpness or drive as before. Their formation drifted instead of cutting through the air—like they were bracing for impact rather than seeking opportunity.

 Midway through the arena, both teams converged. A clash of color and wind. Ardyn reached for a pass meant for him, but it slipped just past his outstretched fingers again.

 Maro Venn scooped the Hovergem with practiced ease and barreled through an opening.

 He hurled the gem with force—

 "Goal! Three points for Caldrith Vale!"

 The Windmere players pulled back, hovering in scattered silence. A few glanced toward Ardyn—not with anger, but something heavier. A quiet strain behind their eyes, a doubt settling into the cracks.

 Ardyn hovered near the edge of the formation, wind brushing past his cheeks as the scoreboard blazed with Caldrith Vale's third point. His throat tightened.

 "I'm sorry," he muttered, eyes lowered.

 No one answered—not out of cruelty, but because the silence said enough.

 His gaze drifted past his teammates, past the roaring fans, the flags, the flicker of lights—until it caught on a familiar figure seated among the upper tiers.

 His brow furrowed, heart stalling. Then he smiled.

 There, seated near the edge, was Maren.

 His grandfather lifted a hand in a slow wave, face calm beneath the thrum of noise and motion. Then, with deliberate rhythm, Maren drew a slow breath in and exhaled—hands rising and falling in a quiet gesture.

 A silent message.

 Ardyn closed his eyes.

 He drew in a long, steady breath—then let it go. The wind threaded gently around him, brushing his skin, filling his lungs. He focused on the rhythm of his heart, slowing, centering, syncing with the quiet thrum of his Aerolith.

 A warmth stirred in his limbs—not just warmth, but something alive. The stones didn't just respond; it pulsed. It surged with a quiet force, like a second heartbeat, steady and waiting.

 He opened his mouth and, almost without thinking, whispered to the wind.

 "Guide me."