The sensation of being airborne was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. There was no solid ground beneath me—only air, weightlessness, and the steady grip of the old man carrying me upward. The wind tousled my hair, cool and refreshing, whispering across my cheeks like nature's lullaby.
Cautiously, I opened my eyes.
Clouds. We were surrounded by them. Vast, white masses drifting lazily around us like ancient beasts of the sky. My fear, still clinging to the edges of my mind, began to fade. Awe took its place.
So this… was the sky.
"Eh? Are we in the sky?" I blurted, unable to contain the disbelief in my voice. I reached out instinctively, fingertips brushing the cold, misty edges of a nearby cloud. It felt real—cool, damp, and impossibly soft. Like cotton soaked in starlight.
The old man climbed higher, hand over hand, gripping a rope that seemed to stretch into the heavens themselves.
"You okay, child?" he asked, glancing down with a strangely warm smile—one that didn't quite match the madness of our situation.
I nodded, heart pounding but eyes sparkling. "Yes, I'm okay! This is incredible!" My voice trembled with excitement. "Where are we heading?"
The old man only grinned. "Look above."
I squinted into the sky, my brows furrowing. There was nothing at first. Just an endless veil of mist and cloud.
"There's only clouds, though."
"Use those eye muscles," he teased, a chuckle in his throat.
I focused harder—and something emerged.
A shape, massive and vague, hidden among the drifting clouds.
"What... is that?"
"An airship!" he declared with that same infectious energy.
"Airship? Why are we going to an airship?"
"You'll know when you get there."
That cryptic response didn't help my nerves, but I had no choice except to hold on and follow.
Each second took us higher—closer to that floating fortress in the sky. My mind buzzed with questions. Who was this old man? Why had he brought me here?
The rope finally met metal. The airship loomed ahead—an enormous vessel hovering like a slumbering leviathan among the clouds. Its structure was old, yet imposing, with its single entrance guarded only by stillness.
He didn't knock. Didn't hesitate.
The old man dragged me forward, then launched a swift kick into the door. It creaked open with a theatrical groan.
Inside—
The scent of incense. Symbols scrawled in tight, looping runes. Walls that whispered secrets in a tongue I couldn't understand. The moment I stepped in, I froze.
This room… it was the same.
The same solemn feeling I'd had when I first met Master Sylph.
The air was heavy with history.
We sat across from each other. My legs trembled beneath the table, my mind racing. Was I about to meet another Master? Where are they? What are they like?
To keep myself from spiraling, I turned to the side. Then stopped.
Clouds.
Clouds inside the room.
"Eep!" A yelp escaped me before I could stop it.
The old man laughed heartily. "Now you're scared. When I carried you, your eyes were twinkling non-stop. Kekeke."
"Cause... Cause the clouds were pretty, so I was distracted. But now that I'm here, my mind keeps telling me that if we fall from here, there will be nothing but shattered bones and blood." I clutched at my knees, teeth lightly gnawing on my thumbnail. The fear of freefall clawed back into my thoughts.
"That's right. We will be in grave danger if we fall," he said casually. "But not to worry, this airship is secure."
His hand patted his chest with exaggerated confidence. But the next line he muttered under his breath—
"Unless enemies attack us, of course."
"Enemies?!"
My voice cracked.
"Don't worry. I'll just punch them out if that happens. You already saw how strong I am, remember?"
Right. The way he leapt into the sky with me clinging on like a backpack... That wasn't normal. Not even close.
I took a deep breath and shifted my gaze to the clouds outside the window again. Their slow, graceful movement had an oddly calming effect. It felt like watching the passage of time in slow motion.
"Look below, child."
Drawn by his voice, I crawled toward the window and cautiously peeked out.
My breath caught in my throat.
Below us lay an expanse of green and purple, sprawling endlessly toward the horizon. Grape vines. A sea of them.
"That you see, there, is the largest grape farm in the world," he said with pride swelling in his voice. "Are you interested in making wine, child?"
Wine?
Of all things to ask me after dragging me into the sky, it was that?
"I... I never thought about it, but it sounds fascinating," I admitted, still glued to the breathtaking view.
"Making wine is an art, a delicate dance between nature and the vintner's skill. It takes time, patience, and an understanding of the grapes' character," he said softly, like a man reminiscing a life well lived.
I turned around—and nearly fell over.
A mountain of alcohol surrounded us.
Bottles. Barrels. Kegs. It was a fortress of intoxication.
"Let's drink, child," the old man grinned, pouring two glasses and raising his cup in a casual toast.
"Eh? Drink? But I'm underage," I protested, staring at the sheer volume of wine like it might consume me.
"Underage? There's no such thing as underage here, child. So drink! Drink up!"
Before I could argue, he'd already tipped the bottle into my mouth, practically drowning me in aged grapes and alcohol. Why did he even bother pouring cups in the first place?!
But—oddly enough—it wasn't bad.
The taste was rich, deep, and strangely comforting. Somewhere between fire and velvet. I found myself loosening, laughing more freely. My head was light. My heart, warm.
Time passed, blurred by laughter and clinking bottles.
"Wahahaha! Not bad, child. You've got a high alcohol tolerance, unlike my disciple."
Disciple?
That word again.
I turned serious.
"Are you a Master?"
He didn't flinch. Didn't blink.
"That's right. I'm the Master of the House of Wine."
My jaw dropped. In a single motion, I spit out the remaining wine in my mouth—directly onto his face.
The old man wiped his face with an amused grunt. Then, with a grin, he grabbed my head.
"You shouldn't waste wine, child."
"All right, all right!" I squirmed, feeling more embarrassed than threatened.
He let go. Silence returned—comfortable this time.
"Are you really the Master of the House of Wine?" I asked again, voice quieter now.
He laughed, eyes gleaming like he'd been waiting for that question.
"Who else would it be? By the way, the official name is called the House of Vodka."
"...Vodka?"
"Apparently, the first-generation Master loved vodka so much that he decided to name the house 'Vodka.' How spontaneous, but I love it! And I'm Master Vod, but you can call me anything, I don't mind."
A chuckle escaped my lips before I could stop it.
"Then I'll continue to call you old man. My name is Llyne, by the way."
"Sure thing, L," he said with a wink.
And just like that, the sky didn't feel so distant anymore.