It was the following afternoon. Ardyn stood near the front of the Loria, wind sweeping through his hair as the airship glided smoothly through the open sky. Beside him were Roe and Captain Seris, all three watching in silence as the next isle came into view.
He and Mirae hadn't had a chance to talk since the night before, no quiet moment to ask what Elari truly meant, or whether she believed him.
"Isn't that isle a bit small for the semis?" Ardyn asked.
"Vireos is where the semis will occur," Captain Seris replied. "We're just making a stopover."
"That's Nareth's Hollow," Roe added, squinting at the distant shape.
"We'll be training there before the match," the captain said.
"Looks like a quiet isle," Ardyn murmured.
"It is," Seris confirmed. "Very few live there. Mostly those who prefer seclusion."
As the Loria drew closer, the full shape of the isle came into view. It wasn't large, but it stretched wide with open space and quiet symmetry. Rolling green lawns unfolded across much of its surface, broken by clusters of tall, wind-shaped trees and scattered stone paths. A few gentle rises marked the landscape: low, sloping hills that gave the isle a layered feel, as if shaped slowly by time.
Near the eastern edge, nestled among the trees, sat a small village—no more than a dozen homes with sloped roofs and stone chimneys. Smoke curled lazily from a few of them, and narrow trails wove between the buildings, leading toward the inner isle.
The Loria touched down with a soft thrum, as the Windmere team began their descent: only the Cirran competitors this time, along with one medic, their trainers, Captain Seris, Roe, and Mirae. The rest of the crew remained on board.
Their boots met the soft ground with a muted crunch. From there, they moved in quiet formation, following a worn path that cut through the grass and curved gently upward. The trail wound past a thicket of trees and between stones half-buried in moss, rising gradually with the shape of the land.
The hike wasn't steep, but the incline was steady. As they climbed, the wind grew stronger, cooler, edged with a strange stillness that seemed to deepen the farther they walked. No one spoke much. Only the sound of steps and the low rustle of wind through the trees filled the space between them.
Eventually, they reached the crest.
What met them at the top stopped the group in place.
The peak of the hill opened wide and sudden into a massive basin: an immense, circular pit that sank straight through the isle. The edges dropped away with no warning, like the lip of a broken crater, but smoother, worn not by violence, but by age. Mists coiled faintly along its inner walls, and somewhere far below, there was only shadow.
The hill wasn't a hill at all.
It was a mouth in the land. A hollow heart.
"So this is why the isle's called Nareth's Hollow?" Sedge remarked, standing near the edge and peering into the depths below.
"Then who's Nareth?" Pimri asked.
The group chuckled, the tension easing for a brief moment as the wind tugged at their jackets.
"You know what makes this really impressive?" Captain Seris said, stepping forward and pointing at the vast hole.
He bent down, picked up a rock about the size of his hand, and tossed it over the edge.
Everyone watched him, brows furrowing—waiting.
A few seconds passed.
Then—pop—the rock shot upward from the hollow like it had been launched, flipping in the air before falling back down into the pit again.
"The basin is dense with Aeroliths," Captain Seris explained. "Enough to reverse gravity—at least briefly."
"So if we fall, it'll toss us back up?" Doma asked, eyes fixed on the rock as it bounced once more before disappearing again.
"It will," the captain said. "But the effect weakens with each bounce. Eventually, gravity wins. Eventually, you fall for good."
"I guess we're training there?" Kael said, arms crossed, gaze steady.
"Yes. The anti-gravity will serve as your safety net," Seris replied. "Take a few minutes to rest, then we begin."
After a few minutes of rest, training began—led by Roe. He kept things direct and practical, guiding the team through drills that made full use of the Hollow's strange gravity. Movements were sharper, landings trickier, and every misstep meant bouncing into the air before slamming back down again. It was grueling in its own quiet way.
Once the session ended, they returned to the Loria—tired, sore, and silent. Dinner was waiting, simple but warm, and soon after, the team settled into bunks to sleep.
The next day followed the same rhythm. This time, Mirae led the training. Her focus was different—sharper. She pushed them through speed drills, tight turns, aerial dodges, and sudden bursts of motion that demanded instinct over planning. The strange winds of the Hollow only made it harder.
On the third day, Captain Seris took over. His drills were precise and unrelenting, centered on control, endurance, and clarity under pressure. He said little, but his presence alone kept the team focused.
When the session finally ended, Seris stepped back and addressed them.
"That's it for training," he said. "For the rest of the day, do what you need—rest at the ship, explore the isle, clear your head. Just be careful if you wander, and make sure you're back on board by six. We depart then."
As the team made their way down the hill, they gradually began to scatter. Captain Seris, Roe, Sedge, and Doma veered toward the airship, while Kael, Ava, Pimri, Mirae, and the medic lingered near the path's base.
Ardyn drifted toward Mirae and fell into step beside her.
"Can we talk?" he asked quietly.
Mirae gave a small nod.
As the rest began walking ahead, Pimri glanced back and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Hey! You're not coming? We're exploring the isle!"
"Go on! We'll catch up in a moment," Mirae called back.
When the others had moved far enough away, Mirae looked at Ardyn and said, "This is about Elari, isn't it?"
Ardyn nodded and sat down on the grass beside her. "Yeah. Do you know what he meant?"
"Not exactly," she said, settling beside him. "But I think he's been watching—how we move during the matches."
"How we use breathing," she added.
"He's just warning us," Ardyn said. "That the Council might've noticed."
Mirae nodded slowly. "To be honest, I think we should talk to him. I've seen him play. He never looked like he was using breath the way we do—but the way he reads the wind…"
She paused. "He might be a Breather. And maybe he can confirm if you—if we—are, too."
Ardyn nodded silently.
"Let's go," Mirae said, glancing in the direction of the others. "Pimri might start teasing us."
They stood and jogged off toward the group.
As they reached the slope, the wind shifted—stronger now, carrying with it the soft whisper of rising mist. From the cloudbank below, water surged upward in sweeping columns, scattered by the air currents into slanted sheets that drifted back down over the isle.
Rain.
Not a downpour, not in the usual sense. In the Sky Isles, rain came like this: lifted by the winds from below, scattered and pushed until it arced back down in gentle streams across the land.
"Rain!" Pimri shouted, laughing as he sprinted ahead.
The others followed quickly, darting past Ardyn and Mirae as the drizzle thickened into a steady mist.
"Why aren't you running?" Ardyn asked, glancing sideways.
"Was about to ask you the same," Mirae replied, smirking.
"I love rain," he said simply.
"Of course you do, Splash Boy," Mirae said with a laugh.
They continued walking, side by side, the sky's breath soft around them. Ardyn fell quiet for a moment.
"You remembered something?" Mirae asked.
He nodded. "When I was a kid… this is what my father and mother always did. We'd go outside and stand in it. Just let the rain hit us."
"Let it hit you?" Mirae echoed with a smile. "You mean like bathing in it?"
"Yeah," Ardyn said, laughing under his breath.
"Funny…" Mirae murmured.
Ardyn looked over at her.
She shrugged slightly, rain tracing down her jacket. "No, I mean—it's funny because… my family did the same. Rain meant stop what you're doing and go outside."
"Oh," Ardyn said, a slow grin forming. "So finally, something else in common."
Mirae smiled at him—not the quick, teasing smirk she usually wore, but something quieter. Warmer. Like it meant more than the words they'd shared.
They kept walking, their steps slow and unhurried, the laughter of the others fading into the mist. As the rain fell lightly around them, they talked—quiet words shared between the rhythm of footfalls and the whisper of wind over the grass.