The rain came hard that night.
Solarae rarely saw storms—too high above the cloudline—but when the skies wanted to cry, they found a way.
Calix stood under the outer bridge of the west wing, soaked to the bone, the parchment Mira gave him clutched tight in his fist. The names blurred under the rain, but one stood out in burning clarity:
Calix — Status Unknown.
A lie.
He was very much alive.
And now he knew why the Queen had taken him in. Why his so-called siblings hated him. Why no one had ever looked him in the eye and called him equal.
Not because he was powerless.Because he was a threat.
The Skyborn weren't extinct.He was the last.
And he wasn't supposed to exist.
By morning, the tournament was suspended.
No reason given. No explanation.
Just a formal scroll, delivered to every dorm.
"All Solarae students are to remain indoors until further notice. Classes are cancelled. A noble summit is in session."
But Calix had already seen the writing on the wall.
They knew.
Someone, somewhere in the palace, had seen him in the ring—moving with wind, not magic. Someone had recognized the feather. The harness. The sigil. The name.
And now?
They were circling.
Mira met him under the library staircase, eyes narrowed, hair tied back like she expected to sprint any second.
"I intercepted a dispatch," she whispered. "Encrypted. From the palace guard."
"What did it say?"
"They're going to transfer you," she said. "Tonight."
Calix blinked. "Transfer me where?"
"Somewhere quiet. Isolated. Somewhere students don't come back from."
He went cold.
"They won't kill you outright," Mira added. "Not at first. But they'll make you disappear. It's cleaner that way."
Calix leaned back against the wall, shaking.
"Then I have to run."
"Not yet." Mira held out a hand. "There's something you need to see first. I wasn't going to show you unless I was sure, but—" she hesitated, "—you're not the only Skyborn they tried to bury."
Calix's breath caught.
"You found someone?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she handed him a folded map.
It wasn't inked in any language Calix recognized. The lines pulsed faintly with blue light. Like wind itself had drawn it. But one thing was clear:
It led somewhere off-grid.
Beyond the cloud cities.Past the charted winds.To a place simply marked:Eyrie.
"Legend says the Skyborn fled there during the last purge," Mira said. "If anyone survived, they'd be there."
"You want me to find them?"
"I want you to remember who you are."
"And what are you going to do?"
"I'll cover your trail," she said. "Steal a delay scroll. Jam the scrying lines. Maybe explode a potion or two. Small things."
"Mira—"
"Just don't die, Calix." She looked at him, and for the first time, her eyes weren't guarded. "Because if they kill you, they win."
He left at midnight.
Through the aqueduct tunnels. Past the lightning-choked gorge. Carrying only the Skyborn harness, the map, the feather… and a name that now meant everything.
He reached the docking cliffs just before first light.
There were no guards. Not yet. The noble summit must've still been in session, locked behind glass walls and lies.
But the airships were under lock.
He needed a ship.
And he knew just the one.
The Zephyr wasn't meant for a student. It was a royal training vessel—light, fast, lined with skystone, built for agility and precision. More importantly, it had the one thing Calix needed:
Manual flight controls.
Most ships ran on noble sigils. Blood-sealed.
But this one had a wheel.
He threw off the covering tarp, climbed aboard, and touched the helm.
Nothing happened.
Then—
A whisper of wind curled around his fingers. The feather pulsed in his pocket. The ship's runes shimmered.
And the engine breathed to life.
Skyborn.
It recognized him.
He threw the throttle.
The chains snapped.
And the Zephyr—for the first time in ten years—flew.
Behind him, alarms began to wail.
Lights blazed across Solarae.
From a tower balcony, Thorian screamed, "Stop him!"
But Calix was already gone.
The wind wrapped around him like armor. The clouds parted.
And for the first time in his life, Calix wasn't falling.
He was rising.
Toward the Eyrie.Toward the truth.Toward the legend they tried to erase.
And this time, the sky wasn't just watching.
It was following.