The sky itself felt thinner.
Liang Ming stood on the edge of the floating islet, buffeted by wind that screamed with more than air—it carried whispers, warnings, and war songs of those who had tried and failed to ascend. Beneath him, the world stretched infinitely, the clouds like veils hiding a thousand unseen realities.
In his palm, the crystal shard pulsed, guiding him to the heart of the Skybound Sanctum.
The shard had shown him a storm-shrouded isle, drifting across the heavens above the known world. Once a temple of balance, it had been overtaken by a forgotten cult—one that had tried to bend the winds to their will. The winds fought back. Now the isle was untethered, chaotic, and deadly.
He advanced, boots pressing against runes etched in white stone. Lightning forked across the sky, illuminating towering columns and shattered arches. The Sanctum was half-ruin, half-relic—alive with the breath of forgotten gods.
As he passed beneath a broken arch, the air shifted.
A voice echoed.
"Who seeks the breath of the winds?"
Ming froze. From the shadows, a figure emerged. She floated a few inches off the ground, her form wrapped in wind-swept robes that danced with currents of air. Her eyes were pale blue, glowing faintly, and feathers—some real, some spectral—circled her like a halo.
"My name is Liang Ming," he said. "I seek the next key."
She studied him. "Many have come. All have fallen. What makes you worthy of what the sky hides?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he unsheathed his blade and pressed its tip into the marble floor. "I don't claim to be worthy. But I carry the burden of the Spiral, and I have no choice but to continue."
She tilted her head. "Then walk into the winds, Spiral-bound. Let the Sanctum judge you."
Without another word, she vanished, dispersed into mist.
A storm erupted overhead.
The runes on the floor lit up, and Ming was pushed back by a surge of gales. He stumbled but stood firm. Before him, the great doors of the inner sanctum yawned open, revealing a tempest caught within a cage of sigils.
Inside was the Trial of Winds.
He stepped through.
The air attacked instantly—gusts that tore at his skin, tried to rip his thoughts apart. He moved forward slowly, drawing from the shard's resonance, aligning himself with the Sanctum's rhythm. Each step was a battle.
At the chamber's center stood an altar. On it: a compass.
It spun violently, pulled in every direction.
Ming approached, and as he did, the winds ceased.
Absolute silence.
He reached out.
The moment his fingers touched the compass, he was no longer in the Sanctum.
He stood on a platform above the world, surrounded by endless sky. Before him, five figures, cloaked in sky-blue, their faces hidden.
"You claim to walk the Spiral," one said. "Then name the truth of wind."
Liang Ming drew a breath, closing his eyes.
"Wind is freedom. It cannot be owned, only guided. It shapes mountains, yet yields to valleys. It moves the world, unseen. It is the Spiral's whisper."
The five were silent. Then, the central figure raised a hand.
"And what are you, Liang Ming?"
He looked up, and the sky reflected in his eyes.
"I am the wind that once was still. Now I move. And I do not stop."
The figures nodded.
Lightning cracked the sky.
Ming was flung backward, back into his body, back into the Sanctum.
The compass no longer spun. It pointed—directly to the altar, where a piece of the Loom floated, encased in a cyclone.
He stepped forward.
The wind did not resist him now. It parted, allowing him passage. He reached for the Loom fragment.
The moment his fingers closed around it, a storm exploded across the sky. He braced himself, but it wasn't an attack. It was a welcome.
The voice returned.
"You are seen, Spiral-bearer. The sky knows your name."
Liang Ming turned, tucking the fragment into his cloak. The wind spirit from before stood at the chamber's edge.
"Few are ever accepted by the Sanctum. Even fewer leave."
He inclined his head. "Will you stop me?"
She smiled sadly. "No. I will help you. The other players have already begun to move. You will need allies."
He studied her. "Who are you?"
She looked toward the open skies. "I am a remnant of what once kept balance. My name is Suyin. If the Spiral must be turned again, let it be by hands that remember peace."
With her help, he descended from the isle, carried on currents shaped by her will.
As the floating Sanctum vanished behind them, Suyin spoke once more.
"There are those who seek to bind the Spiral. And one who seeks to become it. They will not stop. You must be faster."
Liang Ming stared at the sky ahead.
"Then I will become the storm."
They vanished into the clouds.
Far behind them, unseen, another figure stepped into the Sanctum—eyes like molten gold.
The race had begun.