Created and Written by Mateo Woodson Written and Storyboarded by John Fallout
Cloud Falls wasn't like any city Ephraim Boichi had ever seen.
It wasn't built on land, or rock, or even the bones of some skybeast like the cities he'd passed through before. No, Cloud Falls was carved into vapor — a city stitched into mist, suspended in midair like a daydream trying to hold shape.
There were no streets here. Just floating platforms — great circular ones like oversized lily pads, and narrow, winding ones like the steps of an invisible staircase — all drifting calmly in place. Stone bridges linked some together, but others only connected via lifts made of wind and willpower. Clouds spilled out across walkways like spilled milk, curling around corners. Rainbows bent between windows, more common than pigeons.
And gravity didn't work here. It danced.
A skybus hissed into the station on a pad made of woven windstone. The doors sighed open, and Ephraim Boichi leapt lightly to the ground. His worn black Converse crunched onto a mosaic of soft-glowing runes.
He landed with a stretch, yawned dramatically, and shoved his hands into the torn pockets of his jeans.
His eyes swept the city — up, down, left, right — taking in the architecture like a strategist mapping his route to something important. Then he began to walk.
He passed a bar shaped like a cracked geode, humming with warm orange light and the thump of slow electronic music. Locals in layered cloaks and vaporwear came and went in gentle rhythm — laughter spilling between sips of floating drinks.
Ephraim didn't pause. Just kept walking, cool and aimless, like he'd already been here a hundred times.
Then — a bump.
He looked up. A tall man in a long coat stood in his way.
"Hey," Ephraim said casually, brushing his shoulder. "You know the way to the ferry station?"
The man smiled. Not like most people smile. Not with warmth. This one was polite… too polite.
"Yeah, sure. It's three blocks that way," the man said, pointing down a side street tucked between two towers of mist-sculpted glass.
Ephraim nodded. "Thanks, man."
The stranger reached out and patted him once on the shoulder.
"No problem," he said. "Good luck at the tournament."
Ephraim froze. "Wait—how did yo—"
But when he turned to ask the question, the man was gone.
Not vanished in a crowd. Not walking away.
Gone.
Like he'd never existed in the first place.
Ephraim blinked at the empty spot where the man had been. "Okay… sketchy," he muttered, and jogged off in the direction he'd been shown.
Cloud Falls Docks
The air here had more weight to it — heavier with mist, thicker with tension.
Ephraim arrived at the docks just ten minutes later, skidding to a stop on a bridge lined with floating lanterns. Beneath the platform, clouds churned like restless water, spiraling upward into a massive vapor funnel — the infamous cloudfall.
It was a breathtaking sight — an ascending cyclone of sky, climbing endlessly toward a vanishing point above.
Docked near the edge were ferries and skyships of every shape and class — sleek chrome boats, gilded hover-chariots, and private crafts polished to the point of vanity.
Ephraim grinned at the view. "Ah… there it is."
He stepped forward, ready to board.
But then — a flicker of motion across the street caught his eye.
Inside a corner shop, three masked figures were shoving a frail old man against the back counter. One of them knocked over a display of fruit. Another pulled out a short, curved blade. There was shouting. Threats.
Ephraim sighed.
"...Alright."
He dashed across the street.
Madeene's Market – Robbery in Progress
Chaos met him at the door.
Shelves had been knocked over. Fruit rolled underfoot. One of the masked men — tall, broad — had the old man pinned behind the counter. Another kept lookout near the door. The third stood in front of a girl.
Not just any girl.
Salt Buelford.
She stood with one hand in her pocket, the other brushing casually against the wall. Her tan skin shimmered faintly under the flickering overhead light. Her hair was cropped into a sleek, wolfish cut — jet black, with sharp streaks of pink slicing through it like comet trails. She didn't look frightened. She looked annoyed.
Her outfit could've been pulled straight off a Shein homepage — a cropped utility jacket over a graphic top, black pleated skirt, sheer tights tucked into chunky platform boots. Street-modern, but somehow still royal.
She didn't even flinch as Ephraim charged past her.
He sprinted for the thug closest to the old man — M1, knife-wielder.
Without breaking stride, Ephraim vaulted — planting his palms on M1's shoulders, flipping overhead, and kicking both feet backward square into the guy's face.
THWACK.
M1 crumpled instantly.
Still midair, Ephraim twisted, caught the wall beside Salt with one hand, and launched himself back into the fight — using her shoulder for balance as he spun.
Salt blinked. "Huh?"
He landed beside the second mugger, M2, who had just enough time to widen his eyes before Ephraim drove a kick directly into his nose.
M2 stumbled.
Ephraim followed with a clean right hook, knocking the man fully out the door and into the street.
M3 — the last one — took a half-step back.
"What the hell—?!"
Ephraim didn't answer. He leapt onto a nearby table, then launched forward like a cannonball, boot meeting M3's chin with a satisfying crack.
M3 spat blood, still standing.
"Is that all you got!?" he snarled.
Ephraim landed lightly, dusted off his sleeves, and lunged again.
M3 swung wildly.
Ephraim ducked, low and fluid, then countered with a sharp jab to the jaw.
M3 dropped.
Silence returned to the store like a curtain falling.
Ephraim turned to the old man, brushing dust off his jacket.
"You okay, oldhead?"
The shopkeeper nodded shakily. "Yeah… thank you. Thank you so much."
Salt stepped forward, tilting her head in curiosity. She studied Ephraim like he was something new on a menu.
The old man raised a trembling hand.
"What's the name of the man who saved me?"
Ephraim blinked, pointing to himself. "Huh? Ephraim Boichi."
"Thank you, Ephraim," the man said warmly.
Salt smiled. "So your name is Ephraim?"
She stepped closer, her eyes flicking over him.
"Well, Ephraim," she said, voice playful, "your fighting style is... interesting. You don't use any type of magic?"
Ephraim scratched the back of his head. "Huh?"
"Everyone uses magic," she said, folding her arms. "Are you unable to?"
He shrugged. "Nah, I got some kind of magic. Like hm how can I explain this….I am the car…. My fists are the key."
A long, confused pause.
He added, dead serious, "...And… and m-my magic is the gas. I think. I forgot where this metaphor was going."
Salt blinked three times, slowly. Then, finally, she laughed.
"What kind of magic do you actually have?" she asked, clearly entertained.
Ephraim flexed dramatically, patting his bicep. "Attraction," he said, winking.
She giggled. "Aww. But really — what is it?"
"Magnets."
"Magnets?" she repeated.
He nodded. "M-Magnets."
She raised a brow. "W-What do you mean magnets?"
Ephraim brightened, suddenly in full pitch mode.
"I can attract and repel stuff. Like, say I'm punching a guy — I can put a magnet on his face and make my fist zoom toward it, real fast. I can bounce off air sometimes. Swing around with this magnet whip thing. Pretty cool, right?"
He grinned. "Basically, I'm a human magnet."
Salt stared at him for a long beat.
"You really talk a lot."
"Thanks."
She rolled her eyes, still laughing. "Are you heading to the tournament, by chance?"
"Hell yeah," Ephraim said proudly. "I'm gonna be king of kings."
"That's a hefty goal," she said, arching a brow. "Aren't you aiming a little high?"
He shook his head. "Nah. I'm on course."
Salt tilted her head thoughtfully. "Well… if you're heading up there anyway, want a ride on my private ferry?"
Ephraim stepped back, eyes narrowed with mock suspicion.
"Mhh… no, I'm sorry. I just met you. You could be a pervert. Or worse… a tax collector."
Salt burst out laughing. "Okay, king of kings. I'll see you up there."
She backed away toward a waiting vessel — a sleek glass ferry shaped like a blade of wind and sunlight. Its engines purred with elegance.
Salt climbed aboard and gave him a playful wave as the craft began to rise.
Ephraim grinned and waved back. "Later, princess."
Then, without a second thought, he turned and sprinted to the edge of the dock.
He leapt.
And dove, headfirst, into the rising spiral of the cloudfall, arms tucked like a diver, slicing through the mist with speed and style.
The girl in the ferry and the boy in the sky disappeared together — two bright streaks vanishing upward into the clouds, bound for the same place.