The calm rhythm of the ship and the gentle days above the clouds could not last forever.
On the eighth day of flight, the horizon began to shift. At first, it was subtle: a faint gray creeping over distant clouds, the sunlight dimming to a muted glow. The students noticed it only in passing, murmurs of curiosity and worry floating through the decks. Lira, standing at her favorite observation panel, felt the air stir differently, heavier and charged. The currents twisted unexpectedly, brushing against her fingers in ways she hadn't felt before.
"Something's coming," she whispered to herself, tension threading through her words.
By mid-afternoon, the change was unmistakable. Clouds thickened overhead, rolling and darkening, flecked with silver threads of distant lightning. Winds picked up along the outer decks, tugging at robes and hair. The teachers moved quickly, guiding students back inside, their voices firm and precise.
