Solarae had towers no one spoke about.
Not the gleaming ones crowned with sun-crystals or floating gardens. Not the dormitories or lecture halls or dueling arenas. But the Old Tower, the one at the edge of campus, half-sunken in mist and draped in silence. Students weren't allowed there.
Naturally, Calix went anyway.
It started with a rumor.
"There's a sky chart in the old archives," a second-year whispered in the mess hall. "From before the great pirate wars. Maps of hidden routes—cloudfolds, wind tunnels, ghost airstreams."
They laughed it off. But Calix didn't.
Sky charts like that were priceless. Most had been destroyed when the Sky Empires outlawed piracy, sealing off the free airways to control trade and power. If there was even a chance the rumor was true…
He had to see for himself.
At midnight, wrapped in a borrowed cloak, Calix slipped past the shimmer wards and crept along the high wall behind the stables. The mist grew thicker as he neared the Old Tower. Strange—the air was colder here, like the sky itself avoided this place.
The door was locked, of course.
But it was old. Rusted. And Calix had learned a few things from the street kids in Lower Aurell when he was younger.
With a twist of wire and some careful pressure, the lock clicked open.
Inside, it smelled of dust and forgotten magic. Cobwebs clung to vaulted beams. Shelves bowed under the weight of ancient tomes. A broken star-globe sat in the corner, cracked and half-glowing.
Calix lit a lantern and moved deeper.
Scrolls. Charts. Journals.
He found it tucked in a black leather case behind a collapsed bookshelf: a sky chart, drawn in shimmering ink that shifted as he tilted it. It pulsed faintly in his hands.
Not just a map. A living chart. One that could react to air currents, changing in real time.
"This… is real," he whispered.
And then the room answered.
Something stirred.
Behind him, a soft humming. Faint blue light bled from the far wall, where a symbol—an old pirate insignia—glowed through the stone.
Calix stepped forward.
The stone moved. Or rather, it faded—like a mirage—and behind it stood a sealed chamber, protected by layers of forgotten magic. He reached toward it—
And the magic struck.
A shock of energy shot through his hand, throwing him backwards. He landed hard, gasping, as runes flared around the chamber door. But the strangest thing? The magic hadn't hurt him.
It had... recognized him.
The runes shifted. One word formed on the door, glowing in silver flame:
Skyborn.
Then the light faded, and the wall sealed shut again.
Back in bed an hour later, Calix stared at the sky through the narrow dorm window, the stolen map tucked under his pillow.
Something had changed.
He wasn't sure what the word meant—Skyborn—but the magic had answered him, a boy with no power, no noble blood.
That door hadn't opened.
Not yet.
But it would.He would earn it.And the skies would be his.