By week's end, the whispers had started.
"Did you hear?""House Aerinthal's orphan is still alive?""Someone saw him outside the walls.""I bet he's going to get expelled."
But Calix didn't care. Not today.
Today, Solarae announced the Tournament of Houses.
It was an old tradition, only held once every three years. Nobles from the five great houses—Aerinthal, Virelen, Duskreach, Caldris, and Liora—competed in challenges of magic, combat, and wits. Not just to win house prestige, but to catch the attention of the Skylord Council—the most powerful leaders in the cloud kingdoms.
Most students trained their whole lives for this.
Calix had six days.
And no powers.
"Perfect," he muttered. "Should be easy."
Later that afternoon, Calix sat in the back of the training yard while teams formed and captains were chosen.
"Obviously I'll lead Aerinthal," Thorian announced, flexing his fingers as flames danced between them. "We need strength. Not dead weight."
His eyes flicked to Calix.
Lysena leaned against the pillar beside him, polishing her blade. "We could enter Calix. That way, we're guaranteed someone to lose the first round."
A few nearby students chuckled.
Calix opened his mouth—but a shadow passed over them all.
Archmistress Vaelora descended the stairs like a silent storm.
Her cloak swirled. Her eyes, sharp as cut obsidian, scanned the group.
"The council has granted permission for one non-gifted to compete," she said, voice smooth but dangerous. "To promote... inclusion."
Everyone turned to stare.
"Calix Aerinthal," she continued. "You will enter the tournament."
Thorian's grin vanished.
Lysena actually looked up.
Calix blinked. "Wait, what?"
Vaelora didn't answer him. She just walked away, the decision made.
That night, Mira met him under the dorm stairs, eyebrows raised.
"You're either brave or suicidal."
"Little of both," Calix muttered.
She handed him a wrapped bundle. Inside: the Skyborn harness, cleaned and upgraded.
"I added stabilization runes," she said. "Won't make you fly, but it'll keep you from dying when you fall."
"How comforting."
She hesitated. "There's something else. During the trial... did anything weird happen?"
Calix tilted his head. "Define 'weird.'"
"Visions? Voices? Lights that didn't feel like magic?"
He paused.
When he'd touched the harness, there had been a flicker. A pulse. A strange sound in the wind like... wings. Not real ones. Memory of wings. Like the sky had once known how to carry him.
"…No," he lied.
Mira didn't push, but her eyes darkened. "Be careful. There are stories that say when a Skyborn awakens, others awaken too. Things that should've stayed buried."
Calix nodded, unsure how much of that he believed.
But deep down, he felt it too.
This wasn't just about the tournament.
Something bigger was coming.
The next day, training began.
The first event was a team gauntlet: a race through a floating obstacle course made of shifting platforms, illusion traps, and timed sky-magic pulses. Most would fly or teleport.
Calix?
He had the harness.
When the whistle blew, the competitors launched upward in blurs of light and flame. Thorian soared ahead on wings of fire. Lysena danced through the traps like a blade of silver light.
Calix sprinted toward the edge—and leapt.
Wind roared in his ears.
He pulled the harness cords. The wings—simple glider limbs made of enchanted cloth and steel—snapped open. He caught the wind just enough to glide, his feet skimming platforms, his body twisting through gaps.
It wasn't pretty. It wasn't fast.
But he didn't fall.
And when the final bell rang, he landed—breathless but standing—fifth out of twenty-four.
The silence was louder than the applause.
Thorian scowled.
Lysena's smile was tight.
And somewhere, high in the tower balconies, Archmistress Vaelora nodded once and turned away.
That night, Calix stared at the stars again.
Something inside him felt... different.
Stronger.
Not magic.Not yet.
But something old.Awakening.Moving.
The sky wasn't just watching him anymore.
It was waiting.