The airship Hollow Reed hovered over the broken rooftops of Airvale, its engines sighing like an old man after a long day.
The sky was bruised purple, and the wind smelled like rust.
Below, what used to be a town clung to the cliffs in pieces with half walls, cracked glass, and silent houses that had given up trying to look alive.
On the deck, the Skyward Couriers were finishing their delivery.
They wore gray coats trimmed with silver thread, the mark of those who worked under the High Wind Government.
To the people of the Bottom Sky, they were symbols of progress.
To themselves, they were just tired.
"Finally done," one of them said, throwing his gloves into a crate. "These cliff rats keep asking for more grain than we're cleared to give."
"Yeah, and they look at us like we're thieves," another added. "Maybe if they worked instead of whining, their town wouldn't look like a graveyard."
The third courier snorted, tightening a rope. "Don't bother pitying them. Once Airvale sinks another level, they'll be gone for good."
CLANG!
A faint clang came from below deck. The three paused.
"You hear that?"
Probably just the cargo settling, they told themselves. No one wanted to go check. The sooner they left this cursed place, the better.
Below their feet, in a cramped, dim cargo room, a boy sat wedged between crates.
He had white hair and green eyes.
He was too small to be a threat. His name was Zagorzaly Tempa, though no one up here knew it yet.
His heart pounded so loudly he was sure the floorboards above could hear it. If they found him now, he was finished. But even with his stomach twisting in fear, a grin began to spread across his face.
He was in. He had actually done it.
Zal pressed his back against the cold wall and whispered to himself, trying not to laugh. "Sorry, gentlemen. Guess I'm part of the crew now."
Then his eyes caught the sign bolted to the nearby door.
COMMANDER'S QUARTERS – ENTRY RESTRICTED
He blinked once. Then twice.
"…Jackpot."
His grin widened until it almost hurt. He whispered in a mock-serious tone, "Oh no, what a tragedy. A poor boy accidentally stumbled into the boss's room. What a shame."
He chuckled, shaking his head. If those sky snobs knew I made it in here, they'd probably faint right off the deck.
Crates filled the corners, some sealed, others barely tied. Zal's eyes glimmered with the hunger only a starving kid could have.
"What should I open first?" he muttered.
The first crate groaned under his knife.
Inside was food like dry bread, sealed rations, something that actually smelled like meat. He didn't think twice. He devoured it like the wind itself had been starving him.
Then came the next crate which were tools, old engine parts, and shards of luminous crystal cores used for airship systems. All shiny, expensive things that meant nothing to him.
He tossed a metal piece aside, crumbs still on his lips. "You people eat like kings and ship trash like gods. It must be nice."
For a moment, he leaned back, staring at the faint light above. His stomach was full for the first time in days. His heart was louder than the engines.
But there was still one crate left.
It was smaller than the others, covered with a strange dark metal that reflected light like water. Zal crouched beside it and knocked softly.
It sounded solid.
He frowned and tugged at the lid. It did not move. He tried again, this time using a loose wrench he had found on the floor.
But, nothing. The thing was sealed tight, like it was guarding a secret.
Zal squinted, thinking hard. "How do you open a box that does not want to be opened?" he muttered.
He began searching the room.
He looked under the table, inside buckets, even behind the pipes that rattled from the ship's vibration.
Then, by pure accident, he tripped on a coil of wire and hit his head against a small control lever on the wall. The lever snapped, and a pressurized steam valve burst open beside the crate.
The sudden blast of heat and force struck the metal lid just right, sending it clattering off with a sharp clang.
Zal froze, blinking at the open crate, then looked back at the broken lever. "Perfect. Exactly what I planned," he whispered, smiling proudly at his own disaster.
Inside the crate lay something wrapped in dark cloth. Carefully, he pulled the fabric away.
A mask stared back at him.
It was carved with winding green designs that shimmered faintly, like scales breathing in the light. Its eyes were narrow, and its mouth curved into something between a snarl and a smile.
The patterns resembled a dragon spiraling around the edges, frozen in mid-flight.
Zal felt his throat tighten. He had seen drawings of masks before, but never one in real life.
His sister, Lumini, used to tell him stories about them when they were still together in the ruins of their old home.
She said that the Masks of Windborn were remnants of the Eldest Wind, heroes who had climbed through the skies with nothing but their will and the wind. Each mask, she told him, chose its wearer when their dreams were strong enough to make the air listen.
His father once said the same thing, long ago, before the day he left for the Top Sky.
And now, one of those legends was sitting in front of him.
Zal's lips curled into a grin. His eyes gleamed with the kind of joy only a starving dreamer could have. He let out a shaky laugh. "The jackpot. I really got the jackpot."
He reached for the mask with trembling hands. It was cold at first, but the moment his fingers touched it, a faint pulse ran through the metal, like it was alive.
Before he could marvel further, the floor beneath him shifted violently. The ship groaned, and the room tilted slightly.
He stumbled and looked toward the small window.
Clouds moved past.
His face drained of color.
"No. No, no, no, no. You have got to be kidding me."
He stared at the sky outside, then at the door, and finally at the mask still glowing faintly in his hands.
The ship was already flying.
And if he wanted to get back home, he needed to run now.
The moment Zal's fingers touched the mask, it came alive.
A bright green glow spread across its surface, tracing every scale and curve like veins of light. Before he could pull back, the glow reached his wrist.
It felt like air had turned solid, gripping him. The energy coiled around his arm, then surged toward his face.
He tried to resist, but the wind itself betrayed him. The mask rose and pressed against him, molding to his skin.
"Wait, hold on, stop!" Zal shouted, stumbling back. He grabbed for the table, for the wall, for anything that could help him pull it off.
The light only tightened its hold.
The air hummed. His vision blurred. He tried to speak again, but his voice melted into a yawn.
And then, he dropped to the floor.
---
When Zal opened his eyes again, the air was quiet.
He blinked and pushed himself up. The room was gone. The floor beneath him was not wood anymore but stone. Wind tugged at his clothes, dry and cold.
He turned his head slowly. He was standing at the edge of a cliff that reached into nothingness. Clouds stretched endlessly below, and a single tornado spun in front of him, tall as a mountain.
His heart thudded in confusion. "What… what is happening?"
Then he caught something glimmering in the wind. A feather. It drifted down from the sky above, light as a whisper.
Zal reached for it instinctively. The feather slipped through his fingers.
He clenched his jaw and tried again. The same thing happened.
"Come on, just once," he muttered.
The feather danced away from him, teasing, twisting out of reach. His irritation grew, bubbling until it burst.
"FINE!" he shouted. "YOU WANT ME TO TRY HARDER? I'LL TRY HARDER!"
He leapt for it.
For one second, his fingertips brushed the feather's edge. The next second, the world tilted, and he realized he had jumped over the cliff.
His breath stopped. He threw himself backward and landed on the ground, heart hammering against his ribs.
He sat there for a long moment, staring at the endless drop. "Okay," he whispered shakily. "Maybe not that hard."
He exhaled, forcing his thoughts to settle. He reached up to remove the mask, but his hands froze. It would not move.
He tugged harder, but it was fused to his face like it had become part of him.
Panic flickered in his chest, but then something surfaced in his memory.
His father's voice.
He could almost hear it through the wind. "The Masks choose their bearers through trials. Do not fear them, Zaly. The wind never takes without giving."
Zal's eyes widened. "Trials. So this is the trial."
He stood up again, staring at the tornado. The feather still floated somewhere inside it, shining faintly like a signal.
He crossed his arms. "Alright, mask. You wanted me here. What now? What are you even supposed to do?"
No answer came.
Zal scowled and kicked a pebble off the cliff.
"Perfect. My first magical mask, and it does not even talk."
Then, a roar cut through the wind. The air in front of him twisted, folded, and burst outward. A massive dragon made of green wind appeared, coiling in the air.
Its body shimmered like glass reflecting sunlight, and its eyes looked down on him without emotion.
Zal's mouth fell open. "Whoa… you're— you're real."
He waved, half excited, half terrified. "Hey! You hear me? Do you know what's going on?"
The dragon stared at him.
"Can you talk?" Zal asked again.
The dragon lifted its claw, scratched its ear lazily, and blew out a small puff of air.
Zal's voice cracked. "What the hell!?"
The dragon tilted its head slightly, looking almost bored.
Zal threw his hands up. "Unbelievable. My first ancient spirit, and it has the personality of a rock."
Zal kept ranting at the dragon, waving his arms like an angry bird trying to scare away a storm.
"You think you're better than me, huh? Just because you can fly? I CAN YELL LOUDER THAN YOU!"
The dragon's eyes barely moved. It looked as if it might yawn at any moment.
Zal sighed. "You could at least pretend to care. What kind of trial is this supposed to be?"
Then, amid his shouting, a sound broke through the wind. It was soft at first, like an echo from far away.
A voice.
He froze. The words carried warmth that made his chest tighten.
"What's your dream, Zaly?"
Zal turned around.
Standing behind him were two figures bathed in faint light. A woman with long silver hair that shimmered like rain, and a man whose eyes mirrored the same green as his own.
His throat closed. He could not breathe for a moment.
"...Mom? Dad?"
The woman smiled gently.
"Tell us, Zaly. What is your dream?"
The air around him grew still. His hands trembled. For a heartbeat, he was a child again, sitting beside them under a broken roof, listening to their stories about the sky.
He lowered his head, trying to find the words.
"My dream…"
"My dream is to reach the Top Sky. To open the gates that everyone said were impossible to open."
"Because that's where dreams belong. They don't stay buried under dust and ruins. They rise."
He looked up, the storm reflecting in his eyes. "I want to rise with them."