The morning mist clung to the floating platforms of the Sky Academy like a soft, wet blanket. Lyria Arden pressed her palms against the cold, slick metal railing, feeling the vibrations of the wind tug at her arms and hair. Below, the city of Aurelia shimmered like fractured glass, towers and spires catching the first light of dawn, golden edges slicing through the haze. She inhaled, the air sharp and cold in her lungs, and tried to calm the storm thrumming beneath her skin—the familiar, restless pulse of her spark.
She had felt it every day since the morning she realized she wasn't like the others. The spark, golden and unpredictable, flickered beneath her collarbone, a living thing with moods and whims of its own. Sometimes it hummed softly, a gentle warmth that made her feel capable; other times, it flared without warning, a jagged, chaotic energy that left her trembling and terrified.
And today, standing on the highest platform at the edge of the Academy, Lyria felt both extremes at once.
Don't mess this up. Don't let it get out of control. Don't fall. Her thoughts tumbled over themselves, a cyclone of self-doubt.
A sudden surge shot through her chest. Sparks arced from her fingertips, striking the railing with a sharp crack. Lyria stumbled back, heart hammering. The wind caught her hair and coat, teasing her like it wanted her to topple. Her stomach lurched as adrenaline slammed through her veins.
"Lyria?"
The voice was calm, deliberate, and it cut through the chaos in her mind like a steadying hand. Kairo Vael, standing a few meters away, watched her with sharp, piercing eyes. He wasn't shouting. He wasn't scolding. He simply observed. And somehow, that made everything feel both terrifying and grounding.
"I—I'm fine," Lyria stammered, her voice trembling despite herself. "I just… I just—"
She stopped, realizing she couldn't explain the storm inside her chest. How could she? Words felt inadequate against the blaze of energy and fear that ran through her veins.
Kairo stepped closer, his movement measured, careful. "Don't fight it," he said quietly, almost as if he were speaking to himself. "Learn it. Your spark isn't your enemy. Fear is."
Something in his tone, steady and calm, made her chest tighten—not with panic, but with a strange, fragile reassurance. She wanted to shrink away, to run back to the dormitories and hide from this challenge, from herself. Yet she didn't. She inhaled, counting each slow breath: one… two… three…
The golden glow beneath her collarbone pulsed, hesitated, then softened, humming steadily instead of thrashing. For the first time that morning, Lyria felt she could breathe.
Maybe I can control it. Maybe it's not going to control me.
Her gaze flicked to Kairo. His eyes weren't judging, but they weren't soft either. There was something else—attention, curiosity, a careful consideration that made her pulse hitch. She shook her head, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than the flutter in her chest.
The instructors had promised that today's exercise would test new students in ways that went beyond raw spark power. It wasn't just control—they wanted adaptability, intuition, and focus under pressure. Lyria felt that already, every nerve in her body buzzing.
She moved forward, stepping onto the first floating platform. It swayed slightly beneath her weight, a reminder that one misstep could send her tumbling into the misty void below. Her spark flickered nervously, teasing the edges of control.
"Focus on the spark. Not the fear," Kairo instructed, voice calm. "Feel it, don't fight it. Let it respond, not react."
Lyria closed her eyes, taking in the rhythm of her heartbeat. She pictured the golden energy, not as a threat, but as a partner—wild, yes, but capable of communication if she let go of panic. Slowly, the tremor in her hands subsided. The glow pulsed in sync with her breathing, and the platforms beneath her feet stopped vibrating so violently with her energy.
A small drone floated up in front of her, a simple training unit, metallic and glimmering faintly in the early light. She raised her hands instinctively, sparks flaring as the drone wobbled. A jolt of panic shot through her chest. I can't do this. I'll break it. I'll fail.
"Breathe," Kairo said. He stepped closer, his presence grounding in a way she hadn't expected. "It doesn't matter if it's imperfect. Just start."
She inhaled, focusing on the hum beneath her collarbone. The drone steadied, responding to her subtle pulses. Her chest swelled with a rush of exhilaration—and just as quickly, the doubt returned. Did I really do it, or is it just luck?
Kairo's eyes met hers, and for a heartbeat, she saw something in his expression—a flicker of approval, almost hidden beneath his calm exterior. It made her chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear or excitement.
The drone hovered steadily now, guided by her spark, her pulse, and, in a sense, Kairo's silent instructions. It wasn't perfect, but it was controlled. I can do this. I can control it.
For a moment, the mist, the wind, the height, the fear—all of it fell away. Lyria felt something new: possibility. The spark wasn't just a chaotic force. It was a tool, a companion, a fragment of herself she was just beginning to understand.
The sun broke through the mist, casting golden shafts of light across the floating platforms. Lyria's spark reflected them, shimmering like liquid sunlight beneath her collarbone. She opened her eyes, inhaled deeply, and whispered to herself, "I… can do this."
Kairo's voice, calm and firm, cut through the silence: "Good. That's the first step. Now… keep it steady. Today is just the beginning."
Her chest tightened again—not with fear, but with anticipation. This was her first real test. And somehow, with the spark humming steadily beneath her skin and Kairo's calm presence beside her, she felt… ready.
The wind tugged at her hair again, playful and insistent. She smiled faintly, a spark of courage igniting in her chest. The Academy was vast. The sky was endless. And for the first time, she didn't feel small.
Somewhere deep in her chest, the spark flickered brighter, as if agreeing.
And so began Lyria Arden's journey—one breath, one pulse, one flicker at a time.