The lowest floating island of Calemyr wasn't so much a place as it was a trap. Its edges, ragged and jagged from centuries of erosion, hung like broken teeth against the endless blue of the sky. The wind, sharp and bitter, carried the scents of salt and smoke, mixing them into a grime that clung to everything. Nyra Vale trudged through the narrow alleys of the slum district, her bare feet slipping over cracked cobblestones and puddles of rainwater turned black with oil. She kept her hood drawn low, hiding the faint mark glowing on her wrist—the kind of mark that could kill a girl if the wrong eyes saw it.
The glow pulsed faintly, a silver thread against her pale skin. She had always known she was different, but the villagers whispered that difference was dangerous. Or worse, cursed. The night market was bustling even at this hour, merchants calling out their wares—shimmering fabrics snagged from the upper islands, exotic fruits that tasted of sunlight, and tiny vials of "Skywater," a rare potion said to enhance Skymarks. Nyra avoided the merchants' gazes, though she couldn't help stealing glances at the vibrant colors and impossible goods. She could never afford them—not with the coins she earned from running small errands for the Elder of the slums, a grizzled man named Tovan.
"Nyra! Don't dawdle!" Tovan's voice rang from a crooked doorway. His one good eye gleamed under the dim lantern light, and his hands were thick with ink stains. "The Skymark enforcers will be here before you finish bargaining, and you know what happens to street rats who linger too long!"
Nyra sighed and ducked into a narrow side street, dodging a group of street urchins playing a dangerous game with a piece of discarded Skyglass. One of them, a boy no older than ten with a shock of red hair, shouted at her, "Careful, glowing girl! Don't want you popping in flames before supper!" His laugh was sharp, cutting through the damp air. Nyra's stomach churned, half from hunger and half from the constant edge of fear that followed her everywhere.
Her destination was a tiny, ramshackle workshop wedged between two crumbling buildings, where a young inventor named Liora tinkered with skycraft engines. Liora, unlike most people of their island, didn't flinch when Nyra's mark faintly shimmered. In fact, the inventor's eyes always sparkled with curiosity whenever Nyra approached.
"Nyra, finally!" Liora said, adjusting the goggles perched on her forehead. "I've been waiting for you. Did Tovan send you, or are you here because you're curious about the old Sky map?"
Nyra's fingers twitched instinctively toward the glowing mark on her wrist. "Curiosity killed the cat, Liora," she said, though her voice was softer than she intended. "But maybe I'm just… looking."
The Sky map was no ordinary chart—it was rumored to be a fragment of the legendary Atlas of Aeir, showing the locations of floating islands thought lost for centuries. Most considered it a fairy tale. Nyra, however, felt the pull of the islands in her bones. Every pulse of her Skymark felt like a whisper guiding her toward something greater, something dangerous.
"You know, I think you're exactly the kind of girl who'd end up anywhere these maps point," Liora teased, flipping a fragile parchment over. "Even if it means getting caught by the Skywardens."
Nyra froze. "Skywardens?" The word had been whispered by merchants and children alike, but she'd never seen one close. The enforcers of the upper islands were legendary, feared for their strength and ruthlessness. Her pulse quickened.
Before Liora could answer, a sudden roar split the night. The ground beneath their feet vibrated, sending loose stones tumbling into the gutter. From the shadows above, a skiff of black-winged Skyhunters descended, their armored figures glinting in the lantern light. The enforcers had come.
Nyra's first instinct was to flee, but something in the way the lead enforcer moved—a man cloaked in midnight blue with a hood obscuring half his face—made her heart stop. His eyes, the briefest flash she caught beneath the hood, were unnervingly familiar. And then, as if sensing her Skymark, he raised a hand.
The faint glow on her wrist flared—brighter than ever—illuminating the alley in silvery light. Nyra gasped, stumbling backward. The boy with red hair from earlier shrieked and darted away, leaving her alone with the enforcers.
"Interesting," the man said, his voice smooth but sharp. "It's been a long time since I've seen a mark like that flicker on a child's skin."
Nyra's mind raced. I need to get out. I need to hide. I—
But it was too late. The enforcers had surrounded the alley. And the pulsing glow on her wrist? It was no longer faint.
Something ancient, something hungry, was waking within her.
The world tilted as the light expanded, swallowing the alley, the market, and the narrow streets of the slum. Nyra felt a pull—not just toward the sky, but toward something far beyond the reach of the floating islands. A voice, clear as a bell yet deep as the ocean, whispered in her mind:
"Rise, or fall. The choice is yours…"
And then everything went black.