Feathers drifted lazily through the clouds, heralding the presence of a winged savior. Moments before the dark void had claimed him, the warm grip of a hand had eased the stinging venom coursing through his veins, steadying his free fall midair.
<...........>
Arinthal woke with a sharp gasp, coughing violently. He drew ragged breaths, his lungs burning as if he had just run a marathon. Forcing his eyes open, he carefully studied his surroundings. He was lying inside a damp, sparsely furnished wooden shack. In the corner, a basic table stood alongside a bizarre chair that hung from the ceiling by a long rope. Nearby sat a wooden rain barrel, presumably filled with water. A plate of food and a drink had been left on the table, but the sheer amount of vegetables on the plate instantly annoyed him.
As he swung his legs out of bed to stand, a sharp pain flared in his lower spine. Reaching back, he felt thick layers of bandages wrapped tightly around the wound. The memory of the battle rushed back to him in a devastating flood. Without a word, he forced himself over to the door and stepped outside.
He froze when he discovered that the shack sat on a tiny isolated island suspended high in the open sky. Countless other floating landmasses, ranging from small farms to massive aerial cities, spread across a vast cloudy abyss. The entire sector was surrounded by a colossal, circular waterfall, so distant that even with his superior elven vision, Arinthal had to squint to outline its borders.
The patch of land he stood on was barely the size of a basketball court, completely cut off from the other isles. There were no bridges connecting it to the nearest city islands, which drifted several kilometers away. Lacking any personal flight magic, he was utterly stranded. With a defeated sigh, he dropped onto the grass, fighting back a wave of helpless frustration.
Hours crawled by before the distant flapping of wings broke the silence. To his amazement, a humanoid figure sporting a massive pair of feathered wings was soaring directly toward him. The stranger cut through the sky, executing a clean landing a few meters away with a heavy gust of wind.
"So, you're finally awake," the winged man said, smiling warmly.
"You can talk. Great," Arinthal replied, flashing a wry, somewhat mischievous smirk back at him.
The stranger chuckled, taking no offense. "I can see you're recovering well. You're an elf, right?"
"So I keep getting told. I'm Arinthal. And you?"
"Aicanor. I spotted you plunging down the Riomonid waterfall and figured you could use a hand," he explained.
"I'm grateful. Truly. I would have been dead space at the bottom without you." Arinthal nodded genuinely, carefully pushing himself to his feet.
"No doubt. Even with me catching you to break the momentum, that fall knocked you out cold for a week," Aicanor laughed.
"A week?!" Panic spiked through Arinthal. That left him with barely four months before the Eldridan military launched its full-scale invasion of the Tamerlein continent. If he didn't unmask and eliminate Naudra's murderer before then, the hot-headed response of the elven factions would ignite another catastrophic, world spanning war.
"Um… Arinthal?" Aicanor's voice broke through his spiraling thoughts.
"Right, sorry. I just spaced out for a second," Arinthal muttered, shaking his head. "By the way, what race are you exactly?"
"I'm an Aviari, the children of the wing," Aicanor answered proudly, snapping open a massive pair of slate-grey wings.
"Well, Aicanor, as cozy as this rock is, what am I doing out here? I'm going to die of absolute boredom."
He barely finished the sentence before Aicanor snatched him firmly by the waist and launched them both straight into the sky. They shot toward the nearest floating capital like a bullet, gliding effortlessly over the clouds. From this height, Arinthal could see that a dense ocean of fog entirely cloaked the world below the islands, stretching all the way to the distant waterfall ring.
As they closed the distance to the main island, Aicanor swooped low, circling its underbelly twice before ducking into a massive cave hidden deep beneath the rock. He finally set Arinthal down. Arinthal stumbled slightly, his weak, healing legs trembling under his weight.
The cave was immense, clearly serving as a training facility carved directly out of the bedrock. Six dark doorways were set into the far walls, cloaking whatever lay beyond in total mystery.
Before they could move, soft, echoing footsteps signaled an approach. An elder Aviari emerged from the central doorway. He possessed faded blue eyes and curly silver-grey hair, strikingly similar to Aicanor, whose own thick, curly black hair fell cleanly to his shoulders.
While this old man lacked wings, the sheer volume of raw energy radiating from his posture left no doubt about his Aviari bloodline. He locked a piercing glare onto Arinthal before turning a stern gaze to the younger warrior.
"Young man, care to explain what we have here?"
"Master, this is the elf I found stranded at the Riomonid basin. His name is Arinthal," Aicanor said, bowing deeply.
"And you brought him directly to Qadashar? Have you lost your mind?!" the elder roared, his irritation boiling over. "Our sanctuary is a highly classified secret that even the Virethana Federation hasn't uncovered. Yet you freely bring a surface dweller from Aetheria straight to our doorstep?!"
"I don't know who you are, sir, but please don't blame him," Arinthal interjected, attempting to cool the elder's temper. "It was entirely my fault for falling into your domain in the first place."
The old man marched over, leaning in until they were eye-to-eye. "Tell me, young elf, how exactly did you end up here? I can smell a sickening mass of dark magic festering inside you, actively threatening to corrupt your own velori from the inside out."
"I traded blows with a goddess," Arinthal stated flatly.
The elder's scowl instantly vanished, replaced by an impressed, wide grin. "Ha! I knew it. You crossed blades with a vessel of Moiraxys and lived to tell the tale, didn't you?"
Arinthal blinked in astonishment. "How could you possibly know that?"
"I have my ways. Aicanor, you brought home a fascinating specimen!" The old man laughed boisterously. Arinthal marveled at the shift in personality, though Aicanor simply wore a knowing smile, clearly well acquainted with his teacher's erratic moods.
"So, what brought you out toward the waterfalls anyway, Arinthal?" Aicanor asked.
"I was tracking a path to Nad…" Arinthal froze as cold reality set in. He hadn't checked for his possessions since waking up. He frantically patted down his tattered, bare clothes, but his pockets were entirely empty.
"What are you looking for?" Aicanor asked, his brow furrowing.
"A map. It must have slipped out of my gear when you pulled me from the falls. Dammit!" Arinthal cursed, dragging a hand through his long silver hair in frustration.
"It must have been crucial to your journey," the elder noted, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Where exactly did this map lead?"
"Nadindel."
The elder Aviari's eyes flared with sudden excitement before he quickly covered it with a loud, forced cough. "You continue to surprise me, young elf. Surviving a goddess is one thing, but holding a chart to Nadindel is a legendary feat on its own."
Arinthal caught a detail from their earlier argument. "Wait… you mentioned the Virethana Federation earlier, right?"
"We do fall under their jurisdiction, though our local operations remain entirely isolated," Aicanor answered.
"Then your king , he might have an alternate map!" Arinthal blurted out, a desperate spark of hope reigniting in his chest.
Aicanor let out a heavy sigh, looking at him sympathetically. "First off, elf, we don't answer to a king; Qadashar is governed by Zypher. Secondly, he wouldn't hand a relic like that to a stranger. To put it simply: you don't stand a chance."
"Actually, Master Thalrune, the Grand Tournament initiates in exactly two weeks," Aicanor corrected, turning to the elder. "The champion is granted a single request for anything within the Zypher's power to provide. Perhaps he does have a shot."
"Oh, he would have a grand shot—if his body weren't currently a playground for a lethal curse," Thalrune retorted sarcastically. He then turned back to Arinthal, his grin turning distinctly devious. "You're a rare breed, boy. I'm willing to personally train you to stabilize your magic against that blight. But if you want my help, you're going to have to do a little favor for me first."