The wind swirled around them.

  But it did not blow. It danced.

  It rose in spirals, parted gently when Garlan spread his wings, then returned to brush his shoulders as if urging him forward.

  Marenna flew behind, focused. Brenuss growled faintly, tense. He too felt they were not alone.

  At last, the promontory appeared.

  A rocky isle suspended in the air, without chain, without pillar, without reason. Light there seemed warped, as though filtered through a living crystal. And all around, the sky—still. Bright. Deaf.

  They landed.

  The ground did not tremble. It breathed.

  With each step, an invisible ripple spread outward, as if the floating stone adjusted its own gravity.

  Marenna touched it lightly with her toe. The surface was warm. Too warm for rock.

  — It’s alive, she whispered.

  Garlan moved forward. The wind parted again. Guiding him. Not with force. With respect.

  An arch opened at the summit. Not a door. A void. A passage of air so pure it seemed sharp.

  Inside, a stairway… though not a stairway. Slabs suspended in the void, without railings. Floating. Aligning themselves.

  — This isn’t a palace, Garlan murmured. It’s an offering.

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  Marenna nodded.

  Brenuss lagged behind, trembling slightly—not from fear, but from memory.

  They ascended.

  Halfway across, Brenuss stopped dead. He growled low, pointing his snout toward the sky.

  Garlan lifted his eyes.

  Shadows. Silent. Swift.

  Then a sudden burst of air. Brutal. Pressure exploding.

  Three figures appeared in a circle around them, lances leveled. Their wings were neither feather nor leather—

  but pure wind, compressed into spirals of living light.

  Draconids.

  Their bodies partly scaled, yet fluid. Their eyes far too light to be human.

  One stepped forward, voice sharp:

  — Identify yourselves. Or vanish.

  Garlan did not answer immediately.

  He studied the ground, the angle of the lances, the currents.

  Then he drew a breath.

  And a spiral of wind wrapped around him, instinctive. Not controlled. Natural.

  The draconids recoiled a step. One narrowed his eyes.

  — You… carry our scent.

  Marenna edged back. Brenuss bared his teeth.

  — We’re not here to invade, she said. Only to understand.

  The wind rose suddenly. Vertical. Like a living column.

  And a voice, immense, broke across the sky.

  Not shouted. Not blown.

  Spoken aloud within the air itself.

  — They are of the blood of wind.

  — Let them pass.

  — One of them… bears the echo.

  The draconids bowed as one.

  — Forgive our harshness, their leader said. The Wind has allowed no one to enter. Until today.

  Garlan slowly raised his eyes toward the palace.

  A current coiled around his arm, spiraling softly into his palm. He felt it: a welcome. A trial. A promise.

  — Marenna, he said.

  She stepped beside him.

  — Shall we?

  — Yes. Together.

  They set foot on the first floating slab.

  The palace opened before them.

  And for the first time, the wind fell silent.