When Elias woke, the light was wrong.
It came from every direction at once—soft and gold like dawn, yet sharp enough to cut through his eyelids. The air hummed; it felt alive. He sat up slowly, dirt sliding off his coat, and the grass beneath him gave a faint blue glow that faded as he touched it, as if shy.
He was still bleeding from the shoulder, but the wound no longer hurt. The blood itself had turned thin, silver in the strange sunlight.
"Not possible," he whispered. His own voice startled him in the silence.
He was lying on a hill that didn't end in earth but in sky. The land dropped away a few meters from his boots, dissolving into open air. Beyond the edge hung other islands—hundreds, maybe thousands—each floating at its own height, linked by narrow bridges of light that flickered like nerve signals. Far below rolled clouds the color of ash.
Aetherion.
He didn't know the name yet, but it was waiting for him.
He stood, tested his weight. Gravity felt wrong—too gentle, as if the world couldn't decide whether to hold him or let him go.
The mark on his wrist pulsed once, faint and rhythmic. He ignored it.
A noise broke the quiet: a mechanical chirp, then the grind of gears. He turned toward it, instincts sharp.
A small drone the shape of a dragonfly hovered nearby. It was rusted, missing one wing, but its single red eye blinked curiously. It circled him twice, scanned his face, then darted away toward a cluster of ruins on the next ridge.
Elias hesitated only a second before following.
The ruins were the bones of a town.
Stone paths led nowhere, houses were shells of glass and steel grown over with vines that shone faintly under the light. Signs hung in a language he couldn't read—half glyph, half circuit.
He touched one of the walls; it was warm, breathing with tiny vibrations.
Whatever had built this place wasn't human—or if it was, humanity here had become something else.
The same drone landed on a railing ahead, and a girl's voice echoed from behind a collapsed archway.
"Don't move, outsider."
Elias froze.
The voice was young, sharp, and steady. Footsteps approached.
Out from the shadows stepped a girl about his age, her clothes stitched from scavenged fabric and metal plates. A pair of lenses rested on her forehead, faintly glowing. She held a staff that crackled with static.
Up close, her eyes reflected the same color as the grass—bright blue, artificial.
"I said don't move," she repeated. "The air around you is unstable. One wrong step and you'll fall through the crust."
Elias raised his hands slowly. "I'm not here to steal anything."
"You fell from the sky," she said flatly. "People who fall from the sky usually bring trouble."
He didn't answer. There was no good way to explain that she was right.
For a while, they only listened to the hum of the wind. Then the girl frowned and tilted her head, as if hearing something distant.
"They're afraid of you," she murmured.
"Who?"
"The machines," she said, touching the side of her head. "They talk, you know. Not with words—just… feelings. They don't like what you are."
Elias studied her more carefully. She wasn't lying. There was something odd in her presence, something half-mechanical, like a faint current running beneath her skin.
"What's your name?" he asked.
She hesitated. "Lyra. And you?"
"…Elias."
"Strange name," she said. "Doesn't sound from any sector."
He didn't respond. He wasn't sure this was a sector or a planet or something else entirely. The silence between them grew heavy, filled with the faint whistle of the wind through metal bones.
A tremor rolled underfoot.
Lyra's eyes widened. "Shatterwind," she hissed. She grabbed his wrist—right where the black mark pulsed—and dragged him toward a narrow tunnel between two broken walls.
The world screamed.
Outside, the sky tore open like fabric. A cyclone of glowing particles ripped across the floating island, peeling stone away like paper. Elias barely caught a glimpse of it—an immense spiral of light and debris moving as if it were alive.
They dove into the tunnel just before the edge of the island cracked and dropped into the abyss below.
Inside, it was dark and close. Dust and blue light leaked through the cracks. They crouched together until the roar passed. Lyra's breathing was quick but controlled. Elias noticed she didn't look terrified—just annoyed, as if this were another ordinary storm.
When the rumble faded, she pushed a strand of hair from her eyes and looked at him.
"You really don't know anything about this place, do you?"
"No."
"That's going to get you killed." She stood, brushing off her hands. "Or maybe you'll get us both killed."
"Wouldn't be the first time," Elias said before he could stop himself.
Lyra gave him a sharp look. "What?"
"Nothing."
They climbed out once the wind died down. The island's edge was gone, sheared clean off. Beyond it, a new chasm glowed faintly with energy. The storm had passed toward another island, leaving behind a rain of sparkling dust.
Lyra whistled, the drone returning to her shoulder. "Welcome to Aetherion," she said dryly. "Skyguard says it's paradise. I call it what's left."
He stared at the horizon. Dozens of other islands floated there, each carrying fragments of civilization—towers, forests, ruins suspended in impossible balance. Bridges of light linked some; others drifted alone, slowly spinning.
"What holds them up?" he asked.
"No one knows anymore," Lyra said. "The Architects built them before they vanished. Skyguard keeps them running, but the systems are dying. Like everything else."
He almost told her he understood—that he'd already watched one world die—but stopped. The words felt heavy in his throat.
They walked until dusk. The light turned red, shadows long and sharp.
Lyra led him to a shelter carved into the cliff side, where old machinery hummed faintly. She lit a small power crystal, bathing the room in amber glow.
"You can stay here tonight," she said. "Tomorrow I'll take you to Havenreach. Maybe they'll figure out what to do with you."
Elias leaned against the wall, watching sparks drift from a damaged console. "And what will they do with me?"
Lyra shrugged. "Depends. If you're useful, they'll keep you. If not… they'll drop you."
He half-smiled. "Seems fair."
"You don't sound worried."
"I've already died once," he said quietly.
She frowned, unsure if he was joking. He wasn't.
Later, when Lyra fell asleep against the cold metal floor, Elias sat alone by the entrance, staring at the strange horizon. The mark on his wrist glowed faintly with the rhythm of his heartbeat. When he closed his eyes, he could still feel the gun that had killed him—the echo of metal and fear.
He reached out toward the broken console. The mark pulsed, and for a second, he heard something—a voice, distant and fractured, like static whispering through glass.
You are not supposed to be here.
He pulled his hand back, breath caught in his throat.
Maybe he wasn't.
But he was here now, and for the first time since dying, he wasn't afraid of what came next.
End of Chapter 2