When morning came, the sky bled gold.
The floating islands drifted quietly in the dawn light, shadows casting long ribbons across the clouds below. Elias had not slept. He had watched the world move — slow, uncertain, as if even gravity were too tired to decide what to hold on to.
Lyra stirred, stretching her arms with a faint groan. The drone — her "Echo," as she called it — hovered lazily near her shoulder, blinking. She looked at Elias with eyes that seemed brighter than the light around them.
"You didn't sleep."
He shook his head. "Couldn't."
"Dreams?" she asked.
"Memories." He paused. "Maybe."
Lyra gave a half-smile. "You'll fit right in, then. Nobody here sleeps well anymore."
They left the shelter as the air shimmered with heat. The paths along the cliffs had no railings, only narrow ledges leading to thin bridges of glowing stone. Elias walked carefully, feeling the world hum beneath his feet. Every so often, Lyra would stop, tap the ground, and listen.
"The crust shifts," she explained. "If you hear hollow tones, it means there's air under the surface. Step too hard and you'll fall through."
He nodded, watching how she moved — confident, balanced, quick. She had lived her whole life in danger, and it had shaped her into someone who didn't flinch.
"Who are the Architects?" Elias asked as they crossed a bridge that shimmered like glass.
Lyra's face hardened. "The ones who built Aetherion. The floating cities, the power cores, even the air systems. They left centuries ago. Or maybe they died. Depends on which myth you listen to."
"And Skyguard?"
"The military," she said bitterly. "They claim to protect us from the storms, but mostly they hoard technology and ration energy. If you don't work for them, you're a 'drifter.'" She gestured to herself. "Like me."
Elias studied her. She didn't look like she belonged to anyone — or wanted to.
By midday, the first sight of Havenreach appeared.
It was breathtaking — a vast city suspended between three floating islands, held together by luminous energy bridges and anchored by chains thicker than buildings. Towers made of glass and metal reached toward the void, some broken, others still alive with flickering lights. Flying machines buzzed between platforms, trailing blue vapor.
From below, the city looked like a reflection of a dream — beautiful, impossible, and fragile.
Lyra noticed his expression. "Don't let the shine fool you," she said. "Half the lower levels don't have power, and the upper rings are crawling with Skyguard patrols."
He didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on something else — a massive structure rising from the city's center, shaped like a spire but fractured, surrounded by arcs of golden light. The energy there pulsed in rhythm with his wrist.
"What is that?" he asked quietly.
Lyra followed his gaze. "The Core. It keeps the islands from falling. Nobody's allowed near it without clearance."
The mark on his wrist burned faintly, as if disagreeing.
At the city gate, a guard in an exosuit blocked their path. His armor buzzed softly, lines of blue light running across it. "Identification," he demanded through a modulated voice.
Lyra pulled a small metal card from her pouch. "Drifter ID, sector 7-Delta. Here for trade salvage."
The guard scanned it, eyes flicking toward Elias. "And him?"
"Found him near the Ashrift cliffs," Lyra said smoothly. "Might be useful."
The guard frowned. "Might also be a liability."
Elias met his stare without flinching. Something deep in him — an instinct he didn't remember learning — whispered how to read people. The guard's stance was defensive, not aggressive. He was afraid of something.
Elias spoke softly. "You've had storms recently."
The guard blinked. "How would you—"
"They leave traces," Elias interrupted. "You smell ozone in your armor. That means your last filter change was over two weeks ago. You're running short on power cells."
The man froze, uncertain whether to be impressed or alarmed. After a long moment, he grunted and stepped aside. "Go. But if he causes trouble, the drones will find you."
Lyra gave Elias a sidelong glance as they walked past. "Nice trick."
"Not a trick," he said. "Just… knowing things."
Her tone turned wary. "You sure you're not Skyguard?"
"I'm sure," he replied. "Too sure."
Inside, Havenreach felt alive — but sick.
Vendors shouted over the buzz of engines. Steam hissed from vents. The air was thick with the metallic tang of electricity and oil. Children darted through alleys carrying scrap metal, while drones floated overhead like silent watchers. The streets glowed faintly from beneath — a constant pulse of energy running through the veins of the city.
Lyra led him through the lower ring toward a market built beneath an old dome. There, she traded small pieces of tech for food and power cells. Elias watched, silent. He could feel eyes on him — people staring, whispering. Outsiders didn't go unnoticed.
When Lyra finished, they sat near a broken fountain. Water trickled weakly from a cracked pipe, pooling around their boots.
"Eat," she said, tossing him a packet of synth-food. "Tastes awful, but keeps you alive."
Elias bit into it. It did taste awful.
"Why help me?" he asked after a while.
Lyra shrugged. "Maybe I'm bored. Maybe I think you're trouble, and I like trouble."
He smirked faintly. "You're terrible at lying."
"So are you," she shot back. "That mark on your wrist — I've seen a lot of tech, but nothing like that. You going to tell me what it is?"
He looked down at the black pulse under his skin. "I don't know. But it's older than anything here."
She studied him, unsure if she believed him. Then she stood and stretched. "Come on. There's someone you need to meet."
They walked deeper into the city, where the lights grew dim and the walls bled rust. The people here looked thinner, eyes hollow from years of scraping by. Lyra led him to a narrow corridor behind a collapsed tower. A symbol — a circle split by a line — was carved into the metal door.
"This is the Havenreach Collective," she said. "They're drifters, engineers, and outcasts. They don't trust Skyguard. But if you can fix things, they'll take you in."
Elias frowned. "And if I can't?"
She smiled without humor. "Then you'll learn fast."
The door slid open with a hiss.
Inside, the air smelled of oil and dust. Dozens of machines lined the walls — broken drones, half-assembled weapons, and fragments of old tech pulsing faintly. People worked in silence, welding, soldering, creating sparks that briefly lit their tired faces.
An old man with mechanical eyes turned from his bench. "Lyra," he rasped. "You brought another stray?"
"Something like that," she said. "He's not from any registry. Claims he just appeared."
The man's gaze landed on Elias. "Name?"
"Elias."
"And where did you come from, Elias?"
He hesitated. "Another world."
The room went still. Tools stopped clinking. The man's eyes narrowed.
"That's a dangerous thing to say here, boy."
"I know," Elias said. "But it's true."
The old man studied him a moment longer, then nodded toward the glowing mark on his wrist. "That's not Skyguard tech. Nor Architect. You're something else."
"I don't know what I am," Elias admitted softly. "But wherever I go, things… change."
A murmur spread through the workers. Lyra watched him with an expression that was no longer suspicion — but something closer to fear.
The man finally spoke. "Then maybe change is exactly what this dying world needs."
That night, Elias lay on a cot in the corner of the workshop, staring at the ceiling. The mark on his wrist glowed faintly in the dark, syncing with the hum of the machines.
Outside, the wind howled across the broken sky.
He closed his eyes, and for the first time, he dreamed of the world before — the gun, the blood, the voice that had whispered in his head: You are not supposed to be here.
And beneath it, another whisper now — softer, almost kind.
Then make this world yours.
End of Chapter 3