Aethel Skyweaver's Arc

Chapter 1 of 8

Aethel staked the last rope post into the cliff edge and stepped back. The braided lines glinted with small crystals tied at each anchor. This narrow ledge would be the first platform of the sky sanctuary. From here, winged outcasts from Echomaw could land without folding their wings. Aethel's tail curled tight. They had measured every knot twice. A shadow swept the stone. Aethel looked up. A red drake wheeled overhead, wings spread wide, eyes huge and yellow. Its spiked tail lashed the air. It had circled the site for three days now, and each pass came lower. The drake dove. It struck the rope line and tore two anchors loose. Crystals scattered across the ledge. Aethel threw themself flat as claws raked the stone above their head. Aethel did not draw a weapon. They reached into their pack and pulled out strips of dried meat saved from the long walk out of the city. They set the meat on the broken post and stepped back to the cliff edge, hands open. The drake landed hard. It sniffed. It ate. Aethel spoke low, steady words, the same tone they used on frightened children. The drake watched them for a long moment. Then it climbed back into the sky and flew east, toward a far ridge crowned with strange round towers shaped like mushroom caps. It did not return. Aethel knelt by the torn ropes. The site was theirs now. But the drake had flown straight toward someone's home, and Aethel understood, with a cold drop in their chest, that they had just announced themself to whoever lived there.