Chaz Fallinger clutched the golden sun pendant at her throat and stared up at the clouds. Her purple wings twitched. Somewhere above LumineAcropolis floated the sky-realm, where winged beasts once ruled. She didn't know why the old locket pulled her eyes upward every night. She only knew she wanted to reach that place, and she meant to fly there before the season ended. Beside her, a bright pink creature coiled around a fence post. Its snake body rippled while a dozen spider legs gripped the wood. This was her pet, and it hissed low, watching the shadows. Chaz scratched under its jaw. "Easy," she said. "Nobody wants trouble tonight." The creature was right. Three figures stepped from an alley and blocked the road. One held a sack. Another held a curved knife. The tallest smiled with too many teeth. "Nice feathers," the tall one said. "Nice necklace too." Chaz spread her wings to lift off. The knife flashed. It nicked her left wing, and pain shot down her back. She dropped hard onto the stones. Her pet lunged and bit an ankle, but the third thief kicked it aside. It struck the wall and went still. "Don't," Chaz said. Her voice shook. She pressed a hand over the pendant. "That belonged to my family. It's all I have left of them." "Then it'll fetch a good price." The tall thief ripped the chain from her neck. The gold gleamed once in his fist. He shoved her flat and the three ran. Chaz pushed herself up. Her torn wing dragged. She couldn't fly, so she ran on foot, slow and limping, following their footsteps through the dark. Blood dotted the stones from the ankle her pet had bitten. She followed the trail. It ended at a shop with boarded windows and a weathered sign. Faded letters read Creature Bling and Things Pawnshop. Through the cracked glass she saw pinned feathers and dull trophies of winged beasts. Her stomach turned. This was where thieves sold their kills. She crept to the door and looked in. The tall thief stood at the counter. He set her sun pendant down. The shopkeeper lifted it, pressed a hidden catch, and a tiny compartment popped open. Inside sat a folded scrap of something old. The shopkeeper's eyes went wide. "You know what this crest is?" he said. "This is a royal mark. From the old sky-throne bloodline." Chaz froze. Royal. Her family. Her. The thief laughed. "Worth more than I thought." He named a number. Coins changed hands. The locket vanished behind the counter, into a locked case. Behind Chaz, small feet skittered. Her pet limped to her side, alive, one leg dragging. She gathered it close and stared through the glass at the case. The locket was gone, sold and locked away. But now she knew the truth it hid. She had royal blood, and the road to the sky-throne started behind that door.

Chaz crouched across from the pawnshop and watched the last light die behind its boarded windows. Her wing still ached where the knife had cut it. Beside her, the pink snake-legged creature coiled tight, its many feet gripping the dirt. She stroked its back and kept her eyes on the door. Inside that shop sat her locket, and the crest that proved she carried royal blood. She would take it back tonight. The shopkeeper stepped out at last. He was a broad horse-bodied creature with two curved horns and more eyes than Chaz could count. Oxford Bitterbust locked the door with a heavy hand and grumbled at nothing. His many eyes swept the street. Chaz pressed flat against the wall until his hooves clopped away into the dark. She waited until the sound faded. Then she crept to the rear of the shop. A small window sat above a stack of crates. She pried it open with a bent nail, squeezed her wings through, and dropped inside. The shop stank of dust and old feathers. Pinned wings lined the walls. Chaz's stomach turned, but she pushed toward the counter. Behind it stood the locked case. Through the glass she saw the sun pendant, its yellow stone dull in the dark. Her chest tightened. So close now. She worked the nail into the lock and twisted. Metal scraped. The catch clicked. Chaz eased the case open and lifted the locket into her palm. The chain slid cool against her fingers. She pressed the hidden catch, and the tiny compartment popped open. The crest was still there. It was real. It was hers. Then light flooded the room. Oxford stood in the doorway, lantern raised. His many eyes locked on her. "Thought I heard a rat," he said. His voice was low and hard. "Should've known it was the lynx who's been staring through my window for days." Chaz froze. The nail dropped from her hand. "This is mine," she said. "Your thieves stole it from me." "Nothing in here is yours once it's paid for." He stepped closer, hooves thudding. "But that crest changes the price. You know what a royal mark is worth? More than your feathers." Chaz clutched the locket to her chest and backed away. Her wounded wing flared with pain. Oxford lunged. Her pet shot forward and bit his leg. He roared and stumbled. Chaz bolted for the front door, threw the bolt, and burst into the night with the locket in her fist. She ran until the shop was far behind. Only then did she stop, gasping, the pendant warm in her hand at last. But Oxford had seen her face. He knew what she carried and what it was worth. Chaz had her locket back. Now the pawnshop keeper knew she had royal blood, and he wanted it for himself.

The locket was hers again, but it told her nothing. Chaz sat on a low wall and tilted the crest toward the moon. Faded lines curled across its surface. They meant something once. She traced them with a claw and understood none of it. Without the words, the crest was just a shiny disk. She needed someone who could read the old marks. Her pet coiled at her feet, its bright pink legs tapping the stone. A passing fruit-seller had mentioned a strange old man who lived by the water and shouted about the sky. Chaz found him near a four-story hotel, its tall windows glowing over the shore. An old winged man stood on the dock, gray beard to his chest, robe stitched with faded gold. He was tacking a scrap of paper to a post. "Read this," she said, holding out the crest. He did not look up. "I warn people. I don't do tricks." Then his eyes caught the metal, and he went still. "Where did you get that." "It's mine. My blood." He took it in both hands. His fingers shook. "Zephyrus Stormwarden. Once an Elder. They exiled me for saying the truth." He turned the crest to the light. "This is the old royal mark. The line that held the throne." Chaz's heart pounded. "What do the words say? How do I claim it?" His face hardened. "You don't understand what you're asking for. The gates are failing. One by one. I read the buried reports myself. A woman I knew crossed each week to tend her mother. Soon she won't. Soon no one will." "I only need the words," Chaz said. "Then hear them." He tapped the faded lines. "This says the throne answers to blood. But blood alone won't open it. The crest names a proving. You must reach the last gate before it closes and press this mark to its lock. That is how the old rulers claimed the sky. There is no other door left." Chaz gripped the crest. "When does the last gate close?" "Soon. Days, not weeks." His eyes narrowed. "The others are already sealed. Miss this one, and the throne stays out of reach for good. And your wing." He nodded at the scar. "You won't fly high enough on that." He was right. Her wing still ached. It failed her on the short climbs. The last gate sat far above the city, past the walls, past the patrols. "Then I'll find a way up," she said. Zephyrus pressed the crest back into her palm. "You'll need more than nerve. You'll need lift." He turned back to his post and his warnings. Chaz walked into the dark with the words in her head and a clock in her chest. She knew the throne's path now. She also knew she had days to reach a gate her broken wing could not carry her to.