Luka Skystorm had no feet, so he floated a hand above the grass, and now a hunter thought he was game. The elf drifted between two trees, his cape hanging where his legs should have been. A curse had stolen his feet years ago. He still hunted the truth behind it, because he wanted to walk on real ground like anyone else. Right now, though, he only wanted to live. The hunter crouched near a boulder below. He carried a sleek sword with a green sheen along the blade. Poison, Luka guessed. The man watched the floating shape and licked his lips. "Never seen prey hang in the air like that," the hunter said. "Hold still. This'll be quick." Luka's heart slammed. He couldn't run. He had no feet to run with. He could only drift, and the hunter tracked every drift. He rose higher instead. The cape snapped in the wind. The hunter drew the poisoned sword and threw it. The blade hissed past Luka's ear and stuck in a branch, dripping green. Luka grabbed the hilt before the man could climb. Now he held the hunter's own weapon. He pointed it down. "I'm not an animal," Luka said. His voice shook. "I'm cursed. There's a difference." The hunter froze. Talking prey scared him more than a raised sword. He backed toward the boulder. "A ghost," he muttered. "A floating ghost." A shriek cut the air. A falcon dropped from the clouds, green eyes bright, a small saddle strapped to its back. It dove at the hunter and raked his shoulder. He screamed and stumbled. Luka knew that bird. His falcon had found him at last. He whistled sharp. The falcon wheeled and beat the air near his hands. "Take me up," Luka said. He gripped the saddle straps. The falcon strained and lifted, dragging him above the treetops. The poisoned sword still hung in his other fist. The hunter ran now. He crashed through brush, clutching his torn shoulder, and did not look back. Luka watched him shrink to nothing below the leaves. The falcon carried him over the forest until the trees opened. Luka's arms burned. He let the bird set him down on a wide stone terrace beside a still pool. A grand mansion rose in front of him. Tall windows caught the light. Stone steps climbed to carved doors. Someone rich lived here, and Luka had landed in their yard holding a stolen, poisoned blade. He steadied his cape over the empty space where feet belonged. The falcon perched on his wrist, calm now. "We lost him," Luka whispered. "But look where we are." The great doors ahead began to open.

The great doors swung wide. Luka gripped the poisoned sword and readied a lie. But no one stepped out. Instead, something small shot from the shadows inside. It moved fast and low, close to the polished floor, then out onto the terrace toward the pool. Luka backed up. His falcon screeched and lifted off his wrist. The small shape stopped in the air, level with Luka's chest. It was a black cat, no bigger than a loaf of bread. A hooded cape wrapped its body. The hood covered its head, and the cape hid its paws. Bright green eyes studied him. The cat hung there without wings, without a saddle, without anything to hold it up. It just floated, the way Luka did. Luka stared. He had never seen another creature drift like him. "You've got no legs under that cape," the cat said. Its voice was small and sharp. "I know the look. I've got no paws under mine." Luka's grip on the sword loosened. "You float too." "Jaxon," the cat said. It drifted a slow circle around him, sniffing the green blade. "And you're bleeding trouble all over Greg's terrace. Stolen sword. Wild bird. Greg does not like guests." "I didn't choose to land here," Luka said. "A curse took my feet years ago. I want them back. That's all I've ever wanted." Jaxon stopped circling. The green eyes narrowed. "A curse took your feet." The cat lowered its voice. "Mine took my paws. Same night, maybe. Same magic. I've felt it on others." Luka's heart jumped. For years he had searched alone. Now a floating cat spoke his exact wound. "You know about the curse?" Luka said. "You know where it comes from?" Before Jaxon could answer, the terrace shook. A heavy thud, then another. From the side of the mansion came a huge black gorilla. Spikes ran down its back. A jointed metal tail curled over its shoulder, tipped with a spike like a scorpion's. It fixed small orange eyes on Luka and the stolen blade. "Greg's guard," Jaxon hissed. "It saw the sword. It thinks you're a thief. Move." The gorilla charged. The metal tail whipped down. Luka rose, and the spike smashed the stone where he had hovered. Chips flew into the pool. "Follow me," Jaxon said. The cat shot upward. Luka whistled. His falcon dove, and he caught the saddle straps. The bird strained and lifted him over the terrace, over the pool, after the small black shape climbing the sky. The gorilla roared below. Luka clung to the straps, the poisoned sword still in his fist. Beside him flew the only creature he had ever met who shared his curse. "You'll tell me everything," Luka called. "If we live," Jaxon called back. "Fly faster." They cleared the mansion and turned toward the trees. Luka had found a stranger who knew his curse. Now he had to keep them both alive to learn it.

The falcon carried Luka over the treetops. Jaxon drifted beside him, the small cat's hooded cape snapping in the wind. Behind them, the grand mansion shrank against the trees. But the poisoned sword still burned green in Luka's fist, and its light left a faint trail in the air. Jaxon noticed it first. "Look down," the cat said. "You're leaking a path." Luka looked. Below, a thin green mist bled from the blade and hung in the air behind them. It marked their route like footprints in snow. "Greg's guard tracks by scent," Jaxon said. His green eyes narrowed. "That poison stinks louder than a scream. Drop the sword." Luka's grip tightened. "I took it from a hunter. It's the only weapon I have." "It's the only reason we're still being hunted," Jaxon snapped. "Choose." A roar rolled up from the forest. Luka twisted in the saddle. Far below, the spiked gorilla crashed through the trees, its metal tail high, following the green mist straight toward them. The guard had never stopped chasing. Luka's arm shook. The sword was safety. The sword was death. He watched the gorilla close the distance and knew the cat was right. He steered the falcon low over a wide black pond. The water sat still between the trees. Luka held the blade out and opened his hand. The poisoned sword fell, spinning, and struck the surface. It sank without a splash. The green glow died under the water. The trail broke. The mist behind them thinned and vanished. Below, the gorilla reached the pond's edge. It stopped. Its head swung left, then right. It sniffed the air and found nothing. The metal tail lowered. After a long moment, the guard turned and lumbered back toward the mansion. Luka let out a breath. His hand felt empty and light. "Smart," Jaxon said. He circled once, sniffing where the sword had been. "No trail. No guard. You can breathe now." "I gave up my only blade," Luka said. "You bought your life." Jaxon drifted closer, and his voice dropped. "Now I keep my word. You want the truth about your feet. About the curse." Luka turned to him. The wind pulled at both their capes. "Tell me." "Not here. The one who cast it still lives, and Greg pays him." Jaxon looked back at the shrinking mansion. "The curse came from inside that house. The night it took my paws and your feet, it took more than us. I felt others break." Luka's heart pounded. For years he had chased a shadow. Now the shadow had a place. "You mean I could have fled the answer," Luka said, "if I'd flown any farther." "Then it's good you didn't," Jaxon said. "But going back means facing what threw us out." He climbed into the wind. "Follow me. There's someone you need to see before we return." Luka gripped the empty saddle straps and flew after the cat.

The falcon dropped through a break in the trees and landed in a wide clearing. Luka slid low in the saddle, his cape hanging over the space where his feet should be. Jaxon drifted down beside him and folded his small paws under his hood. "Someone here shares our curse," the cat said. "Their story will prove I'm not lying." But the clearing looked empty. Luka saw only grass and one narrow trail leading away. "Then where is this survivor?" he asked. Jaxon's ears flattened. He had no answer. Luka slumped. Jaxon's word was all he had, and words were not proof. He needed to hear another victim describe the same night, the same green light, the same theft of limbs. Without that, he could not trust the path back to the mansion. "You told me to come here," Luka said. "You gave me no name and no door to knock on." Jaxon looked away. "I felt the magic break others. I never met them. I only sensed where one might hide." A branch snapped at the edge of the trees. Luka spun the falcon toward the sound. Something large pushed through the brush, and he braced for the spiked gorilla's return. Instead a small elephant stepped into the clearing. Its neck stretched too long, curving like a question. It walked on three legs. The fourth was gone, taken clean at the shoulder, and the stump had healed smooth and pink. Luka stared at the missing leg. "You lost it," he said quietly. The little elephant stopped and studied him. Its trunk pointed at Luka's empty cape, then at Jaxon's hidden paws. "One night," it said. Its voice was young and thin. "A green fog came under the door. When it lifted, my leg was on the floor and I could not feel it." The calf's eyes filled. "The others said I dreamed it. No one believed me." Luka's chest tightened. He had lived that same silence for years. "I believe you," he said. "The same fog took my feet. And his paws." He nodded at Jaxon. The calf's trunk trembled. "Then it wasn't only me." Jaxon drifted closer, his green eyes soft. "Where did the fog come from?" The calf lifted its trunk toward the woods, in the direction of the mansion. "The big house. I was penned on its grounds that night." The answer landed hard. Three victims. One night. One house. Luka had his proof at last, spoken by a stranger who could not have known the pattern. Jaxon had told the truth. "Now I know where to go," Luka said. He gripped the saddle straps. The calf stepped back into the trees, still standing on three legs it did not choose. Luka turned the falcon toward the mansion. The curse was real, shared, and it had a home. He meant to burn it out.

Luka turned the falcon toward the mansion, but a heavy tread stopped him. Brush cracked behind him. He looked back, sure the spiked gorilla had found their trail. Instead the long-necked calf pushed into the clearing again. It swayed on three legs and stretched its neck toward him. "Wait," it said. "Don't go alone." Luka held the reins tight. "You've done enough. You gave me the truth." The calf shook its head. Its trunk pointed at the pink stump where its leg had been. "I want to see the house that took this. I'm slow, but I remember the way in." Jaxon drifted between them, ears low. "The grounds are guarded," the cat warned. "The gorilla nearly killed us both." The calf did not move. Luka studied the small creature. He saw himself years ago, silent, alone, told he had dreamed his own loss. He could not send it back to that. "You'll ride behind me," Luka said. "My falcon is strong." But the bird was built for one rider, not two. Luka pulled the saddle straps loose and worked fast. He looped one strap under the calf's belly and knotted it to the saddle. He clicked his tongue. The falcon spread its wings and beat the air. The calf lifted an inch, then two. Its legs left the grass. "Hold your neck still," Luka called. The bird strained. Feathers snapped hard. They rose above the trees, the calf swinging beneath the saddle, Jaxon gliding at their side. Then the branches below burst apart. The spiked gorilla charged into the clearing, its metal tail lashing overhead. The tail whipped up and caught the trailing strap. Leather tore. The calf dropped a body-length and screamed. Luka grabbed the loose strap with both hands. The gorilla yanked from below, dragging bird and rider down. Luka wrapped the strap around his wrist and pulled. His cape flew back, showing the empty space where his feet should be. He did not care now. "Climb!" he shouted at the falcon. The bird screamed and clawed the air. For one moment nothing gave. Then the metal tail slipped off the wet leather, and they shot upward. The gorilla roared and fell behind. The falcon cleared the treetops and steadied. The calf hung safe in the torn strap, breathing hard. Below, the gorilla paced the clearing, then turned and ran toward the mansion. "It's warning Greg," Jaxon said. "He'll know we're coming." Luka looked at the calf swinging beside him, then at the roofline rising through the trees. He had wanted to burn out the curse quietly. That chance was gone. "Then we go now," he said, "before the doors lock." He turned the falcon toward the mansion. Speed was his only cover left.

The falcon dove toward the mansion. Wind tore at Luka's cape. Below him the great doors stood half open. The spiked gorilla had reached them first. It crouched on the terrace, tail raised, waiting. Luka gripped the reins. He had no sword now, no quiet plan. Only speed, a tired bird, a floating cat, and a three-legged calf swinging beneath him. "Green fog," the calf said. Its long neck stretched toward a window on the ground floor. Sickly light leaked through the glass. "That's where it came from. I remember the color." Luka's chest tightened. The source of the curse sat behind that window. The thing that stole his feet was close enough to reach. The gorilla saw them and roared. It swung its metal tail at the falcon. Luka pulled hard left. The tail missed and cracked the stone rail. "The window," Luka shouted. "Get me to the window." Jaxon shot ahead, cape rippling, green eyes fixed on the glass. "Wait," the cat called. "It's warded. Touch it wrong and the curse spreads." But Luka was already diving. He had waited years for this. He would not stop now. The falcon skimmed the terrace. Luka reached out and slammed his palm against the window frame. Green mist boiled up from the crack and coiled around his wrist. Cold burned his skin. He felt the same pull that had taken his legs, dragging at his arm now, hungry for more. The calf screamed and lurched. Its weight yanked the torn strap. Luka slid sideways off the saddle. His hand ripped free of the frame. The mist snapped back into the glass like a whip. He hung by one arm, boots-less legs kicking empty air, the terrace stones below. Jaxon dove and hooked the loose strap in his teeth. The little cat could not lift him, but he held the leather steady long enough. Luka swung his weight and caught the saddle horn. He hauled himself up. The gorilla charged. Luka clicked his tongue twice. The falcon beat hard and climbed. The tail whistled past and struck the window instead. Glass shattered. Green fog poured out over the terrace, wrapping the gorilla's own legs. The huge creature stumbled and howled. They rose above the roof. Luka looked back, panting. "I touched it," he said. "The curse is real, and it's still alive down there." His wrist throbbed where the mist had bitten him. The skin had gone gray and hard. "You reached the source," Jaxon said, drifting close. "But you didn't break it. And now it's marked you." Luka turned his gray wrist in the fading light. The window was inside the mansion still. He knew where the curse lived now. He also knew he could not simply grab it. Next time he needed a way to hold the fog without it holding him back.

Luka landed the falcon in the clearing at dawn. His gray wrist ached. The window still held the curse, and he now knew the truth. He could not grab the fog with his bare hand. He needed a container, something to trap the green mist the moment the glass broke. Jaxon floated beside him, tail flicking. "Break that window with nothing to catch it," the cat said, "and the curse floods the whole estate." The three-legged calf shivered at the memory of the fog. Luka pressed his hard gray fingers together. "Then I need a vessel." He thought of the sword he had dropped in the pond. The blade had drunk the same green poison and held it inside its metal. He remembered the mist coiling along the edge, trapped, not spreading. "The sword," he said. "The poison stayed in the sword. The curse could live in a blade too." Jaxon's eyes narrowed. "You threw yours into the water." Luka clicked his tongue. The falcon lifted them over the trees and back to the pond. Luka leaned from the saddle and stared into the still surface. Green light glowed under the water. He guided the falcon low. Then he plunged his gray hand into the cold pond and closed his fingers on the hilt. The sword came up dripping. Its silver edge shone with dark, twisting marks. A green drop glowed in the crossguard like a trapped eye. Poison ran along a bright yellow line down the center. Luka held it away from his body. The blade did not burn his gray skin. "It already carries the curse," he said. "It won't fight the mist. It will drink it." "Or the mist drinks you first," Jaxon said. But he drifted closer, studying the glowing crossguard. "The poison and the curse share a color. Maybe they share a hunger." The calf backed away from the dripping blade. Luka wrapped his cape around the hilt to steady his grip. His plan was simple now. He would drive the sword through the glass. The mist would rush toward the metal it recognized. The blade would swallow it, and he would carry the curse away sealed inside. Luka tested the weight. The purple-wrapped grip fit his hand. He swung once. The green gem flared. "This is the vessel," he said. "Now the curse has somewhere to go." His gray wrist throbbed against the leather. He no longer feared the window. He feared missing. Jaxon settled onto the saddle. "Then we go back. But that blade is poison and curse together. Hold it wrong and it takes the rest of your arm." Luka nodded. He tightened the cape around the hilt and clicked his tongue twice. The falcon rose toward the mansion. This time he carried a cage for the thing that stole his feet.

The falcon carried Luka back to the window. He gripped the sword through his wrapped cape and braced for the strike. Then he felt his gray wrist. The stiffness had spread. His fingers would not close all the way. He tried to squeeze the hilt and pain shot up his arm. The blade wobbled in his weak grip. He could not drive it through the glass. He needed both hands to punch the sword deep, and one hand was turning to stone. "My wrist," Luka said. "I can't hold it hard enough." Jaxon pressed close on the saddle. "Then we lose the window and the curse spreads." The green mist behind the glass pulsed, as if it sensed his weakness. A voice called from the mansion grounds below. "Elf. You'll drop that blade if you swing it like that." A small boy stood in the grass, watching. Autumn leaves grew from his hair like a crown. He wore a plain robe tied with rope, and he did not seem afraid of the falcon or the sword. Luka had never seen him before. "Who are you?" Luka called down. "Awstom Treedrop." The boy climbed a low wall toward them, quick and sure. "I came for something Greg took from me. A map." He looked at Luka's shaking hand, then at the sword. "Your grip is dying. But the blade doesn't need your strength. It needs weight." Luka did not have time to argue. "Then help me." Awstom studied the window. "Tie the sword to your saddle. Point it at the glass. Then dive." It was simple and it was smart. Let the falcon's speed do the work his wrist could not. Luka wrapped his cape tight around the hilt and lashed it to the saddle horn. He turned the blade so the tip aimed straight ahead. Jaxon dug his claws in. The calf, waiting below, backed away from the wall. Awstom stepped clear. "Now," he said. Luka clicked his tongue twice. The falcon folded its wings and dove. The window rushed up. Luka did not need to grip. He only had to aim. The tip struck the glass and punched through. The sword drove deep into the green mist behind it. Glass shattered. The mist screamed and rushed toward the metal it knew. It poured into the blade, pulled down the yellow line, and vanished. The green gem in the crossguard flared bright, then dimmed. The window frame went dark and empty. The curse was inside the sword now, sealed. Luka pulled the falcon up and looked at his hand. His gray wrist had frozen stiff. The fingers would not open. But the curse was caught. Awstom watched from the grass, arms crossed. "You have my window," he said. "Now I need what's under this house. And you'll want to know how a curse turns to stone." Luka held the sealed blade against his dead hand and knew he could not walk away yet.

Luka held the sealed sword against his stone hand and hovered by the broken window. The curse was caught inside the blade now. But the mansion was awake. Doors banged open below. A man in a fine coat stormed onto the terrace, pointing up at the falcon. "That's my sword, thief!" he shouted. Greg. He waved his arm, and the grass shook. Something big was coming. Awstom stood in the yard, calm, watching the trees. "The gorilla," he said. "It comes when Greg calls." He said it like he had seen it before, and it did not scare him. The boy had helped Luka break the window, but he had his own reason for being here. His stolen map. He looked at Luka's frozen hand, then at the blade. "Fly. I'll take the ground." The spiked gorilla crashed through the hedge. Its metal tail swung high, the spikes catching the light. It ran straight for the wall below Luka. Greg pointed at the sword. "Get it back! Cut him down!" The tail whipped up toward the falcon's belly. Luka jerked the reins. The bird lurched sideways and the spikes tore only air. Luka's dead hand could not grip the reins well. The sword hung heavy in his cape. If he dove to fight, the tail would gut the falcon. If he fled, Greg kept his mansion and Luka kept the curse. He clicked his tongue and the falcon climbed. "The tail," Awstom called up. "It's the only weapon. Break that and the beast is just a beast." He grabbed a loose stone from the wall and hurled it. The rock cracked against the gorilla's shoulder. The beast spun toward the boy, tail lashing. It forgot the falcon. Luka saw his chance. He did not need his grip. He needed weight, the same trick as the window. He looped his good arm through the reins and drove the falcon down at the gorilla's back, where the metal tail joined its spine. The sealed sword led the dive, tied fast in his cape. The blade struck the joint between spikes and metal. Bolts snapped. The heavy tail tore loose and dropped into the grass with a clang. The gorilla howled and clutched at its bare back. Without the tail it could not reach the sky. Luka pulled up hard. Below, Greg screamed at his broken guard. Awstom was already moving toward the mansion doors, quick and sure, while the beast thrashed. "Go," the boy called. "I have what I came for to find." He slipped inside the open house. Luka gripped the sealed sword against his stone hand and flew clear over the trees. He had kept the blade. He had caught the curse. But his hand was rock, and the answer to that lived somewhere under Greg's house, where Awstom had just gone alone.