Sylvaen had always known the sky could speak.
She first heard its whispers as a child, on the nights when the moons of Nytheris aligned perfectly and the crystal sky pulsed with silver light. The voice was never loud, never clear—just a faint hum beneath her thoughts, like a half-forgotten dream trying to surface.
Her mother told her never to listen too closely.
"The sky is broken, Sylvaen. And what is broken cannot be trusted."
But Sylvaen had never been good at ignoring things.
Now, standing on the rooftop of her home in Vaeloris, she felt the pull again—stronger than ever. The city spread out beneath her, a maze of floating platforms and spiraling stone bridges, suspended in the open air. Lanterns hung from drifting ivy-covered spires, their soft glow reflecting in the rivers that curved upwards into the sky like ribbons of light. Below, skyships floated between the islands, their sails catching the strange winds that flowed in unpredictable currents.
It was a city of wonder. A city built atop ancient ruins, older than memory itself.
And yet, tonight, none of it mattered.
Sylvaen's eyes were locked on the sky.
The great dome above shimmered with its usual glow, but something was different. A faint crackle of energy stirred in the air, making her skin prickle. Her wrist burned—the same spot where the Echo Mark had been since birth.
She traced the mark absentmindedly, feeling its faint glow beneath her fingertips. The mark was the color of fractured glass, shifting between silver and violet under the moonlight. It had always made her different. It had always made people fear her.
"She hears the sky," the whispers had said. "She is cursed. A child of the broken world."
Perhaps they were right.
A sudden flicker of light caught her eye.
She inhaled sharply.
High above, a Skyshard fell.
It streaked across the heavens like a comet, leaving a trail of shimmering silver in its wake. A piece of the old sky, the sky before it had shattered. Skyshards were rare. Dangerous. People killed for them.
She should have looked away. She should have ignored it.
But then—
"Sylvaen."
Her name. Spoken not by a person, not by a voice she recognized—but by the sky itself.
She staggered backward, her breath catching.
This had never happened before.
The sky's whispers had always been distant, vague—like a forgotten melody, like a dream slipping through her fingers. But this was different. This was the sky calling to her.
The Skyshard fell beyond the edge of the floating city, disappearing into the darkness below. And as it vanished, the Horizon Bells rang.
The entire city went silent.
Then—chaos.
The bells tolled only for one reason.
A Skyshard had fallen. And that meant one thing—the hunt had begun.
The Race Begins
Sylvaen didn't wait to think. She turned, her boots skidding against the stone as she leapt down from the rooftop, landing on the spiraling bridge below. The city was already stirring.
Shouts echoed from the marketplace. People rushed from their homes, their eyes wild with excitement and greed. Skyshards were powerful. They held the energy of the ancient world, the world before the gods had sealed the sky. To some, they were sacred relics. To others, weapons.
And then there were those who sought them for something far worse.
The Hollow Chorus.
A cult that believed the sky should break completely. That the world should fall into the void beyond, freed from the false balance the gods had left behind. They wanted the Skyshard. They would do anything to get it.
Sylvaen's heart pounded as she ran.
She had to reach it first.
She sprinted through the shifting streets, past floating staircases and bridges that realigned themselves as she moved. The city of Vaeloris was alive, built from ancient magic that flowed through its very foundation. Paths led somewhere different each night, buildings rearranged themselves without warning. Only those who knew its secrets could navigate it without getting lost.
Luckily, Sylvaen knew every hidden path, every shortcut.
She dashed into a narrow alley, leaping over a canal where fish made of pure starlight swam through liquid darkness. Her feet barely touched the floating stones as she pushed forward, breath ragged.
Ahead, the edge of the city loomed. Beyond it—nothing. Just the endless sky below.
But Sylvaen knew better. The islands were not alone.
She reached the final platform just as a skyship roared overhead, its engines humming with blue fire. The ship—a sleek vessel with obsidian sails—tilted sharply, its crew moving quickly.
Someone else had found the shard's location.
Her gaze locked onto the nearest dock. Several smaller ships were moored there, their sails rippling in the strange, gravity-bending winds.
One in particular caught her eye.
A rogue-class Skyhunter vessel, small but fast. Unmarked. Which meant—
A hand grabbed her arm.
Sylvaen spun, yanking free just as a blade flashed in the moonlight. A masked figure stood before her, robes billowing, the emblem of the Hollow Chorus stitched into their shoulder.
Too late.
They had found her.
The Fight for the Shard
The cultist lunged.
Sylvaen barely dodged, twisting to the side as the blade sliced through the air where she had stood. She grabbed the nearest loose tile from the floating platform and hurled it. It struck the attacker's wrist, knocking the weapon aside.
She didn't wait for them to recover.
She ran.
The ship. She had to get to the ship.
The Hollow Chorus was everywhere now—figures moving like shadows, slipping through the chaos of the city with eerie grace. They knew the Skyshard had called to her. They knew what she was.
An Echo.
And they weren't going to let her escape.
She sprinted up the dock, leaping onto the rogue-class skyship just as it began to lift off. The deck tilted beneath her feet as the engines flared to life, catching the wind.
A voice shouted behind her.
"Hey! Who in the void are you?"
Sylvaen whirled to see a man standing near the ship's helm, his coat flaring behind him, a pistol leveled at her chest. His eyes—strange, golden, like flickering stars—narrowed.
She didn't have time for explanations.
"The Hollow Chorus is after me," she said, breathless. "And I know where the Skyshard fell."
A pause. The gun didn't lower.
Then, from the dock, another shout.
The cultists were coming.
The golden-eyed man sighed. "Well. That's a problem." He holstered his gun, then grinned. "Hold on tight, Echo-girl. This is about to get fun."
With a sharp turn of the wheel, the skyship tilted, then shot forward, into the endless sky beyond.
The hunt had begun.
And Sylvaen was now a part of it.
To be continued .....