Eryn Thorne perched on the edge of his bed, staring out the window at the pale blue sky. He loved mornings like this, when the sun was still rising and the world felt full of possibility. With a sigh, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and planted his feet firmly on the ground.
"Time to get moving, Eryn," he muttered to himself.
He dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of worn leather breeches and a simple white tunic. His mother had left breakfast on the table – a steaming bowl of oat porridge with a pat of butter and a sprinkle of cinnamon. Eryn wolfed it down, savoring the warmth and comfort it brought.
As he ate, he gazed out the window again, his eyes drifting toward the distant mountains. He'd always been fascinated by the way the wind whipped through the peaks, creating great swirling clouds that seemed to defy gravity. What would it be like, he wondered, to soar through those clouds like a bird?
The door burst open, and Eryn's best friend, Arin, tumbled into the room. "Hey, Eryn! Come on, we're going to be late!"
Eryn grinned, pushing back from the table. "Late for what?"
"The flying competition, of course!" Arin exclaimed. "The winged horses are gathering at the old windmill on the outskirts of town. We can't miss it!"
Eryn's heart skipped a beat. He'd always been captivated by the winged horses, with their shimmering coats and majestic wingspans. To see them in flight was a thrill unlike any other.
"Let's go!" he shouted, grabbing his cloak and racing out the door with Arin.
The windmill loomed before them, its weathered sails creaking in the breeze. A crowd had gathered, their faces upturned and eager. Eryn and Arin pushed their way to the front, just as the first winged horse took to the skies.
The competition was exhilarating, with the horses performing dazzling aerial stunts and tricks. Eryn watched, entranced, as they soared and dived, their manes and tails streaming behind them.
And then, without warning, something strange happened.
A faint humming noise began to build in Eryn's ears, like the quiet buzzing of a harp string. The air around him seemed to vibrate, as if the very fabric of reality was shifting.
Suddenly, Eryn felt himself lifted off the ground. He stumbled, his feet dangling in mid-air, as a surge of exhilaration and wonder flooded through him.
Arin's voice was distant, panicked. "Eryn, what's happening?!"
But Eryn couldn't respond. He was too busy staring at his own hands, which were now glowing with a soft, ethereal light.
The world around him dissolved into chaos, and Eryn felt himself lifted higher and higher, until he was flying – really flying – above the windmill, above the crowd, above the world itself