Chadwick Rye

Kira Cloudweaver dangled her bare feet over the edge of the floating garden terrace, watching the amber morning sky swirl with patterns that reminded her of the honey cakes her grandmother made on wind-blessed days. Three hundred feet below, the lower districts of Nimbustown continued their slow rotation around the island’s crystalline core, but up here in the residential quarter, everything felt deliciously still.

She was supposed to be in Wind-Song class, learning the traditional melodies that would eventually let her guide their family’s trading vessel between the floating islands. Master Skylark had probably already noticed her absence, marked it in his ledger with that disapproving purple ink he reserved for chronically tardy students. But the morning was too perfect to waste on scales and harmony exercises, too full of possibilities that would evaporate the moment she stepped back into the structured world of expectations and schedules.

A gentle breeze carried the scent of star-fruit blossoms from the terraced orchards, along with something else—the electric tang that preceded one of the wild storms that occasionally swept between the floating cities. Kira’s pulse quickened with anticipation. Storm-watching had become her favorite form of rebellion, a way to lose herself so completely in natural wonder that hours could pass without her noticing.

The first signs appeared as faint distortions in the amber sky, like heat shimmer but cooler, more purposeful. Kira pulled her wind-glass from the leather pouch at her side—a birthday gift from her uncle that was supposed to help her study atmospheric currents for navigation purposes, but which she had immediately repurposed for more entertaining observations.

Through the enchanted lens, the approaching storm revealed its true nature: not mere weather, but a living tapestry of air spirits dancing through the high atmosphere. Their forms shifted constantly—now resembling enormous silk scarves rippling in unfelt wind, now suggesting the graceful movements of deep-sea creatures swimming through an ocean of sky. When they moved in formation, their bodies created patterns that told stories older than any written history.

“Kira Cloudweaver, there you are!” The voice belonged to her younger brother Zephyr, whose gift for finding her hiding spots had become legendary among their family. “Mother’s been looking everywhere. You missed morning navigation again.”

She didn’t turn around, afraid that breaking her concentration might cause the air spirits to fade back into ordinary storm clouds. “Tell her I’m conducting independent atmospheric research. Very important for future navigation skills.”

Zephyr’s footsteps approached across the stone terrace, followed by the soft thump of him settling beside her. At ten years old, he possessed the restless energy typical of children his age, but he had also inherited the family gift for reading wind patterns, which meant he could appreciate what had captured her attention.

“Oh,” he breathed, his voice dropping to an awed whisper. “They’re magnificent.”

Through her wind-glass, Kira watched the largest air spirit—a creature that seemed to be composed entirely of captured auroras—perform a complex spiral dance that sent ripples of colored light cascading through the approaching storm front. Where its movements touched the amber sky, brief rainbows bloomed and faded like flowers opening and closing in fast-motion.

“This is why I can’t sit through Wind-Song class,” she murmured, more to herself than to Zephyr. “Master Skylark teaches us to manipulate air currents for practical purposes—steering ships, adjusting sail tension, communicating across distances. But he never talks about *this*. The way the sky itself is alive, full of beings who’ve been dancing between the islands since before the first wind-ship was ever built.”

Zephyr leaned closer, trying to see what she was seeing without the benefit of the wind-glass. “Do you think they know we’re watching?”

As if in response to his question, the aurora-spirit paused in its spiraling dance and seemed to turn its attention toward their terrace. Kira felt a moment of connection so intense it made her breath catch—a sense of recognition that transcended species, an acknowledgment between one sky-dweller and another.

Then the moment passed, and the spirit resumed its dance, leading its companions in a sweeping formation that carried them toward the eastern islands where the morning trade winds would lift them higher into the atmosphere.

“How long have you been out here?” Zephyr asked as the last of the air spirits disappeared into the distance.

Kira blinked, suddenly aware that the sun had climbed significantly higher while she watched. The amber sky had deepened to its midday gold, and the sounds from the lower districts suggested the morning markets were already in full swing. “I… I’m not sure. Since dawn, I think?”

“Kira, it’s past midday. You’ve missed three classes and lunch. Mother sent me to find you because the Wind-Riders Guild is coming for afternoon evaluations, and she wants the whole family present to make a good impression.”

The weight of ordinary time crashed back over her like a cold wave. Guild evaluations determined which young Aethermoorians would be accepted for advanced wind-ship training, which would receive positions aboard the great trading vessels, which would be offered apprenticeships with the Sky-Cartographers who mapped the ever-changing positions of the floating islands. Missing such an event would disappoint not just her mother, but her entire extended family.

Yet as she rose reluctantly from her comfortable perch, Kira couldn’t bring herself to regret the lost morning. The air spirits’ dance had filled some deep hunger in her soul that no amount of traditional education could satisfy. Every moment spent watching their impossible grace felt more valuable than hours memorizing wind-current charts or practicing commercial sailing songs.

“I suppose I should go apologize to Mother,” she said, but her gaze lingered on the eastern horizon where the spirits had vanished. “And probably to Master Skylark too.”

“What will you tell them?” Zephyr asked as they began walking back toward the family residence, their feet finding sure purchase on paths designed for people who lived their entire lives hundreds of feet above solid ground.

Kira considered the question seriously. The truth—that she had discovered something more fascinating than anything taught in formal classes—would only confirm her reputation as a dreamy, impractical child who wasted time on frivolous pursuits. But lying felt like a betrayal of the wonder she had witnessed.

“I’ll tell them I was studying atmospheric phenomena that could affect navigation safety,” she decided. “Which is technically true. Those air spirits influence wind patterns in ways our textbooks don’t even acknowledge.”

They passed through the residential quarter’s main plaza, where fountains of crystallized mist created cooling breezes that carried the voices of other children at play. Some were practicing wind-dancing, their bodies moving in harmony with controlled air currents. Others clustered around game boards where pieces moved according to predicted wind shifts. All of them engaged in activities their parents considered appropriate preparation for adult responsibilities.

None of them seemed to share Kira’s compulsion to stare at the sky for hours, searching for glimpses of the wild magic that lived in the spaces between the floating islands.

As they approached their family’s house—a graceful structure of pale stone and crystalline panels that seemed to grow from the terrace itself—Kira felt the familiar tug between duty and desire. Her mother would lecture her about responsibility and the importance of making a good impression on the Guild evaluators. Her father would shake his head sadly and remind her that wind-ship navigation was a practical profession that required discipline and focus.

But tomorrow morning, if the weather was favorable, the air spirits might return. And if they did, Kira knew she would find herself drawn back to her watching post, wind-glass in hand, ready to lose herself once again in the dance of beings who had never learned to waste time because they existed entirely outside time’s constraints.

The great irony, she reflected as they reached the front door, was that the adults would call her morning “wasted” because it hadn’t advanced her toward any practical goal. But she had learned more about the true nature of wind and sky in those few hours than in months of formal instruction. She had witnessed magic that would inform her understanding of atmospheric currents for the rest of her life.

Perhaps the real waste was spending so much time learning to manipulate the sky’s forces without ever pausing to appreciate their beauty.

The door opened before they could knock, revealing their mother’s concerned face. “Kira, thank the winds you’re safe. Where have you been? The Guild representatives arrived early, and—”

“I was conducting independent research, Mother,” Kira interrupted gently. “Observing air spirit migration patterns and their effect on local wind currents. I believe I’ve identified some phenomena that could improve navigation accuracy during storm season.”

The words were true, even if they didn’t convey the full truth of her morning’s enchantment. Her mother’s expression shifted from annoyance to cautious interest—the Guild did value students who showed initiative in their studies, even if their methods were unconventional.

“Well,” her mother said after a moment’s consideration, “I suppose you can explain your findings to Master Stormwright when he interviews you. But next time, please inform someone of your research plans. We were worried.”

As they stepped inside to prepare for the afternoon’s evaluations, Kira caught a glimpse of movement in her peripheral vision. Through the crystalline window panel, she could see another formation of air spirits approaching from the south—smaller ones this time, their dance more playful than the morning’s majestic display.

Tomorrow, she promised herself. Tomorrow she would be back at her watching post, ready to waste another perfect morning in the most productive way she knew.