FLOATING ISLAND

The air smelled of cheap incense and damp paper. The windows let in a dim light that barely illuminated the room. Zandor sat silently, body relaxed, but his eyes fixed on the desk where the sheriff reviewed scroll after scroll.

“Florwyn of Lilienhurst... yes, that name appears in the Great Houses' records. Though it’s not common to see their members so far from the forest,” murmured the sheriff, a gray-skinned, deep-eyed half-human.

“That’s because my sister and I were headed to the wizard academy in Winfnow to enroll. I have our documents here,” said Lua, handing him a folder of sealed parchments.

“I see. I’ll need to verify the validity of your certificates. But your companion…”

The sheriff looked up. His eyes locked on Zandor.

A suspicious stare. As if he could smell a flaw in the very fabric of reality.

“No match whatsoever. Not his aura, not his spiritual structure, not even his base form. Race?”

Zandor tilted his head, as if evaluating whether answering was worth the effort.

“Not applicable.”

The sheriff clicked his tongue.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s not a well-formulated question either,” Zandor replied calmly.

[FLASHBACK – Room: The Cradle]

A space without time. Silence suspended among floating lines of code and genetic structures spinning in bluish light orbits. Zandor walked slowly, his fingers gliding over columns of data like living books.

In front of him, Sarasvi projected a central panel. A DNA matrix unfolded like a controlled galaxy.

“The dominant variants of Veloids, Draxolites, Aequin, and Karthians are already processed,” she informed. “Shall we include humans?”

Zandor stopped.

The template was ready. It was there. All he had to do was activate it. The genetic profile was unstable, yes, but malleable. Capable of adapting, evolving… or destroying itself with every iteration.

He thought of wars. Of cycles of extermination. Of fanaticisms and denials. Of the records from his original world, where humanity didn’t survive because it was noble, but because it was stubborn.

“No. Don’t include them,” he said at last.

“Confirming exclusion of human pattern,” Sarasvi nodded. “Shall we preserve the template for future reference?”

Zandor hesitated for a fraction of a second.

“Only as a passive archive. No interaction.”

The human pattern matrix deactivated. DNA 091-H went out like an unnecessary candle.

[PRESENT – Sheriff’s Office]

Zandor returned to the present with a slow blink. The sheriff was still waiting, suspicion tightening his jaw.

“I’m noting your answer as ‘undefined,’” he said with some hostility. “If you plan to stay in Winfnow, you’ll need to report weekly to the arcane administration.”

Zandor said nothing. There was no need.

Lua nodded, forcing a polite smile. And they left the place.

The sky over Winfnow was gray, with low clouds pressing down on the rooftops. To the south, caravans had come to a halt, and to the east, smoke rose in columns.

Zandor walked silently, but his eyes were analyzing.

“Do you notice that?” he asked suddenly.

“What?”

“There’s tension. Political in nature.”

Lua narrowed her eyes.

“Rumors started arriving a few days ago from Kirel-Tar. Apparently, the oracles have stopped responding. And some priests are losing their abilities. Blessings are no longer taking effect.”

“Earthbound gods are being... weakened,” said Zandor.

Lua glanced at him sideways.

“Your doing?”

“Indirectly,” he admitted without guilt.

“That’s going to cause imbalance. Some kingdoms depend on those divine pacts to maintain social control.”

“Yes. I know.”

Zandor smiled faintly. It wasn’t cruelty. It was calculation.

Irv stretched as if nothing they had just experienced mattered. His indifference was almost offensive.

“So... when are we going to the academy?” he asked while examining one of his nails, as if evaluating his own magical power level.

Lua looked at him sideways.

“Now you're interested?”

“Sure, we did the paperwork, got interrogated, almost got kicked out... what’s left?” he grinned. “Besides, I want to see if the flying carriage thing is real. Sounds awesome.”

Lua sighed.

“The transport leaves tomorrow at dawn. It’ll take us to the base of the floating island. From there, we’ll go up through the main mana conduit to the arcane gate.”

Zandor raised an eyebrow.

“Base? Floating island?”

“Yes,” Lua replied, pointing to the sky. Among the clouds, if you looked closely, you could make out a dark silhouette, suspended, like a mountain hanging in midair. “The academy is up there.”

Zandor stared silently.

“That... natural?”

“Not exactly,” said Lua. “Centuries ago, one of the gods got bored of always being on the ground. So he channeled mana lines from deep within the continent up into the sky. He wanted to explore the heavens without losing dominion over the earth.”

“Predictable outcome,” commented Zandor.

“Yes. The energy began lifting large land masses. Entire mountains rose from the ground, like balloons tied to invisible strings. That’s how the floating islands were born.”

Irv whistled, impressed for the first time that day.

“That one had ambition.”

“And zero respect for gravity,” added Zandor.

Morning arrived quietly. In Antterr City, that was rare.

The flying carriage awaited on a floating stone platform outside the city. It had no wheels, only curved structures vibrating at such a high frequency they seemed transparent. It floated thanks to a network of mana channels pulsing like invisible arteries, feeding the base with a steady blue energy. Additionally, three griffins were chained to one end, indicating how the vehicle would move.

Zandor eyed it skeptically.

“If this crashes, I want my epitaph to say it wasn’t my idea.”

“It won’t crash,” Lua replied, boarding lightly.

Irv was already inside, biting into a fruit he clearly hadn’t paid for. The guide, a young man with misty eyes and a ceremonial cloak, barely looked at him.

“Welcome to the Central Flight of the Merchant Order. Our destination is the Academy of Greater Arcanism, located on the island of Kael’th.”

Zandor entered last. The carriage’s interior was larger than it appeared from the outside. Spaces expanded through enchantments. He sat by a round window from which he could see the city shrinking below.

The guide, seated across from them, used the silence to tell a story.

“Centuries ago, one of the gods—his name lost, never spoken—grew bored of living on solid ground. He wanted to see the world from above while still keeping power over it. So he wove mana lines from the underground layers to the sky.”

Zandor narrowed his eyes.

“And that didn’t cause a tectonic collapse?”

“It caused thousands,” the guide said without hesitation. “But it also raised entire islands. He anchored them in the air with gravitational energy rings and blessed them with self-sufficiency. They need no external resources. Some even developed their own ecosystems.”

“And no one thought that was... too much?”

“Since when do gods care about ‘too much’?”

The carriage sped forward, and the city faded behind. Soon they reached the island's base: a gigantic twisted stone column, like an upside-down root piercing the sky.

Once they passed through the mist threshold separating atmospheric layers, the carriage emerged in front of the floating island.

Zandor stood to get a better view.

Kael’th was more a city than an island. Platforms connected by bridges of light, suspended towers, and structures that looked like solidified thought. At the center, a white spiral rose to touch a smaller island where the academy’s dome gleamed.

“This is... excessive,” murmured Zandor.

“Welcome to excess,” Irv replied, mouth full.

[Palace of Bratirhal]

The stained glass cast colored shadows across the marble, as Queen Arenthel knelt before the sacred mirror. The ethereal figure of the earthbound god still shimmered on the surface, distorted, weak. The energy lines connecting it to its plane trembled like taut threads about to snap.

“Who did this?” the queen asked, voice restrained.

The figure spoke, its voice deep and distant.

“An emissary has descended. He is not one of us. He is neither mortal nor divine in the common sense. He is... external. His name is Zandor.”

The queen absorbed the name, carving it into memory like a command.

“Is he an enemy?”

“Not yet. But his very existence is altering the pacts. His mere presence weakens our roots.”

The queen rose slowly, her silver gown trailing down the steps like a frozen waterfall.

“If he is not an enemy... perhaps he is useful.”

She looked out the window toward the horizon. Her empire stretched beyond sight, but it was not enough. It had never been enough.

“Prepare yourselves,” she ordered. “I want to know where he is. What he’s interested in. And what might make him accept... a greater cause.”

“Your cause, my queen?” asked her closest advisor.

She smiled, coldly.

“Why else seek a powerful being? He’s already shown more strength than our god. If we can get him to join us, we could expand our realm... Empress—that sounds better than queen.”