Beneath the broken sky

Winds of departure

After a week of peaceful living, filled with laughter, chores, and the faint illusion of normalcy, it was finally time to leave. The morning light crept lazily through the curtains as Corriander fussed over the folds of Hyperion's collar for what felt like the hundredth time. When she leaned in to give him another peck on the cheek, he flinched back slightly.

“Please, quit with that already!” Hyperion blurted, his voice louder than I intended. His face twisted in mild annoyance, but beneath it was something else; an ache he didn’t want to name.

She looked up at him with that familiar, knowing smile; soft and maternal, though shadowed by sadness. “You’re my only child, Hyperion,” she said. “If I can’t coddle you, who will I coddle?”

Before Hyperion could answer, a teasing voice joined in from behind. “What about me, Mom?” Ida said, stepping into the light, her hair still tousled from the morning’s rest. She had grown comfortable calling his mother that, something that still caught him off guard.

“Mom?” he echoed, glancing between the two of them. “I didn’t expect you two to get that close.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Ida replied with mock irritation. “You barely pay attention to us.” She walked over and wrapped my mother in a tight hug, planting a playful kiss on her cheek. “I’ll take care of him for you,” she said with a grin.

Corriander chuckled softly, the sound tinged with melancholy. “Then I suppose I can rest easy,” she said. Standing in the doorway, she waved as we walked down the narrow stone path. “I hope to see you two again soon.”

Her voice lingered behind them like the scent of home.

“Nice lady,” Ida said once they were out of earshot. “I don’t know why you don’t go back home more often when you have such a caring mother.”

“I hate coddling,” Hyperion replied curtly.

She snorted. “Yeah, says the teenager who thinks it’s better to gallivant across dangerous lands chasing magical theories instead of staying home with his family.”

Hyperion shot her a look, half annoyed, half amused. “Don’t misconstrue me, Ida. You know my yearning goes far beyond curiosity. My purpose, my reason for existing, is to learn and unlock every secret there is to magic.”

Her expression softened for a moment. “You sound like an old philosopher,” she muttered.

“If my mother were frail or dependent, I might have stayed to keep her company,” he continued. “But she’s strong, stronger than most think. She was the first person to ever teach me combative magic.”

Ida folded her arms, unimpressed. “So even if she were delicate, you’d still abandon her for the pursuit of knowledge, huh?”

Hyperion gave a small shrug. “Perhaps.”

“Never mind,” she said, waving the conversation away before her tone turned lighter. “Anyway… please don’t tell me we’re using the typhoon.”

“Of course not,” he replied sarcastically. “I’m sure if we walk long enough, maybe hop on a few carriages, we’ll get across thousands of kilometers and over the Sotanaht to Iadica in no time.”

She groaned. “Oh, hearty har har. I didn’t realize my companion was such a jester.”

Hyperion grinned faintly. “Ready for a bit of walking?”

“What do you mean by a bit of wal...” she stopped mid-sentence, eyes narrowing as realization struck. “No normal typhoon could conjure a sphere powerful enough to traverse that distance without dissipating. We have to get to a mainport, don’t we?”

“Precisely.”

She groaned again, louder this time. “Ugh, I hate the mainports. The nearest one is a long walk away, and those salty receptionists always act like they’re too important for their jobs.”

He smirked. “You’d be salty too if you had to deal with thousands of people every day, especially the rich and entitled ones.”

***

Two hours later, after sprinting through thick forest trails to avoid the main road, they finally reached Antiya, the capital of our state. Its skyline shimmered with magical conduits and floating wards, a stark contrast to the quiet forests behind us.

“I always found it strange how the smaller states had no real customs, no guards, no barriers. You could pass between them freely, while the Eight Cities, by contrast, were wrapped in steel and spellwork like fortresses,” Ida pondered. “I'm not stooping to answer that question,” Hyperion replied.

The port was a mess of noise and movement. Merchants shouting over crates, spell-lights blinking across the docks, and long lines of travelers waiting under massive glass domes. They squeezed their way through until they found an open counter.

“Express Typhoon to Iadica, please,” Hyperion said courteously.

The receptionist, a young woman with silver-rimmed glasses, nodded and tapped rapidly on her crystal console. “Two tickets,” she said after a moment. “There’s quite a queue today, but if you can wait a little while, we’ll have space soon.” Her smile was surprisingly genuine, an uncommon thing here.

They found seats near the loading area and sat. Hyperion pulled out a small bundle of borium rods, thin metallic pieces that glowed faintly blue under light. he’d bought them recently, and they were perfect for training magical focus.

The challenge was to stack the rods into absurd, gravity-defying shapes using nothing but magical energy as adhesive. An exercise in control and augmentation. As he worked, Ida leaned closer, eyes following my every movement with unexpected interest.

“Trying to learn?” he asked.

“Trying not to laugh when it collapses,” she replied, smirking.

It didn’t collapse. In fact, after an hour, Hyperion had built a small crystalline spire. That was when he noticed the receptionist watching them from the corner of her eye. When their gazes met, she straightened up immediately.

“My apologies,” she said, walking over. “We’re ready for you now.”

He quickly disassembled the rods and stashed them in my backpack. “Lead the way.”

***

The launch room was massive, a huge step up from the one in Cyadne.

The operator, a stoic man in uniform, took the tickets without a word. “Same destination?” he asked.

Hyperion affirmed with a nod.

He turned a lever, and the sphere split into two smaller orbs. “Step in.”

They did. The moment the transparent shell sealed around them, gravity seemed to fold in on itself. There was a faint hum, then a sharp pull, and in the blink of an eye, they were shot into the sky.

The world blurred. The sensation was both terrifying and exhilarating, the horizon spinning, stars flashing past, clouds bursting around them like waves of cotton.

And then, with a soft lurch, they landed. The spheres dissolved into mist, leaving them standing in the cool night air at the outskirts of Iadica.

“Look,” Ida said, holding her stomach. “I’ll admit the Typhoon is immeasurably faster than normal transport, but it’s unladylike and horrible.”

“Quit bellyaching,” he replied. “It’s over. No one even saw you lose your ‘dignity.’” he said, making air quotes with his fingers. “Anyway, we should find an inn. No miracle is getting us through the gates at this hour.”

The first inn they found charged one ivory for a room. Ida nearly fainted.

“One ivory?! How can anyone charge that much for a single night?”

“Firstly,” Hyperion said, trying not to laugh, “be thankful we even found a room this late. Secondly, this isn’t the States anymore. Prices here are bound to be higher.”

She grumbled but didn’t argue further. “Fine. Tomorrow’s problem.”

***

The next morning dawned sharp and clear. We dressed quickly. Hyperion wore a grey shirt, thick black leather trousers, and boots; Ida in a white fitted trouser, cropped shirt, and loose black sweater. She looked ready for attention. Hyperion decided not to comment.

The Gate of Iadica loomed ahead of them. An awe-inspiring wall of mystic steel rising nearly eight hundred meters high. The metal shimmered with channels that pulsed like veins of light, each carrying the hum of power and warning.

No ordinary force could breach it. The Eight Cities were designed by the greatest masters of instillment magic. Even from a distance, the sheer magical density made the air tingle against skin.

Hyperion stood there in silent awe, tracing the energy lines with my eyes.

“Rion… Rion…” Ida called out, waving her hand in front of his face. When he didn’t respond, she frowned. “Rion!”

A hand clamped down on Hyperion's shoulder.

“Who the hell are you, boy?” a deep voice demanded behind him.